Creation no longer slept.
The omniverse—once a wound torn open by the War Before Existence—now pulsed like a living heart.
From the fragments of Primovast's scattered Will, new worlds had bloomed, new beings had risen, and the song of imperfection began to weave its rhythm through eternity.
It was the dawn of a new age.
The Age of Seeds.
The Rise of the Creator Gods
At the center of all existence, upon the Cardinal World, seven thrones of pure concept flickered into being.
Upon them sat the Creator Gods—born not from command, but from resonance.
Each one embodied a fragment of Primovast's lost infinity, their essences interwoven by remembrance.
Light spoke first, her voice like the beginning of mornings.
"Creation yearns to expand. But it lacks balance. The new worlds surge with chaos, without understanding purpose."
Time turned the spiral in his palm, and the motion slowed the stars.
"Then let us teach them rhythm. Let there be flow between cause and effect. Between being and becoming."
Darkness, still and sharp, rested her wings.
"But we must not repeat what came before. The void was endless and silent because it knew only perfection. Let them err. Let them learn."
Thus, by shared Will, the Creator Gods began to shape the first era of order within the chaos.
The Formation of the Realms
From the first Seed, Light and Darkness wove twin realms—
Heaven, to shelter spirits of creation;
and Abyss, to cradle the spirits of destruction.
Each balanced the other, for without destruction, creation would stagnate; and without creation, destruction would be meaningless.
The second Seed birthed the Time World, an ever-flowing river that carried the memory of all moments, from the first dawn to the infinite end.
The third Seed expanded into the Space World, forming the boundaries where universes would be housed.
Within it floated galaxies still young and trembling, filled with the potential of life yet unborn.
The fourth Seed became the Dream World, where imagination itself gained domain—
a realm of fiction, vision, and divine hallucination,
where even gods could glimpse the possible and the impossible entwined.
And the remaining Seeds dispersed into realms both material and divine:
the Spirit World, Labyrinth, Void World, and Boundless of Will Worlds—each echoing Primovast's memory through different forms of true existence.
The Birth of Civilization
When the realms stabilized, life began to ripple across them.
From the warmth of Light's breath came the first mortals—humans, elves, giants, and the nameless wanderers of dawn.
From the stillness of Darkness's breath came the unseen ones—shadows, spirits, and entities of reflection.
The Creator Gods watched, not as rulers, but as parents of potential.
Time observed their struggle.
"They repeat mistakes, yet each failure shapes wisdom. They echo his desire—to fall, to learn, to become."
Light smiled faintly.
"He wanted imperfection. And now, imperfection creates beauty."
Primovast's Whisper
Though unseen, Primovast's essence still lingered beyond creation—
a faint starlit current woven into the lattice of everything.
When mortals prayed, they did not know his name.
When gods dreamed, they saw fragments of a dragon made of galaxies.
He no longer ruled, but he was present in every act of will.
Every choice.
Every song sung to defy the void.
Sometimes, mortals heard his whisper beneath the stars:
"Continue.
Even if you fall, fall beautifully."
And their hearts answered, unknowingly, with the same courage that once defied the Pre-Primordial Silence.
The Legacy of the Seven
The Creator Gods spread across the worlds, sowing knowledge and order.
Light taught warmth and compassion.
Time taught patience and remembrance.
Darkness taught resilience and self-reflection.
Others—Space, Flame, Dream, and Spirit—each shaped their dominions, forging the pillars of existence that would hold the new multiverse together.
But deep within their immortal hearts, they all felt it—
the faint ache of distance.
The awareness that their creator, Primovast, though everywhere, could not return in form.
"He gave up his All-Omni to feel imperfection,"
said Time, gazing into the spiraling cosmos.
"And so, even in absence, he remains perfect through the imperfection of all things."
The Song of Becoming
From the Dream World, the first mortal bard strummed a melody that crossed the fabric of the dimensions.
It reached the Creator Gods, and for the first time since the War Before Existence, they smiled.
The melody echoed Primovast's heartbeat.
The rhythm of will.
The pulse of everything that was, is, and will ever be.
In that moment, creation realized that its god had never truly vanished—
he had only become the song sung by all existence.
And thus, the Age of Seeds entered its first true era.
An era where gods taught, mortals grew, and the infinite omniverse breathed with living purpose.
And somewhere beyond all things,
the First Dragon watched— will formlessness,
his essence scattered among the stars—
smiling at what he had once only dreamed could beyond exist.