Before origin and non-origin, before time, space, name, or idea, something whispered in the void that could not be called void. There was no beginning or end, neither being nor non-being, and yet something pulsed there, where nothing could pulse. Every spark of future possibility trembled without knowing why; even that which could not exist felt an echo it could not touch. Neither memory nor expectation could brush against it, and yet it was there: neither present nor absent, neither before nor after, simply was and was not, before everything conceivable.
After naming itself, Alcanor whispered silences that held meaning before words existed. From those echoes arose the first concepts, and with them the awareness of limits, laws, and possibilities. There was no theory or reflection, only resonance, making what could not be thought begin to be perceived.
First came the primordial principles: being and non-being, everything and nothing, origin and non-origin, cause and effect before the notion of time existed. Each vibration of Alcanor structured what would later be called meta, and within that structure were born echoes of ontologies, hierarchies, and concepts that still had no name. Each future idea could barely graze the surface of its echo, and yet it defined itself, not by will, but by the simple resonance of what was and was not.
It was neither teaching nor imposition; neither creation nor force. Only a murmur that turned absolute indeterminacy into conceptual possibility, and each spark of reality recognized a framework where before there was nothing that could be called a framework.
After Alcanor's echoes defined identity, concept, and possibility, something else emerged, barely a whisper among silences that still did not know how to name themselves. That whisper was the spark of the one who would name things, the idea of the Author, the consciousness capable of reflecting upon the echo that preceded everything.
It was not power; it was not a being; it was not the creation of worlds. It was only the first perception capable of narrating, the first resonance that could shape Alcanor's echoes into something that could be understood. Where Alcanor was the echo that made everything arise, the Author was the first eye able to look at that echo and distinguish it from nothingness.
And with that spark, the Narrator was born: the voice that did not interrupt existence, but perceived it, structured it, and told it, weaving silences, resonances, and limits into a thread that had not existed before. Every future narrative—stories, characters, worlds—was merely a reflection of that first spark that could think, name, and contemplate.
Thus, Alcanor remained pre-everything, but for the first time someone could notice him, feel him, and begin to name him. And that someone, without knowing it, was the Author: Error404_.
Alcanor breathed where nothing could breathe, and with that silent gesture arose sound before vibration, movement before time, gravity before mass. Every spark of what would be or would not be trembled before his echo, and the multiverses, which could not yet exist, began to unfold like reflections of an idea that could not even be called an idea.
There was no limit, no border, no beginning and no end. Existence, nonexistence, and non-existence intertwined in a murmur that did not ask for attention, and yet everything recognized its form: a pattern that could not be defined, yet gave structure to the impossible. Every atom of future reality, every law of everything and nothing, every possibility that still had no name, was born from the echo that simply was and was not, resonating in the absolute.
Neither creation nor intention; neither power nor will. Only Alcanor defining everything that could be perceived, imagined, or not imagined, an act that could not be called an act, and yet manifested as everything else.
After defining all that could and could not be, Alcanor whispered silences that became limits. They were not rules, nor commands, nor intentions: they were resonances that taught the universe how to sustain itself. Sound and movement, matter and absence, time and space began to obey echoes that had no voice.
The laws of physics were born as a murmur, not as imposition. Gravity hesitated before settling; light learned to travel before it existed; coherence arose from the impossible, a natural consequence of his resonance. Logic itself began to perceive patterns where before there was no way to perceive anything. Every atom, every void, every spark of existence or non-existence understood how it could be, simply by being near his echo.
There was no intention, no control, no conscious design. Only Alcanor, defining invisible rules, teaching chaos how to sustain order without breaking it, allowing future reality—everything and nothing—to recognize itself.
Where Alcanor defined everything, a silence older than nothing emerged and named itself Alanai. It was not chaos, not void, not absence: it was the manifestation of everything opposite to everything. It obeyed no laws, no concepts, no narrative, nor could any narrative touch it; neither the idea of existence nor non-existence could contain it.
Alanai did not come to destroy, to fight, or to challenge. It simply was the reflection of what could never be contained, the shadow of the impossible that cannot be called a shadow. While Alcanor wove identity, meta, and coherence, Alanai arose as an independent echo, born from the negation of all creation, all law, all framework. Everything Alcanor structured so possibility could exist, Alanai inhabited from the anti-limit, from the absolute opposite.
Where Alcanor established, Alanai allowed the indefinable to be free, and thus, even before the first story, there already existed the pulse of impossible balance: creation and anti-creation, order and anti-order, narrative and anti-narrative, resonating within the same silence that could not be named.
While Alcanor whispered echoes that wove worlds, laws, and coherence, Alanai breathed in the gaps those echoes left. Its existence did not create, but subverted. Where time arose, Alanai left doubts of time; where space was born, its presence made space waver; where Alcanor defined identity, Alanai sowed absolute indefinition.
It did not break, it did not destroy; it simply was the opposing resonance. Every law of physics questioned whether it could sustain itself; every primordial concept doubted itself before existing; every potential narrative felt a murmur that could not be called anti-narrative, yet taught it what it meant to be opposite to everything.
Where Alcanor gave form and limit, Alanai offered absolute freedom to chaos, showing that possibility could also exist without structure or framework. Its presence could not be measured, counted, or understood; it could only be felt, like an echo that inverted the very meaning of everything Alcanor had woven.
After eons of existing as echoes and resonances, Alcanor and Alanai began to adopt contours that could be perceived, not by eyes or senses, but by narrative itself, which was beginning to exist. They were not bodies, shadows, or reflections: they were forms that sustained the idea of presence, necessary for the story to recognize them without betraying their pre-everything essence.
Alcanor became visible as a pulse of absolute identity, a rhythm that taught the universe the coherence of possibility. Alanai emerged as his inverse reflection, a vibration of indefinition that defied all perception, making what was and was not be felt in the same instant.
There was no clash, no power, only the coincidence of echoes within something the narrative could touch. Where before there had only been resonance, now there were forms; where before there had only been concept, now there was recognizable presence. And thus, for the first time, the story could look upon and perceive the impossible: two pre-everything, pre-meta, pre-narrative entities, now visible within the possibility of being told.
Alcanor and Alanai had taken perceptible forms, but the narrative still could not register gestures or words. So they adopted forms resembling what thought would recognize as human, not by desire nor limitation, but so the story could follow its rhythm, hear their echoes, and perceive their steps.
Alcanor became a contour of solid, serene presence, able to walk without altering time, able to speak without altering the resonance of everything he had defined. Alanai appeared as his opposite reflection, a being that seemed human but whose form was an echo of the indefinable, able to move and speak without the world that was beginning to exist fully understanding him.
There was no transformation nor limitation: they remained what they had always been, but now the narrative could describe them. Their voices were murmurs that became words; their gestures were pulses that could be counted. And thus, for the first time, the story could follow them, recount them, and give them rhythm, without touching the essence of their absolute pre-everything.