The moment she died, I felt it tear through me.
There was no scream. No flash of warning. Only a violent absence, tearing down the spine of the ether, an emptiness so sharp it made even my form flicker. At My table, the silver ether's chair trembled, flickered once like a candle in fading wind… and vanished. Nothing remained. Not dust. Not light. Only the hollow imprint of what she once was.
The golden ether's chair pulsed with ambition. Night's seat shimmered with shadow. Time glowed with rhythm. But her gentle, constant, calm was gone forever.
"She is dead," I whispered.
The words tasted bitter. I had known creation, destruction, destiny, death but the loss of one of My own… this was different. The ether responded with a shudder of mourning, a pulse of grief that rippled across its surface like a wave striking stone.
I did not walk.
I disappeared.
I arrived at the sight of violence frozen in starlight.
Night held what remained of her scattered silver dust drifting between her fingers like broken moonlight. Time hovered beside them, spirals trembling, unable to comprehend death in a universe that had barely begun.
The silver ether's form was gone entirely no body, no echo, no return. There was nothing to save.
And above them, the golden ether hovered triumphant.
His glow was no longer beautiful. It swarmed around him like wildfire, erratic and ravenous, devouring the space it touched. He looked down at the silver dust with satisfaction.
Night looked up at him with pure horror.
Time looked up at him with pure rage.
He looked up at me with neither.
"You," he said, startled but defiant. "Finally."
He lifted his chin, though pride trembled under the weight of My presence. He knew what I was. He had always known.
"You were too slow," he said, gesturing with a bright, cruel hand. "She is gone. I have transcended. I have touched the universe and bent it. I am more than anything you ever shaped."
I looked at the silver dust still slipping through Night's shaking fingers.
"She was my creation."
"And I surpassed her," he said. "As I will surpass you."
Night reeled backwards at his audacity. Time's spirals sharpened like blades.
"Be silent," I said.
The words did not thunder. They did not roar.
They simply were.
The golden ether's light recoiled violently, shrinking against his will. Even the universe seemed to draw breath and hold it.
"You took a life," I said. "The first true death. And you celebrate it."
"She was weak," he snapped. "And you are afraid. That is why you hide. Why do you watch instead of ruling? You created this universe and then abandoned it. I will not abandon power."
"You think I fear your power?" I stepped closer.
He trembled. "You fear what I could become."
I shook my head slowly. "No. I fear what you already are."
I reached toward him.
He screamed before I even touched him.
His light tore from him in violent strips. The brilliance he wore like armour became a cage, ripping itself apart. His glow shattered into fragments that scattered like dying sparks, dissolving into the dark between worlds.
His form shrank, contorted, screamed not in pain, but in terror. He tried to summon power. None came. He tried to flee. Space rejected him.
He fell.
A mortal slammed onto the hard ground of a barren world, gasping, choking, helpless.
His golden radiance still flickered under his skin trapped, useless, fading.
He scrambled to his knees, reaching toward the sky where he had once floated, as if he could force himself back into godhood.
"What have you done to me?" he cried.
"I have confined you to what you wanted to rule," I answered. "You desired dominion. You desired to shape creation in your image. Now you will learn the limits of life the breathing, hungering, dying thing you sought to break."
He screamed again, but now his voice was thin. Mortal. Small.
I turned from him.
Night still trembled, her shadows wrapped around her as if to protect her from what she had never imagined existed. Time hovered behind her, rhythm unsteady, eyes wide with terror and awe.
Night spoke first, voice fragile. "She… she is truly gone?"
"Yes," I said. "Her light has ended."
A shadow of grief passed over Night's eyes. Time bowed his head.
"I did not know such a thing could happen," Time whispered.
"You did not know because it was not meant to happen," I said. "The universe is too young for death beyond design." I looked toward the silver dust drifting between Night's fingers. "But now your cosmos knows loss. Knows violence. Knows consequence."
Night swallowed, her voice cracking. "What does that make us?"
"Guardians," I said. "Still. But now ones who understand the stakes."
Time slowly lifted his head. "Then… what are you? If not of this universe?"
"I am the First," I replied. "The one who shaped the ether, and from it the beings who would shape the universe."
Night stared at me. "We… were not first?"
"No," I said. "But you were never lesser."
She looked down at the silver dust again. "And him? What becomes of him?"
"He walks," I said. "For the rest of the universe's life, he will walk. He will breathe. He will hunger. He will suffer. He will die. And he will rise again, bound forever to the cycle he tried to escape. A prisoner of the laws he tried to subvert."
Night and Time shuddered.
I opened my hand.
Two seeds of power emerged one dark as velvet shadow, one bright as coiling time.
"These are the beginnings of your own realms," I said. "Places outside the universe, but connected to it. Sanctuaries. Anchors. Homes."
Night reached for hers. The darkness curled lovingly around her palm.
Time reached for him. The pulse aligned to his own heartbeat.
"You will build what the universe needs," I said. "What you need."
"And you?" Time asked. "Will you remain… apart?"
"I remain where I began," I said softly. "At the edge. Watching. Guiding only when creation itself cries out."
Night bowed her head. Time followed.
I stepped back.
The silver dust drifted away into the universe she loved.
And somewhere below, a fallen god learned to feel cold.