The Void no longer felt empty.
It bent around Luke now—not as a prison, nor as an adversary, but as a vast silence waiting to be written upon. The Chaos-born stood at the center of his ring of structure, and beneath his feet, the golden lattice he had named Stability hummed with obedient rhythm.
Around him spun the first defined elements: light, time, motion, gravity, color—each a named thread, each obeying the subtle balance he had established.
And now, it was time to gather them.
To form the First Domain.
Luke closed his eyes. The First Flame pulsed within him—no longer erratic or wild, but tempered by Balance. It did not burn outward. It warmed inward, guiding him.
Begin not with creation, the Codex whispered. Begin with space. With invitation. With the shape that welcomes all other shapes.
He extended his hands.
Above him: the golden ring expanded, its circular weave drawing together like a collapsing spiral.
Below him: the lattice lines curved inward, wrapping beneath like a great bowl.
The space between them—once chaotic and formless—shimmered with a field of consistency.
And then, Luke spoke:
"Let this be a cradle."
The light responded. The spiral above dimmed to a silvery glow, like a sky at perpetual dawn. The curved floor beneath took on the texture of mist and mineral—solid to thought, soft to purpose.
He had created a bubble of harmony within the Void—a pocket of balance where chaos would not unravel law. A place with depth, orientation, color, and containment. It wasn't a planet. Not yet. But it was real, and it was his.
And more importantly…
It could grow.
The Pulse of the Core
Luke turned toward the center of the cradle and touched a point in space with a single, wordless command.
A spark ignited—slower, deeper than the First Flame. This was not pure potential. This was defined resonance.
Core.
A smooth sphere bloomed into being, black and gold, beating like a slow heart. Its rhythm mirrored the balance he'd forged between light and dark, fire and stillness. It would be the anchor of reality for all that followed.
He watched as the core emitted pulses—gentle gravitational flows that shaped the space around it into curving fields of weight. Where once the Void refused structure, it now yearned for it, pulled by the beat of the core's logic.
Stability through rhythm. Balance through law.
He hovered above his creation, and the Codex turned again.
This time, no voice spoke. The page simply shifted to reveal new glyphs: Dimensional Layers.
Luke read them—absorbed them—and realized that what he had made was only the outermost shell of his future domain. He would need depth. Not physical, but metaphysical—a structure of planes, each tuned to a different kind of existence.
He began weaving them:
The Foundation Plane — The current space he stood in. A stable, neutral realm. Pure balance, fit for shaping further domains.
The Core Plane — Nested within the anchor sphere. A closed realm of unbreakable constants. It would house his Codex, his Flame, and the concept-forges.
The Reflective Plane — A layer of inverted logic, where every law expressed its mirrored potential. Not chaos, but potential unmanifested.
The Veil — A soft outer layer, where the laws of this domain faded into nothing, blending with the untouched Void. A permeable shell, yet guarded.
Each layer pulsed outward from the Core like rings in water, vibrating in harmony.
This will be my home. My sanctuary. My Forge of All Things.
A Name for the Domain
And now, the most important act of all—naming.
Luke floated above the layers he had crafted. Below him shimmered balance, depth, law, and silence. A realm not yet filled, but ready.
He placed a hand over his heart.
"You are not a world," he said softly. "Not yet. But you are the beginning of all worlds. You are the place where the first thoughts take shape."
His voice resonated through the planes.
"I name you—Eidryn. The Soulwomb. The First Domain."(From 'eidon' — to behold, and 'ryn' — to shelter.)
The moment the name left his lips, the domain breathed.
Every plane pulsed in response. The Codex shuddered, releasing a ripple of approval. The First Flame burned just a little brighter.
Eidryn was now alive.
The Cradle Beckons
Luke stood upon Eidryn's highest plane and gazed upward, toward the still-untouched layers of the greater Void. He could feel them pressing against his domain—not angrily, but expectantly.
They wanted definition. They hungered for shape.
And he… he was ready to provide it.
But something deeper stirred within him. Not power. Not instinct. Not ambition.
Loneliness.
The Void no longer frightened him. But it did isolate.
He had named. He had shaped. He had defined.
But he had not yet shared.
The thoughts of the Echo—Nahr'Vhal—returned to him. That broken remnant had warned of creating too much too quickly, without anchors. Without others.
Luke would not make that mistake.
He looked toward the Codex, which now opened a page of deep silver and violet.
It pulsed with one concept:
Balance… made flesh.
And within that thought, he knew what came next.
Aion.
A being who would not oppose his will, but counterbalance it. Not a reflection. Not a servant.
A child.
The first of many.
Tomorrow, the First God would be born.
And Eidryn would take its first true breath.