There was no grand trumpet, no voice of the heavens, no mythical egg cracking open beneath a twin moon. No one saw it coming.
But something shifted.
Somewhere between the crashing of stars and the hush of ancient winds, a ripple ran through the very fabric of Teyvat. Time, which had long flowed like a lazy, godless river, stuttered. Space groaned. The elements, wild and free, flinched.
And then he existed.
.
.
.
Elioth inhaled his first breath—if you could call it that—with a gasp that tasted of silver fog and starlight. He blinked open wide, luminous eyes that shimmered with a strange spectrum: violet, gold, pink, and black like the edges of a dream.
His hair, soft and wild like spun nebula, clung gently to his face. Every part of him glowed faintly, like a divine ember still being sculpted.
He lay atop a floating island—a jagged shard of stone suspended in a sea of nothing. Beneath him, threads of fractured reality pulsed, knitting themselves together as if trying to understand what had just been born atop them.
He sat up.
The first thing he noticed wasn't the wind or the light, but the weightless feel of his own body. He looked down.
"Oh. Oh?" he said, voice high and smooth, curious, sassy, and oddly melodic.
His frame was delicate, lean but not fragile. His waist? Unfairly tiny. His fingers long, elegant. A soft glow radiated off his bare chest, where swirling runes danced along his skin, whispering languages older than the stars.
He was wrapped in what could only be described as cosmic silks—violet, gold, and silver cloths fluttering gently with an unseen breeze, accenting his hips, his collarbones, his thighs. He was art. He was otherworldly.
He was confused as hell.
"Okay... breathe. Breathe. What the actual gay hell is happening right now?" he muttered, standing up on the unstable surface. "Where am I? Why am I barefoot? Why do I look like a fanart of myself from a dream I never had?"
He turned, arms raised, trying to find something—anything—in the distance. But all he could see was shifting stars and swirling mists that bent around his gaze like they were shy.
It was then he felt it.
Power.
Warm. Wild. Alive. Curling just beneath his skin like a cat stretching after centuries of sleep.
He lifted his hand, palm up.
The world pulsed. Threads of possibility shimmered above his skin. A flicker of thought—and a flower made of fractured crystal bloomed into existence in his palm, suspended mid-air. It wobbled, then popped like a soap bubble, scattering gentle sparks into the void.
Elioth stared.
"Okay... That. Was. Awesome."
He grinned, all pearly teeth and glowing eyes. His body trembled, not from fear, but excitement. He wasn't normal. He wasn't mortal. He wasn't human.
He was power.
He didn't know who he was, or why he was here, but deep in the core of his being, he knew what he was:
A god.
Not of war. Not of death. Not of tradition or duty.
He was the god of chaos and reality.
He willed things into being. They obeyed not because he forced them, but because they wanted to. Because his power was not about control, but expression.
As if in agreement, his magic responded, wrapping around his fingers in a playful twirl of color. He laughed, twirling with it. Each giggle echoed across the void like a small tear in space.
Then he paused.
A feeling tugged at his mind. Instinctual.
Directional.
He turned, and through the mist, a shape began to form: a vast continent, primal and untouched, swirling with raw elemental energy. Mountain ranges shifted like beasts turning in their sleep. Rivers sparkled with leyline threads. Skies churned with divine potential.
Teyvat.
He didn't know how he knew the name. He just did. As if it had been written on his soul before he was ever born.
His floating island began to descend. Slowly, gently, reality cradled him downward, toward the newborn world.
As he landed atop a cliff edge overlooking an endless expanse of wildlands, Elioth whispered:
"So... this is the beginning."
He looked down at his hands.
"I don't know who made me... or why. But if this world thinks I'm just gonna sit around and wait for destiny to happen?"
He flicked his wrist.
A rainbow-colored rift bloomed behind him, closed, then vanished with a whisper.
He smiled.
"Then clearly, they don't know who they're dealing with."
He turned, hips swaying ever so slightly with every barefoot step.
A new god had been born.
And reality itself was already taking notes.