Chapter 1: The Crimson Singularity
The universe has an edge.
It is not a wall, nor is it a precipice. It is a chaotic shoreline where the laws of reality dissolve into the frothing madness of the Void. And perched right upon this fragile boundary, existing in a pocket of defiance against the nothingness, lay the Primal World.
This realm was not a planet. It was a boundless continent floating in a sea of violet nebula, illuminated not by a sun, but by the glowing cores of dying stars that drifted like lanterns in the sky.
Here, gravity was a suggestion, not a law. Mountains made of celestial adamant floated upside down, their peaks brushing against clouds of liquid mana. Rivers of starlight carved through forests where the trees were as old as time itself.
It was a paradise. It was a prison. It was the final resting place of the Progenitors.
These were the First Ones. The ancestors of every high-born race that populated the myriad galaxies below. The Dragon Monarchs, the Vampire Progenitors, the Titan Kings, the Phoenix Matriarchs, the High Elves of the World Tree, and the Green-Skin Warlords. They had all come here, eons ago, weary of the endless wars and politics of the mortal universe.
To ensure their eternal peace, they had performed the "Great Severance." They had shattered the Reincarnation Pathway of this world. The cycle of life and death had been forcefully amputated. No soul could enter this world to be born. No ghost could leave. It was a perfect, static bubble of eternity.
For a million years, silence reigned.
"Checkmate."
The voice rumbled like tectonic plates grinding together, vibrating through the thin air of the Highest Peak.
Two figures sat opposite each other at a table carved from a single diamond the size of a house.
On the left sat Valthor, the Dragon Ancestor. Even in his humanoid form, he was terrifying. Standing nine feet tall, his skin was a mosaic of obsidian scales, and molten magma flowed through the veins visible beneath his chest. His eyes were vertical slits of burning gold, older than most solar systems.
Across from him sat a figure of stark contrast. Malak, the Vampire Progenitor. He was elegantly slender, his skin the color of moonlight, wearing robes woven from shadows. He held a goblet filled not with blood, but with the liquified essence of a nebula.
"You possess no shame, old lizard," Malak sighed, his voice smooth as velvet but carrying an undertone of ancient lethargy. "You shifted the tectonic plate beneath the board to tilt your rook. Do you think my sensory perception has dulled after a few millennia?"
Valthor laughed, a booming sound that sent a gust of wind tearing through the nearby clouds. "In war, terrain is a weapon, blood-sucker. Adapt or die."
"We cannot die," Malak reminded him dryly, taking a sip from his goblet. "That is the problem. We cannot die, we cannot birth children, and we cannot leave. We simply... exist."
It was the curse of the Primal World. The stagnation. They were the strongest beings in existence, yet they were bored out of their minds.
Valthor opened his mouth to retort, perhaps to suggest a wrestling match that would likely level a mountain range, but the words never came.
The atmosphere changed.
It wasn't a sound. It was a sudden, violent cessation of all sound. The wind stopped. The flowing rivers of starlight froze. The heartbeat of the world itself seemed to skip a beat.
Both Ancestors stood up instantly, their chairs disintegrating into dust from the sudden release of their auras.
"What is that?" Valthor growled, his golden eyes scanning the heavens.
Above them, the violet sky began to bruise. A small black dot appeared in the zenith, directly above the center of the Primal World.
It expanded.
RIIIIIP.
The sound was hideous—like the fabric of reality was being torn by a dull knife. The sky split open, revealing not the golden light of the Heavens, nor the white light of Creation.
It was Red. A dark, visceral, coagulated Crimson, swirling with streaks of Absolute Black.
"Defensive formations!" Malak shouted, his voice amplified by magic to reach every corner of the world. "All Progenitors, brace for impact!"
But it was too late.
From the tear in the sky, a pillar of that reddish-black light slammed down. It was a beam of such intensity that it erased the color from the rest of the world.
BOOOOOOOOOM!
The impact shook the Primal World to its bedrock. Valthor, the Dragon Ancestor whose body could withstand the heat of a supernova, was forced to his knees. He roared, summoning his Dragon Aura to create a shield, but the pressure pressing down on him wasn't physical. It was conceptual.
It was the weight of Authority.
"This... this is not the Heavens!" Valthor shouted over the deafening roar of the energy. "This energy... it feels like the End! Like the death of the universe!"
Miles away, in the Forests of Eternity, the High Elf Ancestors collapsed, weeping as the nature spirits screamed in terror. In the Volcanic Lands, the Fire Giants cowered in their caves.
The light did not stop. It drilled into the center of the world for one agonizing hour. It was a display of power that made the combined might of the Progenitors look like a candle flickering in a hurricane.
And then, as abruptly as it began, it vanished.
The tear in the sky stitched itself shut. The red light dissolved into mist. The pressure lifted.
For a long minute, no one moved.
"Is everyone... alive?" Malak's voice quavered slightly, dusting off his robes. He looked at Valthor. The Dragon Ancestor was panting, sweat dripping from his brow.
"We need to go," Valthor commanded, his eyes locked on the impact zone. "Now."
The center of the Primal World was known as the Tranquil Plains. It was no longer a plain.
It was a crater, fifty miles wide. The heat of the red beam had turned the soil, the rock, and the minerals into a seamless, smooth basin of black glass. It reflected the stars above like a dark mirror.
Dozens of figures flickered into existence around the rim of the crater.
The Phoenix Ancestor, trailing flames. The Titan King, carved from stone. The Asura, with six arms holding divine weapons. They all looked down into the pit, fear and curiosity warring in their eyes.
"What weapon caused this?" The Titan King rumbled, his voice shaking the ground. "Did the Void finally breach our walls?"
"No," Malak whispered, his vampiric eyes zooming in with supernatural precision. "Look at the center."
Valthor didn't wait. He leaped from the edge, his body blurring as he crossed the miles of glass in a single heartbeat. Malak followed close behind as a mist of blood.
They skidded to a halt in the absolute center of the impact zone.
The energy residue here was thick, tasting of iron and ozone. But there was no cosmic weapon. There was no invading demon lord.
Floating a few inches above the glass floor, cradled in a fading wisp of that terrifying crimson-black energy, was a basket.
And inside the basket lay a sleeping baby.
Valthor froze. His clawed hands, capable of tearing through dimension walls, hovered uncertainly.
"A... whelp?" The Dragon Ancestor breathed.
Malak stepped forward, his eyes widening. "A human whelp. Look at it. No scales. No fangs. Round ears. Frail skin."
The other Ancestors arrived, forming a circle around the impossible sight.
"Human?" The Elf Queen gasped, covering her mouth. "But the humans are the most average of races. They have no inherent magic, no long life, no great strength. Why would a phenomenon that nearly broke our world deliver... this?"
"He should be dead," the Asura grunted, crossing his six arms. "The atmospheric pressure of this world crushes mortals instantly. The mana density here is poison to an unawakened body."
Valthor frowned. The Asura was right. A normal human baby should have popped like a balloon the moment it entered the Primal World's atmosphere.
"Let me see," Malak murmured.
The Vampire Progenitor knelt. His eyes underwent a shift, the pupils turning into spinning geometric runes. [Eyes of the Blood Monarch: Soul Perception].
Malak looked past the baby's flesh. He looked into the child's essence.
He gasped, staggering back as if he had been physically struck. The wine goblet he was still holding shattered in his grip.
"Malak?" Valthor caught him. "What did you see?"
Malak was pale—paler than usual. He stared at the sleeping infant with a mixture of horror and reverence.
"The body..." Malak stammered, pointing a trembling finger. "The body is completely normal. It is a vessel of mortal flesh, blood, and bone. It has no mana channels. It has no cultivation base. It is empty."
"Then how is he alive?"
"The Soul," Malak whispered. "Valthor... his soul is not made of spiritual energy. It is not made of light."
The Vampire swallowed hard. "The child's soul is a solid, crystallized mass of that Red-Black Light. It is the same energy that tore the sky."
A hush fell over the Ancestors.
"Is it... active?" Valthor asked quietly.
"No," Malak shook his head. "It is dormant. Deeply asleep. It has formed the shape of a soul to sustain the body, but the power is locked away. If that soul were to awaken now... if that energy were to be released within that fragile human body..."
"He would explode," the Titan finished. "And likely take half this continent with him."
Valthor looked down at the baby again. The child shifted, disturbed by the noise. Slowly, the baby opened its eyes.
They were not human eyes.
They were vantablack. There was no white sclera, no iris, just two pools of infinite darkness that seemed to absorb the light around them. Yet, there was no malice in them. Only the innocent curiosity of a newborn.
The baby looked at the towering, terrifying Dragon Monarch. It looked at the blood-soaked Vampire. It looked at the six-armed Asura.
It didn't cry.
It yawned, stretched its tiny arms, and grabbed Valthor's obsidian finger.
Valthor felt a jolt run through his ancient heart. He had slaughtered armies. He had burned civilizations. But the feeling of that tiny, warm hand gripping his claw was heavier than any mountain he had ever lifted.
"The Reincarnation Cycle is broken," Valthor stated, his voice low and serious. "We broke it. Nothing can be born here. And yet, the Universe, or something greater than the Universe, spat this child out right in our faces."
"He is an anomaly," the Elf Queen said softly. "A singularity wrapped in human skin."
"What do we do with him?" the Asura asked, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his blade. "He is dangerous. If that soul wakes up..."
"NO."
The word came from Valthor and Malak simultaneously. The Dragon and the Vampire looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between the ancient rivals.
Valthor scooped the baby up. The infant was laughably small in the Dragon's arms, like a pebble in a boulder.
"He is a blank slate," Valthor declared, addressing the circle of gods and monsters. "His body is mortal. He is the weakest thing in this world. But his soul carries the weight of the End."
"He will die here," the Titan argued. "He cannot cultivate. You heard Malak. He has no mana channels. He cannot use our magic."
"Then we will build him new ones," Valthor snarled, a fierce grin exposing his fangs. "If he has no magic, we teach him intent. If he has no strength, we forge his bones. If he is human, we make him the Apex Human."
Malak stepped forward, looking into the void-black eyes of the child. "He has no parents. He has no race. He belongs to none of us, so he belongs to all of us."
The Vampire Progenitor reached out and touched the baby's forehead. The child cooed.
"We have been rotting in this paradise for a million years," Malak said. "Waiting for something to happen. Well... something has happened."
"He needs a name," the Elf Queen said.
Valthor looked up at the healing sky, where the red scar was fading. He looked at the boy whose soul was made of apocalypse, sleeping in a body of fragile clay.
"Aeron," Valthor said.
"Aeron?" Malak tested the name.
"In the Draconic tongue of the First Era," Valthor explained, "It means The Echo."
"Why?"
"Because he is the Echo of the event that broke our silence," Valthor said, holding the child up to the starlight. "And one day, I suspect his echo will be louder than the shout."
The baby, Aeron, closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep, unaware that he had just been adopted by the deadliest beings in creation. Unaware that inside his chest, a dormant sun of red and black energy waited for the day it would wake up.
But for now, he was just a boy. And the Primal World was his nursery.