In the time when nothing existed—long before the concept of "before" was even born—
what existed was the Sea of Chaos.
It was neither a place nor a thing, simply an endlessly swirling, formless ocean. In that sea, emotions, symbols, and incomplete thoughts danced wildly—an endless undulation without sky or bottom.
Still, meaning did not exist, nor did form.
But eventually, at the center of that disorder, something began to gather.
It was neither creation nor evolution. Rather, a pull—like gravity, an attraction that should not have existed—was born.
And from this attraction, a strange existence appeared.
It possessed countless hands, not to grasp, but to fold inward. And at its center was a single eye.
That eye did not blink, nor did it see like a human, but it sensed everything. Without a mouth, it was ravenous—hungering for everything.
This existence had no name.
The Sea of Chaos neither welcomed nor rejected it. It simply was. As if naturally, even without being called, Chaos accepted it without question.
That existence—if it could even be called a living being—drifted without direction or purpose. It neither floated nor sank, ignorant of time and meaning. It simply continued.
Quietly. Still. Through what felt like eternal time.
However, this silence did not last.
Without warning, the Sea of Chaos stirred.
What appeared was not form, but sensation.
Sharp and clear—something. That was Law.
Not as a ruler, but as a boundary. A gentle, irresistible voice whispered:
"That's enough now."
Law began to draw lines that had never existed.
And alongside Law came Time.
Not as a sword, but as a tool. It did not contend with Chaos, it simply divided.
It segmented the endless into seconds, minutes, and days.
Unaware of limits, Chaos felt—for the first time—narrowness. As if it had forgotten how to breathe.
At that moment, the presence with the eye and hands sensed change.
Though it could not express it in words, it knew: something had changed.
It no longer belonged here.
In the ordered world built by Law and Time, there was no place for it.
There were hierarchies, meanings, and rules—but it was not part of that story.
It had been left behind.
So it moved.
Not to ascend, not to resist—simply outward.
It slipped through the newly structured world, drifting while breaking everything it touched.
Time halted around it. Stars lost their shine.
The fragile logic of the recreated world crumbled.
It was a world where life had just begun.
When thinkers appeared and began to possess words, they felt something. A pressure behind the silence. A chill beneath happiness.
No one knew what it was, but they felt it there. And they named it: Fear.
Eyes and hands finally became part of this world—not as gods or creatures, but as truth. As power.
Fear seeped into everything—into gaps, into tremors, into cries in the dark. No one remembered its form, but they all knew.
Eyes. Hands. The boundary of the unknown. It had become part of the story.
And it was the first to act among those born from chaos. It had set itself free.
It could not be cleanly divided. Not easily restrained. The laws creaked. The sea roared.
In a moment of upheaval, existence tore itself open—and Fear spilled into reality.
In that instant, everything trembled.
From then on, Fear was no longer just an emotion. It became a new Greater Pillar.
The world changed.
Stories that had never begun. Dreams abandoned halfway. Those who hesitated at the start. Chaos was no longer the sole sculptor. Fear—the pressure of what if—entered the heart of reality. Not as a wound, but as presence. A quiet alarm.
Law could not—no, it could not—extinguish it. It was far too real.
So Law created something new. Not to destroy Fear, but to answer it.
From broken stories and the remnants of dreams, Law gave birth to something fragile yet strong.
Hope.
It did not arrive with light or thunder. It came as a whisper.
Not to fight Fear, but to respond.
"…Perhaps."
Hope could not heal wounds. It lacked the strength to defy Chaos. But it existed.
And that alone was enough.
The first to respond was Identity. It saw Hope and said:
"From here, the protagonist begins."
It gave a name to the nameless. For Identity, Hope was the start of the journey.
Law watched in silence. And that silence was affirmation.
Hope granted the story a second chance. A reason to live in a world filled with Fear.
Even the Void did not extinguish it. It simply ignored it. But that small indifference meant everything.
Chaos did not stop it. It laughed instead.
"To place something so weak in a world ruled by Fear..."
It allowed Hope, enjoying the irony.
And then, the twin flames of Conflict appeared.
One sought heroes. The other sought villains. Yet both agreed:
"Without hope, the story cannot begin."
Death spoke a single word.
"Eventually."
Then added:
"…But not now."
Unreality watched from afar. It did nothing—just observed.
And then, the unexpected happened.
From the small flame of hope, light ignited.
The light of revelation.
It taught all beings—humans, spirits, and forgotten stories—
Fear is real. Yet there is still a reason to move forward.
The ancient ones—the beings with eyes and hands—did not realize it. They were too deep in their own paths.
But even then, Hope was growing.
At last, the world stopped trembling. It waited, silently, holding its breath.
Something had changed.
The next chapter had not yet begun.
But the pages were waiting to be turned.