Boundless dark-gold mist surged and traversed between bizarre buildings, an endless tide shifting through a silent necropolis.
Amidst these grand, alien structures stood a colossal, magnificent, and peculiar twin-spired Temple. Its spires pierced the heavens, disappearing into the dark-gold haze while exuding a majestic, suffocating aura.
Constructed from obsidian-colored stone, the Temple's surface was etched with exquisite sculptures and frescoes. Strange symbols adorned the walls, showcasing a giant-like strength and glory, while massive archways and towering pillars conveyed a sense of unspeakable solemnity.
Within the Temple, towering stone pillars flickered in and out of view through the mist, supporting a vast, shadowed dome. At the deepest sanctum, atop nine stone steps, sat a massive throne carved with mysterious, shifting patterns.
Below the steps, five high-backed stone chairs stood shrouded in mist. Further down, forty-nine peculiar chairs were arranged in a strange configuration, collectively exuding a contradictory atmosphere of majesty, mystery, order, and chaos.
Suddenly, a mournful wail echoed through the halls, quickly swallowed by the grand architecture. Above the nine stone steps, a phantom figure composed entirely of dark-gold mist materialized on the throne. It wailed in agony, its presence causing the surrounding mist to surge violently into its form.
After an indeterminate period, the turbulence subsided. The phantom figure solidified, and the crying ceased. A weak murmur emanated from the throne as the figure—Julian—finally regained consciousness, emerging from a state of extreme physical and mental torment.
Julian looked around, and despite his usually composed nature, he couldn't help but vent his frustration. He looked up at the dome shrouded in mist, his voice filled with indignation: "Transmigration? Others get cheat codes and halos, but I get agonizing pain and... what even is this? I don't even have a body!"
Julian was originally a university student from the 21st century, a young man with a bright future and a clear path ahead of him. Unfortunately, those aspirations were cut short when he woke up in a parallel version of Earth.
Everything there had been hauntingly similar yet fundamentally different. The unfamiliar environment nearly crushed his spirit, but he eventually adapted. He discovered that the literary and cultural works of his old world didn't exist there, and he planned to use that knowledge to build a comfortable, quiet life for himself.
However, while traveling at sea, he was caught in a massive tsunami. As he sank into the depths, his consciousness blurring, a boundless dark-gold mist surged from the seabed and engulfed him.
Julian slumped on the magnificent throne—or more accurately, floated above it. He extended a translucent left hand formed of mist and sighed. Though the influx of dark-gold energy had brought immense pain, it had also stabilized his fragile, ethereal soul.
As a byproduct of the agony, streams of information encoded in mysterious symbols flooded his mind. He began to understand his predicament: this was the Nation of Disorder, one of the nine great Sefirot separated from the Original Creator.
"Wait... Original Creator? Sefirah? Nation of Disorder?" Julian felt his mind reel. "Did I transmigrate into Lord of the Mysteries?" A wave of dread washed over him. "This world is a nightmare. The Outer Deities, the Old Ones... if they spot me, it's over. The gaze of the Cosmos!."
He waited in terror, but after a long silence where nothing happened, he forced himself to calm down. According to the information within the mist, he was currently inside a Sefirah. This "Source Quality" acted as a natural shield, isolating him from the perception of the Outer Deities.
But what now? he thought. In the original lore, the Nation of Disorder was sealed in the Western Continent by the Celestial Worthy. If I'm here, am I sealed too? No, wait... maybe the Celestial Worthy and God Almighty haven't fallen yet?
"Heavens, give me a break," he muttered.
Suddenly, the mist surged turbulently. A majestic, deep voice resonated through the temple: "Interesting."
Julian bolted upright. "Who's there?" He scanned the hall, but saw nothing but the swirling gold haze.
"God Almighty. The Creator. The Omniscient and Omnipotent. Lord of the Astral Realm," the voice replied with indifferent grandeur. "I did not expect a soul such as yours to fuse with this Sefirah. Who are you? Why do you lack the Primordial One's imprint?"
Julian's heart hammered. God Almighty. The Star Realm Lord. This confirmed it: he was in the First Epoch, the era when the two Pillars were active. Since God Almighty held authority over the "Spectator" pathway, Julian panicked, wondering if his thoughts were being read.
However, he realized that if his mind were an open book, the entity wouldn't be asking questions. His lack of a "Primordial Imprint"—the mark left by the Original Creator—likely made him an anomaly.
"I... I don't know," Julian replied, looking toward the dome. "I was in a shipwreck, sank into the sea, and was swallowed by this mist. Respected Lord of the Astral Realm, can you tell me what is happening to me?"
After a heavy silence, the voice responded: "A variable is also a turning point. The instinct of convergence dictates that I and the Lord of the Mysteries must eventually clash. Your future is shrouded in a mist I cannot pierce. Truly interesting."
An indescribable light broke through the dark-gold clouds. Through the rift, a figure composed entirely of pure light stood silently. Streams of radiance flowed from the figure, fusing with the dark-gold mist to form two distinct objects: a ring and a staff. They descended the air and landed on the stone steps beside the throne.
"You currently lack the status to truly wield a Sefirah," the voice echoed. "But with my assistance, and by virtue of your unique soul, you can establish a connection over the coming eons. You will gradually assimilate this place without falling into madness. Once you achieve the necessary sequence, you will control it fully."
Before Julian could ask how, the light enveloping him expanded into a vortex. He felt the surrounding mist being forcibly vacuumed into his essence. Accompanied by layers of illusory whispers and a soul-tearing pain, his consciousness flickered out.
The light dissipated. The dark-gold mist returned to its calm, swirling state, once again concealing the colossal, twin-spired Temple from the rest of the universe.