Chapter 1: The Death of Reality, The Birth of Zero
Before there was history, there was the Apex Reality. It was a massive construct made of billions of universes, stacked upon one another like pages in an infinite book.
And at the summit of this reality, sitting on the Throne of All-Creation, was the Sovereign.
He had many titles: The God of Gods, The Final Truth, The Boundless One. He had conquered every timeline, mastered every law, and reached the absolute limit of what his reality allowed. He was omnipotent within his sphere.
But now, his sphere was cracking.
At the very edge of the Apex Reality, the boundary wall—a barrier made of condensed time and space thicker than a trillion galaxies—was crumbling.
"Hold the line!" roared a being made of pure golden light. This was the Monarch of Time, one of the Sovereign's supreme subordinates.
"We cannot!" screamed another, a creature formed of endless stellar fire. "Their logic... it doesn't belong here! My flames are freezing! Time is flowing backward!"
Pouring through the cracks in the reality wall were things that defied description. They were not monsters; they were walking contradictions. They were the Outer Ones. Beings from the chaotic Void beyond the organized realities. They were anti-truth, creatures that existed outside of cause and effect. Where they stepped, laws dissolved. Gravity became repellant; light became solid darkness.
Floating above this apocalypse, the Sovereign watched his empire burn.
He wore simple white robes that remained pristine amidst the destruction. His face was a masterpiece of existence, beautiful and terrifyingly distant. Yet, for the first time in eons, his eyes showed not boredom, but a grim acceptance.
"I was wrong," the Sovereign's voice echoed, heard by every sentient being in his dying reality. "I thought I sat at the peak of the mountain. I didn't realize the mountain was just a pebble in an ocean of chaos."
A massive Outer One, resembling a writhing mass of non-existent colors and screaming mouths the size of nebulae, crashed through the main defense line. It devoured the Monarch of Time instantly, erasing him from history so thoroughly that no one remembered he had ever existed.
Only the Sovereign remembered.
"They feed on order," the Sovereign analyzed coldly. "And I am the ultimate order of this reality. As long as I exist, they will keep coming until nothing is left."
He looked at his hands. They held the power to recreate universes with a thought, yet they were trembling.
"To defeat the Outside, one must become the Outside. To gain everything, I must first become... Null."
The Sovereign stood up. The movement alone caused the invading Outer Ones to pause.
"Hear me, intruders of the Void!" he commanded.
He raised his hands high. The countless universes composing his reality began to collapse. He was not saving them; he was harvesting them. He condensed billions of galaxies, timelines, and divine realms into a single point of blinding, impossible energy right between his palms.
The Outer Ones shrieked—a sound that shattered the souls of all remaining gods. They recognized the threat. They swarmed toward him, a tidal wave of anti-existence.
The Sovereign didn't flinch. He took that concentrated energy of a complete Reality and crushed it into his own chest.
"Sacrifice: The apex Origin."
It was suicide on a cosmic scale.
BOOM.
There was no explosion of fire. Instead, reality simply ceased to be. A wave of absolute "deletion" expanded outward. It washed over the invading Outer Ones, unmaking them, turning their impossible forms into nothingness.
The Apex Reality was gone. The Sovereign was gone.
But in the dead silence of the Void that remained, a single speck of light survived.
It was a seed. The condensed, unbreakable core of the Sovereign's soul, stripped of all power, memory, and ego. It was a blank slate carrying infinite potential, engineered to be undetectable by Outer Beings.
Guided by the last shred of his will—a directive that would eventually form into a "System"—the seed streaked through the chaotic ocean beyond realities, searching for a new, hidden soil in which to grow.
Unknown Eons Later.
The Mortal Cosmos — World of Aethelgard.
Location: The Elven Continent, The Royal Mana Mines.
The World of Aethelgard was a colossal super-planet, rich in mana but insignificant in the grand scheme of the omniverse. It was hidden deep within a stable pocket dimension, unnoticed by the Outer Ones.
Today, the Elven Continent was screaming.
Deep within the crystalline womb of the Royal Mana Mines, the most sacred site of the Elven race, King Aelion stood terrified.
Aelion was a mighty ruler, a warrior who had united his fractured people through blood and steel. He feared nothing. Yet, as he watched the birthing chamber where his human wife lay, his hands shook uncontrollably.
The air was thick—not with life, but with an oppressive, ancient weight. The blue mana crystals that lit the mines were flickering rapidly, turning a sickly grey color.
"Your Majesty!" the head midwife cried, her voice trembling. "The child... the mana is rejecting him! No, it's fearing him!"
A clap of thunder, louder than any dragon's roar, shook the very foundations of the continent. Above ground, the sky turned pitch black at high noon.
In the chamber, with a final, strained cry from the mother, the child entered the world.
There was no baby's cry. There was only silence.
King Aelion rushed forward. Lying in the silk blankets was a baby boy. He was beautiful, inheriting the best features of elf and human. But when the baby opened his eyes, Aelion nearly collapsed.
They were not the eyes of a newborn. They were endless abysses of swirling starlight. They held an ancient, terrifying intelligence that seemed to weigh the worth of the entire world and find it lacking. The baby looked around the room, his gaze landing on the terrified King with an expression of profound boredom.
But that wasn't the most terrifying thing.
Clang.
Out of thin air, something heavy crashed onto the stone floor next to the crib.
It was a sword. A magnificent, terrifying greatsword. It was pitch black—so dark that it seemed to be a hole in reality, absorbing the light around it. The greyed-out mana crystals in the room shattered instantly upon its arrival.
"A companion weapon born from the void..." Aelion whispered, horrified. "This is an omen of a World-Ender."
Suddenly, a strange, mechanical voice echoed in Aelion's mind. It was the secret power that had helped him become King, something he called the 'Guidance Spirit.'
[CRITICAL ALERT: The Seed has bloomed.]
[The Soul of the Transcendent One is exposed.]
[WARNING: The aura is too strong. The Laws of this World are collapsing around him. Outer Entities may detect this anomaly.]
Aelion's blood ran cold. Outer Entities? He didn't know what those were, but the sheer terror in the mechanical voice was enough.
"What must I do?" Aelion thought desperately. "He is my son! I must protect him!"
[SOLUTION: Initiate the Great Seal of Oblivion.]
[Requirement: The Host must grant the True Name to anchor the soul and lock away the memories and power until the vessel is mature.]
[Speak the Name: Valdorian Cygnus Null.]
"Valdorian... Cygnus... Null."
The names felt alien in Aelion's mouth. They were words of power from a language older than this universe. Valdorian, the ancient power. Cygnus, the cosmic expanse. Null, the origin of zero.
Aelion gathered his resolve. He looked into the terrifying, starry eyes of his infant son and spoke with all the authority of a King.
"I name you... Valdorian Cygnus Null."
The moment the last syllable left his lips, the world seemed to freeze.
The baby blinked. The cosmic depth in his eyes began to swirl rapidly, retreating deep into his pupils.
Inside the baby's mind, the remnant consciousness of the Sovereign sighed.
'Ah. The cage is ready,' the ancient consciousness thought, feeling the heavy chains of the seal wrapping around his very being. 'Good. Let the sleep begin. Being a god was exhausting. Perhaps being a mortal will be... amusing.'
The black sword on the floor vibrated once and then went dormant, looking like nothing more than a piece of scrap metal.
The terrifying starlight in the baby's eyes faded completely, replaced by the clear, innocent, confused eyes of a normal newborn.
The baby looked up at the strange silver-haired man looming over him, his little face scrunching up in confusion and discomfort. He opened his mouth and released his first, very mortal, cry.
"WAAAAAAH!"
The seal was complete. The Sovereign slept. The half-breed, Valdorian, was born.