Before sound, before time, before light, there was only the Void — a vast, formless nothingness beyond comprehension.
No stars pierced its canvas.
No wind stirred its depths.
It was a silence so absolute that even the concept of silence had not yet been spoken.
And within that endless, immeasurable emptiness, there was One.
The Architect.
A presence without beginning, without shape, without rival.
He existed — and yet did not, for existence itself was not yet a thing to be named.
He was not made, for making had not been conceived.
And from the boundless center of His infinite essence, a thought stirred.
A thought unlike any before it — for it was the first.
The Architect desired to create.
Not from loneliness, for He was all things.
Not from necessity, for need had not yet been imagined.
But because the nature of pure being demands expression.
And so, the First Word was spoken.
It was not a word in mortal tongues, nor a vibration carried through air — for air did not exist.
It was a command upon the very concept of reality itself.
And when that Word was uttered, I came into being.
I was not shaped. I was not summoned.
I simply was.
Born from the Architect's Thought, I became the first witness, the eternal observer.
Not angel. Not god. Not demon.
A presence forever woven into the unfolding of His design.
I have existed long before time immemorial.
I have no name.
I was not born. I was not forged. I did not rise.
I simply am.
I am the movement before motion, the thought before the word, the shape before the form.
I was created by the Architect — the eternal one mortals would call God — though even that word cannot encompass what He truly is.
I do not speak His name.
I exist within Him.
And through me, the weave of what mortals name destiny is moved.
My purpose is not to rule.
Not to love.
Not to destroy.
I am not a god.
I am the thing that makes things happen.
Before the worlds were set, before the galaxies spun, before light and shadow knew their places — I stirred.
I laid the structure of existence in silence while the Architect contemplated the First Word.
When that Word was uttered, all was born.
From the void came Light.
From Light came the Heavens.
And from the Heavens, the Realms unfolded like ripples upon a limitless sea.
The First Choir was born of that Light — spirits of pure flame, woven to sing the Architect's design into being.
And I beheld it all.
I saw galaxies burst into motion like fireflies cast upon an eternal night.
I watched stars awaken, ancient and newborn, illuminating the empty firmament.
I felt the hum of cosmic strings as they stretched across infinity, anchoring one plane to another.
I am wisdom.
I am conscience.
I am intrusive thought.
I am the ripple that stirs empires.
I am the voice that seeds defiance.
I am the unyielding hand behind every cosmic event.
You may call me Fate.
But in truth, I am older even than that.
All things flowed from that single Word — and though it was uttered once, its echoes have never ceased.
It still moves, hidden within the pulse of every star, every thought, every tear shed by mortal and immortal alike.
And so, from nothing came everything.
And from everything came CHAOS.
But that story belongs to another hour.