Silence. Not the comfortable quiet of a sleeping house or the peaceful hush of falling snow. This was the kind of silence that made your bones ache. Where everything and nothing coexist in perfect, terrible balance.
Time? Time was taking a nap. Reality? Reality was still figuring out what it wanted to be when it grew up.
And in the middle of all this nothing, something opened its eye.
Bathala didn't choose that name. Names were for things that needed to be called, and who was going to call Bathala anything? It just... was. Had always been. Would always be, probably, unless something came along that was even more stubborn about existing.
Bathala's eye, wasn't like the squishy, wet things humans used to see. It didn't blink, what was the point? Didn't water when the cosmic wind picked up, didn't need sleep or rest or little eye drops. It just watched, that's all it had ever done.
Bathala had watched civilization after civilization rise up, peak at exactly the right moment, solve all their problems in exactly the right order, and then coast into an eternity of... well, nothing interesting. No drama, no surprises, no one ever stubbed their toe on a piece of furniture and invented a new swear word that changed the course of history.
It was like watching the same movie over and over, except the movie was the entire universe and it never ended.
So Bathala did what any reasonable powerful entity would do when faced with infinite boredom.
It turned everything off and started over.
The Reset wasn't violent. Bathala wasn't angry, how could you be angry when you'd seen everything that could possibly happen? It was more like... tidying up.
Time folded itself into neat little origami cranes and flew away. History packed its bags and went on vacation. Entire civilizations just sort of... forgot to exist. Souls scattered like dandelion seeds in a hurricane, looking for somewhere new to plant themselves. When the last star's dying light faded away, Bathala was alone again.
"Let's try this again," he said to no one in particular. "But this time, let's make it interesting."
And with that, the universe exploded back into existence.
This time, the universe had attitude. The Big Bang didn't just happen, it happened with style. Fundamental forces stumbled into existence like college students after an all-nighter, rubbing their metaphorical eyes and trying to remember what their job was supposed to be.
"Oh right," said Gravity, "I'm supposed to pull things together."
"And I make things push apart!" chirped Electromagnetic Force, bouncing around like an overexcited puppy.
The Strong and Weak Nuclear Forces just grumbled and got to work holding atoms together, because somebody had to be responsible around here.
But this universe was different. It didn't follow the old rules. Planets didn't orbit their stars like dutiful clockwork, they danced. Earth practically skipped through space, humming off-key and occasionally doing little loops just because it felt like it.
Mountains pushed up from the ground not because tectonic pressure demanded it, but because they were curious about what the view looked like from up there. Rivers carved canyons because they wanted to see what was around the bend. Oceans dreamed of beaches that didn't exist yet and worked overtime to create them.
And from the spaces between what was possible and what was probable, the myths came crawling back.
They weren't gods. Gods required worshippers, and these things were way too busy existing to care about being worshipped. They weren't demons either, demons implied some kind of moral system, and this universe had thrown that manual out the window.
They were just... legends. The stories that had survived the Reset by hiding in the corners of collective memory, waiting for a chance to be real again.
Dragons unfurled from beneath mountains, stretching wings that spread shadows across entire valleys. They weren't necessarily evil or good, they were just very, very large and had opinions about things like territorial boundaries and proper treasure-sorting techniques.
Sea serpents wept tears that became freshwater springs, not out of sadness but because they'd forgotten what they were supposed to be crying about and figured they might as well make themselves useful.
Spirits of wind and fire and growing things took up residence in forests. Some of them remembered being worshipped once upon a time. Others were pretty sure they used to be someone's favorite bedtime story. A few were convinced they were supposed to be metaphors for something important but couldn't quite recall what.
And every human born into this remade world came with a souvenir.
The Soul Marks weren't visible, exactly. You couldn't see them by looking in a mirror or taking a really detailed photograph. They were printed on souls, not skin, inheritance tattoos that connected each person to one of the legendary creatures that now shared their world.
Some kids were born with the essence of eastern dragons coiled around their spiritual DNA, giving them the ability to call storms and breathe clouds that smelled like jasmine. Others carried the memory of wind spirits, letting them walk on air when they really needed to be somewhere else in a hurry.
There were marks for sea serpents, useful for holding your breath underwater and having conversations with whales, thunder birds, excellent for meteorology and making grand entrances, and hundreds of other legendary creatures that had decided the new universe looked like a nice place to set up shop.
The marks weren't gifts from benevolent gods or rewards for good behavior. They were just... there. Like eye color or the ability to curl your tongue. Genetic lottery tickets that happened to be written in mythology instead of DNA.
Nobody remembered why they had these powers. Nobody questioned where they came from or what they were supposed to do with them. The marks felt as natural as breathing, as obvious as gravity.
It was as if the universe had always been this way, and any suggestion otherwise was just silly.
But of course, that wasn't true.
Someone remembered the first universe. Someone remembered the Reset, the choice to unmake perfection in favor of chaos and possibility.
Someone remembered because someone had been watching the whole time.
And that someone was getting ready to make their move.