"This is our last chance," intoned the first voice, deep and resonant, carrying the weight of boundless eras.
"The doom is upon us," a second voice spoke, sharper, laced with boundless frustration.
"We must enact the plan, and fast," a third voice spoke, its tone measured, almost weary.
"We must not despair," another interjected, its voice filled with urgency. "This is our only chance, and no mistakes shall be made. We will birth a new fate and let it take us to the door of ascendance."
"Will this even work?" A shrill voice rose, trembling with a hint of void and despair. "Giving birth to a new fate may give rise to a new chaos and order, after which we will not be able to control it. The only path left for us would be to destroy it."
"Quiet."
The single word fell like a hammer upon anvil, silencing the void itself. The commanding presence pressed on, unyielding, vibrating through the emptiness with absolute authority.
"There is no place for uncertainties among us. If this fate doesn't work, we will make a new one, and another, and another—until we direct the chaos toward the outcome we desire."
"Let us begin the plan. We will discuss as we go on."
"To ascendance!"
"To ascendance!!"
"To ascendance!!!!!!!"
The chorus thundered through the emptiness, voices merging into a single, defiant roar that shook the very fabric of reality. The declaration lingered, echoing endlessly in, a vow etched into the core of existence itself.
........................
In the boundless expanse of darkness, where no light had ever dared to tread and no boundary had ever been drawn, a change began—slow, deliberate, inevitable.
At first, it was barely perceptible: faint wisps of grey-colored mist emerging from nowhere, as though the void itself exhaled after holding its breath for eternities. These wisps drifted lazily, curling upon themselves like smoke from a dying ember, spreading hesitantly into the endless night. They multiplied, thread by thread, filling the dark space with a subtle haze. The movement was languid, almost reluctant, as if the mist feared disturbing the perfect stillness that had reigned supreme since the beginning.
But reluctance gave way to momentum. The mist thickened, swirling faster, gaining speed and purpose. In moments, what had been isolated tendrils became a surging tide, rushing to claim every corner of the infinite expanse. The darkness receded before it, overwhelmed by the encroaching grey until, in no time at all, the void was saturated. Black no longer dominated; grey reigned absolute, a monotonous sea stretching in all directions without horizon or end.
Yet even this was not the culmination. The mist continued to condense, layer upon layer piling atop one another with increasing rapidity. Density built upon density until the grey became heavy, oppressive, almost solid. It pressed inward from all sides, compressing the space it had only just claimed. The expanse felt smaller, suffocated, as though the very concept of emptiness had been erased and replaced by this unrelenting, all-encompassing grey. It was no longer mist—it was substance, a monolithic shroud that made one forget true darkness had ever existed.
Then came silence.
There had never been sound in this place, yet this new silence carried profound weight. It was the silence of absolute nothingness, deeper than any void, a complete and utter stillness that swallowed motion and thought alike. Everything seemed to pause, suspended in the crushing embrace of this perfect silence. Nothing stirred. Nothing dared.
After the silence came the rumbling.
No actual sound pierced the stillness—for there were no ears to hear, no medium to carry waves—yet the sensation was overwhelming, unbearable. A vibration thrummed through the grey, a deep, bone-rattling tremor that felt like the roar of primordial fury. It was the growl of creation straining against invisible chains, the grumble of something immense and ancient awakening from forced slumber. The entire expanse quivered, the dense grey rippling in waves that had no direction, no source, only intensity.
And then came the shattering.
Like brittle glass struck by massive invisible hammers, the monolithic grey cracked. Fractures erupted suddenly, violently, spider-webbing outward in jagged, irregular patterns from multiple points across the expanse. The breaks were sharp, explosive, splitting the compressed grey into countless shards that hung suspended in the moment of destruction. From each fracture, true primal darkness poured back in—thin threads at first, then thick, hungry webs expanding rapidly, reclaiming territory with voracious speed. The darkness wove through the cracks, devouring grey as it spread.
There was not only one such point of origins.
The shattered grey mist, now fractured and yielding, began to flow in reverse. Pulled by an inexorable force, it seeped backward into the web-like cracks, drawn toward those focal points. It swirled, compressed, condensed further—vortexes forming around each center, pulling in every last fragment until the boundless expanse was cleared once more.
What remained were thirty-three massive spheres suspended in the restored void—huge balls of concentrated grey mists, each pulsing faintly with unique undertones. Subtle hints of color flickered within: one edged in crimson fury, another veiled in azure calm, a third shrouded in emerald ambition, and so on—individual essences barely perceptible yet undeniably distinct. They hung motionless, arranged in a vast, perfect circle, Isolated, separate, yet bound.
Within those spheres, new fates stirred—vast, self-contained realms of chaos and order.
........................
Somewhere, at some indefinable moment, a prophecy was woven into the very fabric of existence. It emerged not from mortal tongues or written scrolls, but from reality itself—an ancient lore, a myth made during the creation, whispered through dreams and omens to those who would one day heed its call.
It spoke in riddles veiled by mist, in verses that twisted like smoke through the minds of seers long forgotten:
"The era of chaos will rise,
With the birth of the child of heaven's beneath the veils of stars,
The universe shall tremble and bleed.
Rivers of blood will carve paths across worlds,
Empires will rise upon pyres of the fallen,
And destruction shall walk hand-in-hand with ambition.
From the cradle of innocence to the throne of blood-soaked glory,
War shall devour the ambitions —clans shattered, kingdoms devoured, planets scarred by unending strife.
Galaxies will clash in flames that blot out the void,
Clusters will devour one another in the hunger for dominion.
Yet in this era of unrelenting chaos, from the ashes of countless battles,
A supreme will rise whose will unbroken.
And govern the workings of the heaven's and direct the fate.
He shall break the firmament and Transcend the heavens."
The prophecy lingered like a distant thunder, its meaning obscured in layers of mystery, awaiting the moment when the heaven-born would draw his first breath.