In the beginning, before time dared to exist, there was only Light and Darkness — an endless void where nothing separated the two.
Within this formless expanse, two wills awoke. They were the universe's first thoughts, its only sentience.
They existed alongside one another for countless eternities… and in time, came to call each other brother.
The brother of Light grew restless. With a single act of will, he birthed Time itself, stretched it across the emptiness, and began to create: stars aligned in perfect order, worlds spun into being, life sparked and flourished under his gentle glow.
The brother of Darkness watched. Silent. Patient. Then, with roots of shadow, he touched every creation — planting hunger, decay, fear, and endings where only perfection had been. He called it balance.
But Light grew proud. He saw the shadows spreading and feared them. And in his fear, he turned against his only kin.
He struck down Darkness, shattered him into countless fragments, and scattered them across the newborn multiverse. Yet even as the victor stood alone among his flawless worlds… a faint pulse echoed in the void.
Something was stirring.
Something remembering.
Yet even in victory, Light felt fear for the first time. The fragments of his brother pulsed still — indestructible, eternal, hungry.
In desperation, he gathered what remained of Darkness's essence and wove it into new forms. Across the newborn multiverse, he forged Gods — radiant sentinels, each born from a shard of the Void bound in chains of Light.
To some he gave dominion over stars and storms. To others, life and death, war and peace, creation and entropy.
He placed them as guardians over countless universes, believing the light within them would forever suppress the dark.
"You are my final mercy," Light whispered to the last God he shaped. "Keep him bound. Keep balance."
But deep in every divine heart, the fragment stirred.
Waiting.
Remembering.
And as the final mote of his brilliance dissolved into his creations, the brother of Light vanished—his form gone, his voice stilled. Yet he lingered still, a silent, patient presence woven into the souls of the Gods he had made.
Watching from within.
Waiting, without hope or hatred, for his brother's return.
Millennia passed. Universes rose and fell under the watchful eyes of the Gods.
In one forgotten corner of a mortal world, a child was born beneath a starless sky. On his chest, a mark pulsed once — black as the void before time.
Something had found a vessel.
The waiting was almost over.
The true GOD is coming.