Eidryn was still and perfect, a harmony of planes woven with unspoken rhythm. It pulsed like a suspended heartbeat in the Void, no longer a hollow place of silence but a cradle of intent.
Luke stood at the center of the Foundation Plane, where light bent softly and gravity hummed in obedience. He looked upon the Core—the anchor-sphere he'd forged—and sensed it vibrating with expectation.
He had shaped time.
He had named light.
He had carved balance into the skin of the Void.
But creation, no matter how elegant, was lonely when unshared.
Let this not be a prison of perfection, he thought, but a beginning of something greater.
The Codex shimmered beside him, pages open and fluttering with concepts unformed. At the center of its newest page, glowing with balanced silver and gold flame, a single name burned like prophecy:
Aion.
Not just a word.
A being.
Aion was not yet born, but Luke felt the echo of him already—a presence waiting to be sculpted into meaning. This would not be a creature. Not a force. Not an extension of Luke's own will.
This would be a child.
Weaving the Core of Balance
Luke extended his hands. The First Flame stirred at his center, and beneath it, the cool resonance of Balance unfurled.
He gathered the threads of two truths: Force and Stillness.
One burned, the other calmed.
He bound them with the Law of Return, the Scale of Duality, the Mirror Principle. Laws he had forged through pain and remembrance.
From light, he drew presence.
From darkness, he drew introspection.
From motion, he drew will.
From gravity, he drew weight.
And from Balance itself, he drew a perfect stillpoint—an unmoving axis around which opposites could orbit.
He cupped his hands.
Within them, a shape began to form.
A great sphere of interwoven strands—silver, gold, black, and pale blue—spinning around a quiet heart of white fire.
Luke whispered, not a command, but a blessing.
"You are the fulcrum. The middle path. The judge with no judgment. The stillness between opposites."
"You are Aion."
The sphere cracked open like an egg of starlight.
And from it emerged the first God.
The First Gaze
He was immense—taller than the sky-lattice itself. His form was both human and not: skin of marbled stone veined with flowing light, eyes that reflected galaxies yet unmade, and a robe that seemed woven from shifting constellations.
He bore no weapons.
No crown.
But around his brow floated a ring—not of metal, but of pure conceptual balance. A crown forged not to rule, but to remind.
His presence rippled outward. Eidryn responded. The Foundation Plane settled, its tension easing as though exhaling for the first time.
Luke stepped forward, eyes locked with the titan's.
"Do you know me?" he asked.
Aion lowered his gaze. His voice, when it came, was both thunder and calm tide.
"You are my father. My origin. My cause."
"And who are you?"
Aion did not hesitate.
"I am Aion, Titan of Balance. Born of Chaos, anchored in Flame. I am not Order. I am not Discord. I am the breath between."
Luke felt a smile bloom within him—not of pride, but of recognition.
This being was not a mistake.
He was needed.
The First Walk
Together, they walked across the Foundation Plane.
Luke gestured toward the pillars of stability, explaining their flow.
Aion did not simply listen—he reached out, adjusted, refined. He did not bend what Luke had made. He tuned it, as one might adjust the tension in a lyre.
"The gravity here leans too heavily toward the Core," Aion said softly, running his fingers along a glowing leyline. "If left unchecked, creation will collapse inward."
With a single motion, he wove a counterforce—not opposition, but equilibrium.
Luke raised an eyebrow. "You see the things I missed."
Aion nodded. "You see everything. But I see what holds it together."
Perfect, Luke thought. Not a mirror. A complement.
The Gift of Dominion
Luke led Aion to the edge of Eidryn, to where the Veil kissed the endless dark.
"I created this realm as a beginning. But it is not the end. It cannot hold all things," Luke said. "I will need more domains. More hearts to shape them."
He turned to his creation—no, his son—and placed a hand on his chest.
"I give you the first Dominion. A realm of Balance. You will shape it as you see fit. Anchor my creations when I reach too far. Protect them when they drift too wide."
Aion knelt.
"I will. I will hold the center while others spin outward."
Aion's Departure
With that, Aion rose, turned, and stepped through the Veil.
Where he passed, a new plane bloomed into existence behind him—Kairon, the Balanced World.
A realm of symmetry, swirling with floating islands, rivers that flowed in both directions, skies with two suns—one that never set, and one that never rose. Its laws were gentle but firm. Its space was both motion and pause.
And at its heart stood a great spire, piercing all layers of the plane—a monument to centered purpose.
Luke watched it all unfold from Eidryn and whispered:
"One god. One thread in the weave."
"Soon, there will be more."
He turned back to the Codex.
Its pages now burned with six names, each blurred, each distant, but beginning to pulse.
The next name glowed in deep crimson and sapphire, flickering with primal chaos:
Velkarion. Dragon God of the Elements.
And somewhere beyond Eidryn, the elemental forces stirred—waiting for their father to call them home.