"The heavens opened, and a thousand prayers ascended to find their thrones.
But for one, the sky remained leaden,
and the only answer was the lengthening of their own shadow."
…
They speak of a world spun from chaos—
a realm beating with the pulse of the dead and the living alike,
each ordained by the gift that shaped their existence.
Power was not won.
It was bestowed.
Every soul awoke to a calling.
Every calling carved a purpose—
etched into destiny before the first breath was taken.
Except one.
Born beneath a sky that refused to recognize its existence.
A reject among the chosen.
Mocked by the world for his emptiness,
until he embraced the void—
and the shadows that welcomed him.
But silence listens deeper than sound.
And in that stillness… something finally spoke back.
A voice forged of cold logic.
It offered not salvation—
but function.
He reached for the light, not out of devotion,
but to silence the hunger that knew no shame.
And the world shivered, unaware that this choice
was the first thread pulled from the tapestry of fate.
And thus began the fracture.
Through a system that whispered in a language no living mind could bear,
he etched himself across the spines of countless timelines—
and feasted upon every doubt ever cast upon him.
The world shuddered.
Its laws unraveled like threads from an ancient loom.
And when the sky finally screamed,
it was no echo of the cosmos,
nor lament of the gods—
but the bellow of him.
The one who rose from the hollow of silence.
The one who taught creation itself the terror of being consumed.
The tapestry has torn. The loom is silent. And in the heart of the original dark, a pair of eyes—unblinking and starved—has finally opened.
The feast has begun.