Rayon did not fall.
The portal closed behind him, and yet there was no sensation of descent—no wind, no weightlessness, no pull. He stood.
Solid ground stretched beneath his feet, though there was no ground to see.
An endless pit of darkness surrounded him, vast beyond measure. No stars. No void-light. No horizon. Just black—layered, ancient, breathing.
And somehow… familiar.
Rayon inhaled slowly.
"This place…" he murmured.
It did not answer with sound.
It answered with recognition.
The darkness bent—not in submission, not in fear, but in welcome. It was the same feeling he had known since childhood. The same presence that lingered at the edge of his dreams. The same pull he had ignored, misunderstood, resisted.
He extended both hands.
The darkness responded.
From the abyss, a throne rose—not forged, not summoned, but remembered into existence. Black upon black, carved with symbols that did not glow, yet were unmistakable.
At its peak, etched as if by reality itself, were the words:
MONARCH OF THE ENDLESS ABYSS
Rayon stared at it.
And before sitting, realization struck him with quiet certainty.
Ever since he became the Black Primordial, something had been calling to him. Not loudly. Not urgently. A constant, patient whisper woven into every shadow he cast. He had felt it but never understood how to answer.
Then came Oblivion—the Primordial of the End.
Then came Nyk—the Primordial of Ruin.
Through annihilation and exhilaration alike, clarity formed.
This was not a call to destroy.
Nor a call to rule.
It was a call to remember.
Rayon sat.
The instant he did, the abyss recognized its monarch.
Images flickered—not in sequence, not bound by time.
Rayon—smiling—sat upon the same throne.
Rayon—older—sat upon it.
Rayon—younger—sat upon it.
Across timelines. Across dimensions. Across realities that should never touch.
In every one of them—
He smiled.
Not with cruelty.
Not with mercy.
But with knowing.
Erethon and Vorthalaxis manifested instantly.
They fell to one knee.
"We serve the Monarch of the Endless Abyss," Erethon said, voice reverent despite his nature.
Vorthalaxis bowed deeply. "Your dominion is absolute."
Rayon sighed.
"Cut that out."
Both froze.
He leaned back in the throne, resting his chin on his hand, amused.
"I don't do kneeling. Never liked it."
They rose awkwardly.
Rayon glanced at Erethon.
"Would you like a body of your own?"
Erethon's smile widened—too wide, too honest, too him.
"Oh, that sounds fun."
Rayon's domain was not like others.
There was no sky.
No stars.
No cycles.
The Endless Abyss had no light—because it existed before light.
Within it, Rayon was absolute.
Not a tyrant.
Not a god demanding worship.
He was omnipotent within the darkness, because the darkness itself acknowledged him as its continuation.
This darkness ruled all evil—not because it desired it, but because evil was what survived proximity to it.
It was the First Darkness.
Before light existed—
Before form—
Before even silence—
There was darkness.
The Forspinner was not light.
The Forspinner was the first darkness.
But darkness, absolute and infinite, felt loneliness.
So it created Resonance.
From Resonance came the Forsakens, the Weavers, the String-Bearers—creations capable of touching reality without shattering. That was why Forsakens existed before Awakeners.
Light came later.
Not as an enemy.
But as balance.
Light was meant to coexist.
Yet the darkness was too powerful. Its creations could not fully contain its essence. Some went mad. Some turned cruel. Some simply ceased to exist.
Light could not accept this.
And so it tried to erase the darkness's creations.
The darkness refused.
Thus began the First War—
Theomachy.
Nine eternal cycles it raged.
Not years.
Not eras.
Eternities.
Until both darkness and light disappeared—ended not by each other, but by a group from another dimension and timeline, beings who shattered the foundation of existence itself.
Before vanishing, the darkness acted.
It fragmented itself.
A single inky fragment—not power, but essence—was left drifting through the multiverse of Zarak, until it reached the universe Itarak, on the planet Averis.
That fragment was Rayon.
Rayon had no parents.
Not truly.
He was found as an infant by a couple who tried to raise him. But strange things happened. Shadows moved. Reality warped. Fear crept in.
They abandoned him in Krylos.
He never knew why.
Because he was not meant to.
The fragment awakened slowly—first as tangible hollow strings, then as dreams. Dreams of a throne. Dreams of endless black.
Then came Black Resonance—the purest form of strings. The original source.
Every evolution—
Every awakening—
Every battle—
Led here.
Rayon was not chosen.
He was remembered.
He was the first incarnation of darkness.
Not an avatar.
Not a vessel.
Darkness made flesh.
As memories flooded him—not as visions, but as lived truth—Rayon finally understood why the darkness disappeared.
It did not die.
It waited.
And now, it had returned.
Rayon leaned back on the throne, expression calm.
The abyss stretched endlessly beneath him.
And for the first time—
The darkness was no longer alone.