The new void trembled with possibility. Stars flickered into being, universes budded from the branches like fruit, and rivers of raw law and order ran through the emptiness. Lucien stood at the center, his hands still hovering at his sides, watching the World Tree grow and extend. The branches were no longer bound by the walls of the Primordial Void—they pierced beyond, stretching into a place no branch had ever dared reach before.
And then… something noticed.
Far beyond the Primordial Void, there was a plane not of void, not of chaos, not of order, but of meaning itself—the Metaphysical Plane. It was not a place of existence and nonexistence, but of concepts given form. If the Primordial Void was the root where all dualities slept, the Metaphysical Plane was where narratives and possibilities were written into the marrow of reality itself. It was higher, stranger, harder to define, yet paradoxically simple: the realm of why things are, not how.
From this place, an individual stirred. He had been silent for eons, yet the sight of a branch daring to trespass made him smirk.
"Now that's new," he muttered, his voice dripping with equal parts amusement and arrogance. "The World Tree, stretching its fingers into my backyard? Heh… interesting."
With no more thought than a sigh, he descended.
The air in Lucien's newborn void shifted. A ripple of color and sound twisted together as a man appeared without fanfare, as if he'd always been there—an intruder who made the world itself bend to his presence.
He had ocean-blue hair with a single red strand falling over his forehead, a strange contrast that only made him look sharper. His suit was perfectly tailored, stylish and immaculate, yet there was something unsettling about how comfortable he seemed in it—like he could fight a war in that suit and not even wrinkle the fabric. His eyes gleamed with a mix of playfulness and shadow, giving away nothing and everything at once.
The man smiled, a grin equal parts mocking and inviting.
"So… you're the one bold enough to stretch the roots of the World Tree beyond the Primordial Void." He tilted his head, studying Lucien like a painter sizing up a canvas. "Cute. Dangerous. Definitely arrogant. I like it."
Lucien's abyssal eyes turned to him, steady and unblinking. "And you are?"
The man put a hand to his chest, bowing slightly—but the gesture was more parody than respect. "Names matter little when you walk where I walk. But since you asked so directly—call me Kaelith Varos."
His grin widened. "I am a favored child of the Metaphysical Plane itself. Blessed, nurtured, and sharpened by it until my very breath carries its divinity. I don't borrow its power. I am woven into it. Its authorities flow through me, as naturally as your Primordial Void bends to your whim."
Kaelith's tone turned teasing, playful yet cutting: "In other words… I am to the Metaphysical Plane what you are trying to be to this pretty little void of yours."
He chuckled, the sound both arrogant and disarming.
"But don't mistake me for some rigid god or pompous tyrant." His grin turned crooked, his voice lowering. "I'm arrogant, sure. I'm goofy enough to laugh in the face of endings. I'm dark when I need to be—because truth is always darker than the lies people paint over it. And I'm straightforward… painfully so. If I don't like something, I'll crush it. If I like it, I'll play with it. Simple."
Kaelith adjusted his suit cuffs, his movements sharp and deliberate. He leaned forward slightly, his presence suddenly heavy, as though the void itself shivered to keep up with him.
"So, Lucien Dreamveil…" His grin returned, sly and knowing. "Tell me… did you grow those branches by accident? Or are you planning to knock on doors you don't fully understand yet?"
The void fell silent. Even the newborn universes held their breath.