Silence reigned across the omniverse.
Not the void's silence—cold and hollow—
but the silence of creation catching its breath after birthing something greater than itself.
Where once the War Before Existence had torn everything apart,
new worlds began to bloom from Primovast's scattered essence.
Each droplet of his starlit blood carried meaning, memory, and fragmentary consciousness.
They fell through the layers of Beyond, descending into new realities that shimmered like dreams half-remembered.
The Birth of the Seeds
The first droplet struck the nothingness and ignited—
its spark coalescing into a radiant core that pulsed like a newborn heart.
From it arose the first Seed of Will, luminous and warm, humming with purpose.
"What am I?"
it whispered into the dark.
"You are choice,"
the lingering voice of Primovast answered faintly, echoing from the fading edges of everything.
"Grow, even when you do not understand why."
More droplets followed, spreading into endless directions.
Some fell into the dreaming layers and birthed The Great Spirits—embodiments of nascent concepts like time, flame, ocean, thought.
Others sank into the chaotic depths, forming the Abyssal Wills, the counterbalance to the light.
From the starlit fragments, reality began to breathe again.
The Awakening of the Creator Gods
In the newly reformed lattice, seven Seeds pulsed brighter than the rest.
They resonated, harmonizing in rhythm with the last echo of Primovast's roar.
From these seven lights arose the Creator Gods, born not by command but by resonance.
They awoke amid a field of glowing galaxies, each one remembering his voice—
the voice that had defied nothingness itself.
Light opened her eyes first, her form woven from starlight and dawn.
"I feel him… but distant,"
she murmured.
"Like a song the world has forgotten but the heart still remembers."
Time followed, his form layered in ever-turning spirals.
"He is scattered. His fragments breathe as us. We are the continuity of his choice."
Darkness rose last, her wings unfolding like night made alive.
"Then our duty is not to worship him… but to remember what he desired.
The meaning born of imperfection..."
The Creator Gods bowed their heads in silent agreement.
Their first act was creation, but remembrance.
Worlds in Formation
From the Seeds of Will, universes began to spiral outward.
Some worlds shimmered with order—
others swirled with chaos, untamed and violent.
Between them, the Veins of Lightless and Everythingness pulsed like cosmic arteries, flowing with raw will power.
The Great Spirits of Time and Space began shaping boundaries,
weaving frames for the newborn dimensions.
The Spirit of Life scattered across them like pollen,
while the Spirit of Thought began crafting meaning into sound, story, and language.
And thus the first civilizations began to stir within the sea of new existence.
In the Void Beyond
Yet, beyond all the reborn worlds,
a presence lingered in the dark, faint but eternal.
It was Primovast—not body, not form—
but the resonance of the First Will.
He hovered between being and unbeing,
his awareness scattered through every Seed that now burned as a star.
"I gave up my All-Omni," he whispered to the true endless void,
"so that they could see beyond concept perfection."
He watched the Creator Gods working, each one shining with a fragment of his purpose.
He did not intervene.
For this was their era—the Age of Seeds.
"Let them build, let them err, let them seek."
"For through them, I will remember why existence must be."
The First Voice
On one of the newborn worlds—a sphere of silver water floating in a timeless sea—
a mortal shape emerged for the first time.
It was neither god nor dragon, but something incomplete—fragile, finite.
It looked at its reflection in the still water and whispered,
"Who am I?"
The world trembled.
From above, the light of the nearest Seed of Will responded gently,
"You are the continuation of choice."
And thus, the First Voice of Creation was born.
A mortal, bound by limits, yet carrying the faintest spark of Primovast's defiance.
The Creator Gods looked down in awe.
Light smiled.
"He was right. Even imperfection can sing."
The Dream of the Dragon
Within the folds of the beyond,
Primovast dreamed.
His dream stretched through the Seeds, through the worlds, through the smallest spark of life.
And in that dream, the Will of Creation whispered its eternal truth—
"Even when the All-Omni fades,
the act of becoming is forever."