Floating above the Origin Ocean, he extended his hand. The starry waters below responded by glowing with a deep, resonant pulse of light.
Golden tendrils of Origin Energy—the raw substance of creation—rose and flowed into him. Rivers of liquid light saturated his crystalline form, amplifying his grandeur until he shone like a new star.
In order to craft a race worthy of being the first beings capable of perceiving him without being corrupted, he needed to use the universe's own blueprint. With this goal in mind, he decided to weave fragments of the Origin Law—the source of all laws—into their essence.
He started with the most fundamental law: Time.
Lex punched the fabric of space in front of him, tearing a rift miles long. He plunged his hand into the rift and grabbed a transparent thread that snaked through the void. It was a raw fragment of the Time Law.
Guiding a torrent of condensed Origin Energy, Lex merged it with the fragment. Immediately, a faint, towering, humanoid outline flickered into existence above the ocean.
For hundreds of thousands of years, Lex persisted in his meticulous work, each act of creation too complex. Sometimes he succeeded; sometimes he failed. Other times, he focused only on refining the creature's form. The only sound was the resonant hum of power flowing from the ocean through him and into the nascent entity.
Here, at the beginning of things, time was both the tool and the measurement of his labor.
Each moment of creation stretched into an eternity of perfect, unwavering focus.
Once the final strand of origin energy was in place, the first creature was formed. As it settled, a name surfaced in his mind as if it had always existed: Timorath the Timekeeper.
The entity hovered above the Origin Ocean like a silent titan. Its head was adorned with three majestic, backward-curving horns reminiscent of a celestial antelope's. Lex had woven a fundamental aspect of time law into each horn.
The left horn shimmered with a soft blue light that could rewind time. The central horn pulsed with a steady purple glow that could stop time, and the right horn blazed with red energy that could speed up time.
Complex runes etched themselves across Timorath's skin in glowing lines, each a primitive symbol representing a different facet of time manipulation.
Seeing this, Lex waved his hand again, coalescing pure soul power using the law of soul. He then merged the coalesced soul power with the gigantic body.
The runes on the creature's body pulsed slowly and rhythmically, and the heartbeat of a newborn god began.
For decades, Lex watched Timorath, looking for flaws but never finding any. He observed the innocence in its eyes gradually fade and be replaced by the unyielding flow of the Time Law.
The Time Law flooded the entity's consciousness with the secrets of the universe and instilled its solemn duty within Timorath.
Satisfied, Lex turned his attention to the next foundation of reality—the Law of Space. He drew origin energy from the ocean once more and drew a thread of space law from the spatial rift.
He shaped these two into a colossal, serene being that resembled a cosmic whale. Having become familiar with the act of creation, he found the process more intuitive this time.
Lex observed the vast form of the being, which could cradle nebulae. Its head bore three immense eyes, each a planet-sized orb glowing with starry colors, giving the being a profound, ethereal gaze.
The spatial law thread gave the entity absolute dominion over spatial dimensions. This made it a living anchor for the cosmic fabric and an unwavering sentinel against spatial tears and anomalies. However, it was not powerful enough to mend the spatial rift above the ocean.
He named this entity; Vastoth of the Deep Space.
The third entity to emerge from his will was Kismetor, the Master of Destiny. Lex shaped a colossal bird whose feathers seemed woven from the threads of the Law of Fate and shimmered with the nebulous colors of creation itself.
Though more refined in form than Timorath or Vastoth, Kismetor's power was no less profound. Lex granted Kismetor the ability to perceive and oversee the infinite threads of destiny.
With the creation of the third entity, Lex immersed himself in his work, creating seven more entities that embody fundamental laws: Creation, Destruction, Duality, Life, Death, Reincarnation, and Cosmic Order.
Yet, he knew this was only the beginning, as countless laws still awaited their avatar.
Lex infused each entity with a fragment of its Origin Law, binding its essence directly to the fundamental workings of reality.
Then, he resumed the arduous creative process, which mortal minds would reckon as billions or trillions of years. To him, this span was now a single, sustained note of purpose.
Meanwhile, the universe held its breath, awaiting its inhabitants.
As the final entities of the First Race came together, a profound and unfamiliar warmth bloomed within Lex. It was a sense of accomplishment that momentarily eclipsed his eternal loneliness.
The chilling stillness of the universe would now be replaced by a vibrant chorus of existence. This was his answer to the void.
Before him, hovering in silent reverence above the Origin Ocean, was the entirety of the First Race—one hundred and eight thousand cosmic entities, each a unique expression of a fundamental truth and each an embodiment of a specific Law.
Lex knew the work was far from over. Stars needed to be ignited, galaxies needed to be spun into their spiraling dances, and worlds needed to be created to harbor life.
But in this moment, suspended between creation and what was to come, he paused to simply observe his creations. For the first time since his rebirth, he felt a flicker of peace.
After a moment of satisfaction, he waved his hand and scattered the entities across the void. He watched their enormous forms adapt to the emptiness as they scanned the boundless space for the first time, their minds filled with curiosity.
Their personalities emerged instantly. Vastoth, the spatial whale, dove into the fabric of space, exploring its layers. Timorath, the Timekeeper, sat cross-legged where Lex had placed him and began to comprehend the Law of Time.
However, not all interactions were peaceful. Some, driven by their raw and untamed natures, clashed. Their blows were conceptual, not physical, and they sent gales of cosmic energy rippling through the nascent universe.
Lex smiled as he observed this chaotic genesis for a time before his duty to create called him back. When he returned his gaze to the Origin Ocean, however, he was seized by a cold realization: its vastness had diminished.
The brilliant, starry waters were now perceptibly shallower. He had consumed most of its energy to create the Primordials—a name that came to him as their title.
As if the name itself were a fundamental law, the entities subconsciously accepted it in that same moment.
They were now, and would forever be, the Primordials.
••••
He paced across the starry ocean's surface, his thoughts turning to his first true crisis as a creator. The source of his power had been depleted.
Although the ocean would eventually replenish itself, the process was excruciatingly slow. It was much slower than the eons he had spent creating the Primordials.
And though he was timeless, the remnant of his humanity was impatient with the idea of waiting idly.
Patience, it seemed, was a mortal virtue he still lacked.
"I cannot simply wait," he resolved, stopping his pacing. His voice, a low hum, vibrated through the ocean's expanse.
He stared into the depleted depths, searching for an answer that he knew would not come easily. During the creation of the Primordials, he had tried to grasp the core mystery of Origin Energy, to see beyond its utility to its essence.
Yet even he, as the will of the universe, found his understanding to be limited.
It was a humbling realization and he felt like a master craftsman who could use his tools to build artifacts but knew nothing of the ore from which they were forged.
He settled into a meditative pose on the ocean's surface and drew a shimmering drop of Origin Energy into his palm. With a thought, he dispersed it into a constellation of microscopic fragments, each a world of potential, which hovered before his crystalline body.
Then, he divided his consciousness and enveloped each fragment.
Within them, he did not see mere energy; he witnessed the universe in fast-forward. He saw the birth of galaxies, the slow gravitational dance of planets, and the furious life and death of stars. It was a breathtaking vista of cosmic cycles, all contained within a single drop.
He observed for what felt like thousands of years, but the more he saw, the more the energy's true complexity unfolded. Comprehending it fully was an ever-receding horizon. Yet he was undeterred.
He began a deep, systematic study, a project of cosmic-scale analysis. For hundreds of thousands of years, his mind, powerful beyond measure and in perfect affinity with the energy, worked ceaselessly.
When he finally emerged, he realized that he had grasped only three percent of its foundational mysteries, it was a staggering yet sobering result.
A lesser being would have given up. But Lex felt a flicker of satisfaction. That three percent was a foothold. It was the first key turned in an infinitely complex lock.
He calculated that it was just enough for the task he now envisioned. If the future demanded more, he would analyze it further. He had an eternity to learn.
Just as he resolved to resume his work, a faint and peculiar presence brushed against his consciousness from the depths of the Origin Ocean.
He stood up and, in an instant, his vast consciousness flooded the expanse, pinpointing the disturbance.
"What is this?" he murmured. His words were absorbed by the profound silence as he sensed a presence. "Why reveal itself now?"
The clues coalesced in his mind, leading him inexorably downward toward the ocean's depths.
"Is this a consequence of my understanding?" he wondered as he descended into the depths. "Or is the ocean itself giving birth to a cosmic treasure?"
His journey felt like it took centuries, and the shimmering, star-filled surface vanished far above him. It was replaced by an oppressive darkness that not even his crystalline form's light could pierce.
It was like a void within a void.
Then, after what felt like decades, a pinprick of light appeared in the distance. As he drew nearer, the light did more than brighten; it unfolded. It transformed from a mere point into an impossibly complex crystal orb, no larger than a baseball, with a surface etched with incomprehensible runes.
Looking upon it was not merely seeing an object; it was witnessing the operating system of the universe's core.
It was a schematic of all existence, deconstructing the laws of the cosmos into their fundamental components with a clarity that made the truths of Origin Energy seem crude by comparison.
Through it, he perceived the laws of the universe from a different perspective. Countless tiny threads moved about. Some were anchored to the crystal ball, such as the laws of time, space, energy, and matter.
These threads interlocked in a perfect, symbiotic dance, sustaining the shimmering, self-contained domain of laws around the crystal.
He focused on one thread: the law of time. It flowed in spirals and waves, surging and slowing like a living current. Beside it, the thread of space twisted and folded upon itself like crumpled parchment.
To his left was the law of energy: a torrent of pure potential in constant, violent exchange between creation and dissolution.
Within the domain's endless phenomena, a star's birth ignited like a brilliant flash while a world's death faded into a fleeting dimming, each a mere data point in the perpetual cycle of cosmic transformation.
Perceiving this miniature universe exposed one to the raw, unmediated logic of existence. An ordinary mind confronted with this totality would not merely be overwhelmed, it would be annihilated.
In an instant, it would comprehend the precise mechanics of cosmic decay, the fundamental reason for life, and the terrifying symmetry that binds all things.
Grasping such cosmic truths would either destroy or transform one into a vessel for knowledge beyond what mortals are meant to hold.
Lex approached the crystal orb with measured caution. He sensed its innate affinity for the "Will" he embodied, yet he did not trust it. At his core, he was still human, and that humanity was his foundation.
He knew the "Universal Will" was not meant to feel desire, wonder, or dream. It was supposed to be a machine of pure cosmic instinct that existed solely to maintain balance.
It was incapable of interfering with the grand scheme of the universe because the birth, fate, and death of every being were shaped by its impartial laws.
Survival was for the adaptable, and extinction was for the frail.
His own existence was an unprecedented anomaly.
He slowly raised a hand, extending his translucent finger to bridge the final distance. The moment his fingertip made contact, the crystal did more than shrink; it collapsed, condensing from a physical object into a single, impossibly dense point before shooting into his forehead.
The speed was overwhelming, a motion that defied the very laws he governed. It happened too fast for his godlike reflexes to react, seamlessly fusing with his soul and consciousness like a key turning in an unknown lock.
A cold dread washed over him, the terror of a violation he could not prevent. Yet, as the moments passed with no cataclysm, a shaky relief followed. He silently and vehemently vowed to control his curiosity because the consequences could be irreversible next time.
As this thought solidified, the glowing domain around him flickered and died, taking the web of law phenomena with it. He was left suspended in an infinite, dark void. However, he could easily see in the darkness now.
He instantly settled into a lotus position, his crystalline form a faint beacon in the all-consuming darkness. He closed his eyes and turned his focus inward.
His consciousness arrived in a realm of endless, serene blue dotted with fluffy clouds that looked familiar, a perfect replica of his most cherished memory from his previous life.
Below stretched an endless, perfectly still blue ocean, its surface mirroring the sky above. Suspended at the center of his soul sea was the crystal orb.
As if sensing his presence, it began to pulse with a soft, rhythmic light. With each pulse, it released fragments of light that scattered throughout his consciousness like shimmering motes of divine knowledge, just as they had in the depths of the Origin Ocean.
Then, without warning, the orb flared. A wave of blinding, pure white light erupted from it and consumed his entire soul sea. There was no resistance nor absorption.
The light transmitted vast archives of cosmic history, intricate schematics of creation, and the orb's existence records. These were seamlessly integrated into his memory, as if they had always been part of him.
He learned that the crystal orb was a treasure from beyond the universe—a vagrant treasure drifting through the voids between universes.
According to it's records, the orb had "accidentally" merged with the newborn universe. However, as Lex examined the records, a chilling doubt took root.
"Could such a fundamental merger truly be an accident?"
His suspicions were momentarily dispelled by a more personal revelation: The orb was the very force that had saved him.
It had plucked his soul from the eternal, consuming darkness of the void and offered him an anchor in the nascent universe.
Then, he found the answer that had haunted him since his rebirth; how a mere mortal could become the universe's "Will." The orb had been the catalyst.
It created the opportunity by bending the cosmic rules and allowing a human soul to fuse with the universal will. However, his tempered willpower allowed him to retain his identity instead of being erased by the impersonal will. Otherwise, the effort would have been wasted.