A long time before the beginning of time and space, there was nothing. Not darkness, not light, not matter—only silence, vast and absolute, stretching endlessly across the void. No stars shimmered, no wind whispered, and no voice existed to name the nameless. It was a void untouched by thought, by life, or by even the faintest flicker of energy.
And yet, within that nothingness, a pulse stirred. A single point of brilliance, sharper than any light could be, appeared at the center of the cosmos. It began as a shimmer, faint and fragile, trembling as if unsure it should exist. Then, without warning, the brilliance flared, spreading waves of pure energy outward, ripping through the silence. The explosion shook the empty expanse, sending ripples across the void, and from its heart, the first gods were born.
They came into existence, not as children of anyone, not as creations, but as beings of infinite essence. Aurelion, the God of Creation, was the first to emerge. His presence alone sparked the formation of matter, and his thoughts shaped the building blocks of existence. Beside him appeared Chronovar, the God of Time, whose gaze could pierce the past and future as easily as the present. Astryx, the God of Space, followed, stretching the infinite expanse, carving distance, dimension, and depth into the nothingness.
Order and chaos would forever need balance, so Lexarion, the God of Order, manifested, binding the forces of creation into laws. To weigh morality, justice, and consequence, Justyra, the Goddess of Judgment, appeared, her eyes like scales reflecting the truth of all things. Wisdom was needed to govern the minds of mortals and gods alike; thus, Virex, the God of Wisdom, came forth, his thoughts deeper than the galaxies themselves. Magic, the bending of laws, formed the essence of the unseen, and so Arcanthia, the Goddess of Magic, emerged, her hands weaving energy into spells and miracles.
Light and perception were critical, for knowledge without illumination is blind. Luminex, the God of Light, manifested next, his brilliance searing across the void, revealing truths and exposing lies. Love, connection, and devotion were not yet understood, so Amoryn, the Goddess of Love, appeared, binding the hearts of gods and mortals to one another. Death, inevitable and impartial, came as Morthaelis, the God of Death, holding dominion over the final breath, while Forgeon, the God of Crafts, arose to shape tools, artifacts, and wonders for gods and mortals alike. Nature's untamed energy could not be ignored, and so Sylphaera, the Goddess of Nature, bloomed like a living storm across the void. Finally, Fatelis, the Goddess of Fate, appeared, her presence weaving threads of destiny, subtle and inevitable, that even gods could not fully comprehend.
Together, these thirteen gods formed the first cosmic council. They were not friends, not equals, but forces, each necessary, each dangerous. Their arrival fractured the nothingness into existence. Stars ignited at their command, worlds spun into being, and the first vibrations of reality hummed in the emptiness.
For trillions of years, they wandered the newborn cosmos. Planets, stars, and galaxies formed and fell under their watch. They learned the rhythms of creation and the limits of their own powers. It was during this eternal wandering that they discovered a blue planet, small and fragile, drifting in a quiet corner of the cosmos. Its surface shimmered with oceans, its air pure and untamed, and though it seemed ordinary, the gods felt a pull they could not explain. This planet would be special; it was destined to harbor life.
They named it Earth.
Aurelion took the first step, shaping land and mountain, river and ocean. Sylphaera breathed forests and plains into existence, while Arcanthia and Luminex danced across the skies, weaving weather and light. Amoryn whispered into the winds, planting the seeds of connection and emotion within every living thing. Morthaelis set the natural cycle of life and death in motion, while Forgeon created the tools and patterns that would allow life to endure. Chronovar and Astryx ensured time and space flowed, steady and constant, a framework upon which civilization could eventually rise.
Finally, humans were born. From clay, from soil, from the essence of the world itself, the first humans opened their eyes to the light of the gods. They were fragile, yet their minds were sharp. They were capable of understanding the gifts bestowed upon them: knowledge, speech, fire, art, and the ability to shape the world around them.
The gods watched and nurtured humanity, guiding their first civilizations. Cities rose, societies flourished, and the humans learned to worship the gods in reverence and fear. To serve as their home, the gods created Heaven, a realm above the mortal world, filled with light, wonder, and angels—beings born to serve them and carry out their will.
For a time, all was perfect. Life thrived, civilization grew, and Heaven glowed like a beacon above the earth. But the perfection was fragile, as it always is.
From the edge of creation, a shadow moved. Darkness, not a god but a force older than even the thirteen, seeped into Heaven. Its presence was insidious, consuming the harmony the gods had built. It sought to Divaver all—erasing, consuming, leaving nothing but nothingness in its wake. The thirteen gods rallied against it, each testing the limits of their powers.
Luminex's light cut through the void, but the darkness adapted. Arcanthia's magic wove barriers, but they shattered. Amoryn's bonds tried to rally hearts, yet fear spread like a poison. And so, the council made the ultimate decision: to save Heaven, to save the humans, someone must sacrifice everything.
Aurelion, the God of Creation, stepped forward. He did not hesitate. He did not waver. With a final, blinding gesture, he poured all his power into a shield of creation, one that could repel the darkness. His body, mind, and essence became the vessel that absorbed the destructive force. The explosion of light and energy was heard across the cosmos. Stars trembled. Galaxies shivered. The humans below would not understand what had happened, but the gods knew: one of them was gone forever.
The remaining twelve looked upon Aurelion's sacrifice with awe and grief. Chronovar's gaze lingered on the threads of time, seeing all that would now unfold without their guide. Justyra's scales quivered under the weight of a life willingly given. Even Forgeon's hands, steady and unflinching for eons, shook as he realized the magnitude of what had been lost.
Yet the world endured. The humans continued to flourish, unaware of the divine war that had unfolded above them. Heaven, though scarred, remained. Angels remained vigilant. And the thirteen, now twelve, resolved to protect the world in honor of the God who had given everything.
And somewhere in the void, the darkness waited. Not gone, not destroyed—merely delayed. It had learned that even gods could be wounded, and in that lesson lay hope for it yet.
It was then that the other gods realized a truth they could not ignore: Creation, even when divine, carries cost. Power without sacrifice is incomplete. And the threads of fate are never fully under control.
Thus began the age of the thirteen gods, their actions echoing across the cosmos, shaping humanity, shaping worlds, shaping destiny itself. The story of Earth, of humans, of life and death, was just beginning. And the shadow of sacrifice and darkness would linger forever, whispering of trials yet to come.
The cosmos was no longer silent. It hummed with life, with magic, with hope… and with the constant, unyielding presence of the thirteen gods, each a force of wonder, power, and inevitability.
The man stopped.
The child looked up at him and asked, "What happened after that, Dad?"
The father paused for a moment, then suddenly laughed. "Then a giant pizza appeared," he said, "and it ate the entire universe."
Before the child could react, the father tickled him mercilessly.
"Stop!" the boy laughed. "Stop tickling me, Dad! Now tell me what actually happened after that."
The father smiled, rubbing his son's hair gently. "It's just a story," he said. "And that's the end."
He stood up and stretched. "It's getting late now. You should go to sleep, Sora."
"Good night, Dad," Sora said, still smiling.
"Good night, Sora," the father replied.
The room fell quiet.
Sometimes, the stories you hear, the ones you believe are nothing more than legends, are simply truths wearing the mask of fiction. Not every reality announces itself as real. Some hide, waiting to be dismissed as imagination.
You may not believe what you saw.
You may doubt what you heard.
But this is the story of a boy who lost everything…
in an attempt to gain it all.