"Before stars. Before gods. Before time… there was only one thing—Darkness."
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There was no world.
No flame, no sky, no dust.
Only Darkness—a presence without form, without thought. It existed not to destroy, nor to create. It simply was. Eternal. Silent. Watching.
Until something stirred.
From beyond the veil of nonexistence, a spark bloomed. Not of light, not of warmth, but of will.
A being emerged—shimmering silver in form, untouched by chaos or law. A figure who would one day be known as God.
And from her, all things began.
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She created the stars, and the stars sang.
She shaped realms—vast and intricate—each filled with laws, beauty, and conflict. She molded Heaven, then formed Hell to balance it. From flame she shaped dragons; from wind, elves; from chaos, slimes and monsters; from harmony, angels; and from the abyss, demons.
To lead each race, she chose twelve champions, gifting each with a weapon crafted by her own divine hand.
The world bloomed in order.
Civilizations rose. Magic awoke. And from her divine seat in the highest realm, she watched it all—her gaze filled with quiet satisfaction.
She believed it was perfect.
She was wrong.
---
One day, as she sat alone on her throne of light, a blade pierced her back.
It was one of her own—one of the Twelve she had empowered.
She turned, silver eyes full of shock, not fear.
> "Why?"
The betrayer smiled.
> "For your power."
Behind him stood the other eleven leaders—angels, demons, dragons—each bearing their divine weapon, each now corrupted by desire. All save one.
Zian.
She alone stood against them. Her white wings torn by betrayal, her spear lost in the chaos. She screamed the god's name until her voice cracked, but her resistance was overwhelmed.
God fell, bleeding divine light.
Zian collapsed beside her.
---
They offered her a choice: join them and rule the heavens.
She refused.
So they chained her, battered and bleeding, and cast her into the deepest part of Hell. A prison so ancient it had no name. A silence so deep even thoughts could not echo.
There, Zian wept.
Not from pain.
But because she had failed to protect the one who created her.
---
Time passed.
It no longer mattered how much.
In her stillness, something moved—something that did not belong to gods, angels, or mortals.
A figure emerged from the abyss.
Not light. Not flame. Not even shadow.
Only Darkness.
> "Do you want power?" it asked.
Zian looked up, eyes dull, wings broken.
> "Who… are you?"
> "You don't need to know."
> "What… do you want in return?"
> "You'll find out. Someday."
A pact was formed.
With it, the chains shattered. The silence screamed. And Zian, once an angel, became something else.
Something the heavens would learn to fear.
---
She rose from the depths, wrapped in void.
From the corpses of those she slew, she forged an army of shadows.
With her spear reborn and her rage unbound, she tore across the realms—waging war against angels, dragons, and demons alike.
They tried to kill her again.
They failed.
She fell only after facing them all at once, when the last of her strength gave out.
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And in the silence that followed her fall… the Darkness watched.
It said nothing.
Then it, too, slept.
---
Above all things, hidden from every divine eye, stood a White Tree.
Its bark shimmered with faint silver glow.
Its roots pulsed with memory.
And beneath it, something—or someone—slept.
Beside the tree, a white crow perched, unmoving.
Eyes glowing. Wings folded.
Watching.
Waiting.
> "It's not time yet," it whispered. "But he will awaken soon."