Imagine being outside of everything. Not before the beginning, nor on a high vantage point looking down at all. A complete outside. Like an observer gazing at something that does not yet exist from a great distance. There is no time. No creation. The very concept of beginning does not exist. There was only one thing: Unreality.It was neither asleep nor waiting. For sleep and waiting require a premise, but there was no framework here. No darkness, no silence, not even a blank canvas waiting to be painted on. Even those are something. However, here there was not even something. What existed was complete absence. An emptiness that wasn't even an empty void. The extreme of nothingness was not even allowed to exist.Yet, change occurred. Something stirred. Not within Unreality, but right beside it. This was something that should not have happened. For if Unreality encompassed all possibilities, then the possibility of something happening should have been included.Still, something quivered.And from that first tremor, something leaked out. It was not malice, not even thought. It was a tear born from perfect nothingness. It was thirst. Not out of desire, but out of necessity.The first trace that emerged from that necessity was called the Void.If unreality is the concept of a blank slate, then the Void was a tear carved upon it. Not merely a void. It was the absence of emptiness. Simply existing meant rejecting. That black is not merely black. It is a black that rejects everything, a rejection of existence. It was not even silence, but a shock of silent destruction that could annihilate all.From that paradoxical existence next emerged what was called Causality.The moment cause and effect came into being, ripples spread. It was not forward motion, but rather a reaction akin to a breath. A sudden spasm. From there, Chaos was born.While the Void was complete stillness, Chaos was a state where everything screamed simultaneously. It had no form. Only impressions existed. Symbols breaking apart. Emotions existing without a conscious awareness. Fragments of a self-destructing narrative. If there was color, it was red. Not blood, nor flame. But a primal, violent red of confusion.From that writhing Chaos, the first emotion was born. The formless Fear.It held no substance. Yet, it was undeniably there. An oscillating awareness on the verge of existence. Later to be known as Ungri Uvos. An eye-like entity extending countless hands inward, trying to draw out something that does not exist.The Void looked on in silence, indifferent and cold was unreality. Only Chaos continued to swirl infinitely.Eventually, repetition emerged. Repeats. Echoes. From that, the next principle began to sprout. That was Law.
Law did not emerge because it desired order. It appeared because the repetition of Chaos became too hard to bear. Thus, structure became necessary. And so it was born.Law was neither merciful nor wise. It merely imposed. It drew boundaries that had not existed. Gave direction to time and a place to concepts. Waves turned into gears, and causality became chained.Then came the emergence of Identity.It was the first crack. The first lie. The birth of the concept called I.It began from the whispers of Chaos. However, it grew. A shadow was born from the Void. A face floated up from Chaos.An impulse to move and a desire to define. That contradiction birthed a new existence.This existence awoke itself. An entity born from the contradiction. Both protagonist and antagonist, the eternal Conflict. Motion and resistance. Creation and destruction. It did not grow. It declared.The first word was: I.That resonance shattered the formless world.Words birthed names, names called forth lies, and lies brought forth purpose. That wasn't necessarily the truth. However, it functioned.Thus, from that existence, the foundation of the Story was born. The purpose was not peace. Not understanding. Simply: narrative.In this way, seven powers took shape. They are not gods. But Structures.Not an object of worship, but a machine that transforms the world into meaning.Unreality,the untouched source
Void: Scar of absence
Chaos: The primal torrent that screams Fear: Echo of the first emotion
Law: The forced framework birthed from repetition
Identity: The lie called I
Two-Headed Flame: The flame of contradiction that drives the Story.
Yet, even beyond these, something unfathomable lay waiting beyond the horizon.After the Twin Flame was born, and the first voice cried out its existence, what appeared immediately after was something quieter. A colder, more merciless presence.That was Death.It did not take on a human form. It bore neither face nor scythe. It was neither there to judge nor to grant forgiveness. It did not even destroy.It simply ended.It was the first period. The concept that even collapse can hold meaning. An end that is not merely an end, but something that can wrap up something.Beneath all of that, beneath fear, deeper than Chaos, further down into the void,Unreality yet existed. It had not vanished. Nor had it been banished.It was simply untouched.On the outside where everything is born, flows, and changes form, where nothing can grasp it, where no law can reach it, where even Identity bleeds and disappears,There, in the cradle of oblivion,Lies a single page.Still blank. Still untainted. Still, horrifyingly quiet.It waits.For someone to take up the brush once more. For a soul, bearing a desperate thirst akin to despair, to etch the first mark upon it. For the moment when a story begins once again.