Before time learned to count itself, before matter learned to hold a shape, there was only Chaos.
It was not darkness, nor light, nor void, it was everything and nothing at once, tangled together in a unending mess. A sea of color that never stayed still, shifting with shapes that were never born yet never died.
Hues beyond sight rippled and folded upon themselves, birthing mountains that wept into rivers of glass or somthing else, which in turn erupted into storms of sudden winds . Spheres of molten brilliance swelled, split and vanished into the folds of reality and unreality. Sound and silence call as one a mix of all the different sounds some familliar some never heard before. Within this ocean of becoming, things stirred, not life, not death, they were just things.
They crawled from the shimmer and sank back in. They devoured and were devoured, their bodies were shapes that would cause one insanity too imagine, limbs branching like fractals, eyes bloomed like flowers and blinked in every direction, some did not but some did.
They did not think, they did not feel, they merely were the, for but a moment.
A thing made of wings and teeth rose making incromprehensible noises rose from the sea of Chaos only to collapse into mist that bled into a forest of crystal vines that grew more of these random things, and so on and so on. A thousand tendrils formed a haven of beating hearts that pulsed for a single moment before disapearing into dust. Every act of creation was also an act of unmaking.
There was no law, no rhythm, no end, only change, endless change.
So it went on for for who knows how long since time has not been made, content with itself, forever birthing, devouring and forgetting its own children.
After a long while something had formed from the randomness of Chaos. For the first time since Chaos had existed something did not go imediatly changed or unchanged, it remained.
Around the white figure Chaos had no power.Color surged and recoiled from it, unable to consume what would not dissolve.The shapeless things that had drifted through Chaos's womb circled the intruder, drawn to its stillness like flies to a flame.
Some brushed against its smooth surface and vanished.Others clawed and shrieked in voices without sound, as if unable to comprehend why this form did not unravel as they did.
The First Being did not move at first, It just observed since it was just born.It watched Chaos attempt to devour it and when Chaos failed, it understood.
That which could not be unmade was not part of Chaos.It was apart from it.
A thought stirred within the being's mind, the first thought that had ever been formed in all of existence.
"I am."
This thought was not yet a thought just a feeling.
The Being stood unmoving.It had no eyes, yet it saw.No ears, yet it heard the roar of formless storms.No nose, yet it smelled the amalgamy of smells.
And so a thousand ages passed like a single breath.
In that time, the Being had learned to reach into the ChaosIt extended a hand not of flesh, but of will and the formless stopped ever so slighltly slowly becoming still.
They resisted, they writhed, they tried to escape back into the Chaos.But the Being held them, patient as stone.
One by one, it gathered them.And as it did, the sea of Chaos began to change.
Wherever the Being walked, the tides slowed.The formless began to take shape, hesitantly, tremblingly.Terrain did not melt as quickly.Storms howled a little softer.The scream of becoming began to pause.
For the first time in eternity, there was direction.
When the Being had gathered all that it could hold it drew the essence inward.The light within its body flared white, sharp, pure while also still, tranforming the Chaos.
Chaos recoiled.
When the glow dimmed, the Being stood clothed in its own making, pale, perfect, unchanging.It raised its head, though it had no face and gazed upon the shifting horizon.
For the first time, Chaos looked upon itself and saw something that was not Chaos.
So the First Being smiled well smiled in spirit, though it had no mouth.
It uttered the first words
"To exist is to be apart."
That knowledge was its first purpose.Its first victory over the infinite.
The Being had achieved detachment.
It had become Order.
It spoke, and though there was no air to carry sound the world listened to this statement.
Its voice rippled across the sea of Chaos it was soft and slow, like the first words taken after endless drowning. The words had no sound, yet the idea lingured and wherever the echo passed, Chaos hesitated, as if startled that something had spoken back.
The Being opened its eyes.
There was no light, no darkness, only color without a boundary, it was red that was blue that was white that was void. Yet within that endless swirling, it began to see.It saw forms rise and die, worlds born and unmade, It saw its reflection in the tide, stretched and twisted across eternity.
With seeing came another thought, small, new but undeniable.
"I am alone."
The thought spread through it like warmth, like pain.It did not know why this truth ached and what this ache was, only that it did.
So it reached again into the sea, not to gather, not to control, but to understand.The Chaos resisted at first, wild and defiant, but the Being's will was patient, gentle.
It began to sense the faintest trace of harmony hidden within disorder, a pattern, it was Order
This was its second understanding.If to exist is to be apart, then to endure is to find meaning.
The Being lowered its hands and let the Chaos flow through its fingers.It watched the currents twist and merge, birthing shapes that vanished.
Then softly, it whispered:
"If I can exist, then perhaps… so can the world."
And thus, the seed of creation was planted.
After who knows how long.
The First Being walked through its completed still world, step by step, each echo vanishing into the silence it had made.Its feet left no prints.Its breath stirred no wind.The only light emited was from itself.
It looked around and saw that nothing would ever change here.The walls of the Realm held firm, the air unmoving, the Order absolute.
Within that calm, a strange pain grew, slow, suffocating, and nameless.
"Why do I hurt?" it wondered."This world is perfect. Nothing dies. Nothing breaks. Nothing fades."
Yet the silence gave no answer.
The Being raised its hand, and from its fingertips, the faintest tremor of Chaos slipped through, a single ripple across the perfect stillness.It watched the ripple spread and vanish and something inside it stirred.
For the first time, it missed the storm.The madness.The endless birth and death of forms.
Perfection, it realized, was not peace, it was absence.Without movement, there could be no change.Without change, there could be no meaning.
The Being knelt and touched the cold surface beneath its feet.It could feel nothing, no pulse, no warmth, no life.
So it whispered, softly, almost pleading.
"Move."
But the Realm did not obey.
"Live."
Nothing answered.
The words fell flat, dissolving into still air.
The Being stood there for an eternity of uncounted moments.And in that eternity, something inside it began to fracture, not in body, but in spirit.
For the first time since its awakening, the First Being felt alone.