The vast cosmos stretched endlessly, filled with countless stars, each carrying the prayers of mortals. Across the celestial heavens, gods reigned supreme, basking in the adoration of those who sought their blessings. Among them, one stood above all—a deity whose power was unmatched, whose name was spoken only in whispers, for his very existence shook the fabric of creation.
He was the Eternal Sovereign, the God of Time, Fate, and Dominion. None could rival him. None could challenge him. He had seen the birth and death of universes, bent reality to his will, and decided the course of existence itself. The flow of time was his plaything, the fates of trillions mere threads in the grand tapestry of his making. His dominion was absolute, and none questioned his rule.
Yet, despite his omnipotence, a single, unbearable truth gnawed at him.
Boredom.
For eons, he had ruled. For eons, he had watched. For eons, he had existed. And yet, there was nothing left to learn, nothing left to feel. No battle that could challenge him, no mystery that could surprise him. His omniscience was a curse, for it stole away the wonder of the unknown. No foe could stand against him, no ambition could drive him forward. He had reached the pinnacle of existence, and now, all he had left was eternity.
He gazed upon the cosmos, watching civilizations rise and fall, gods wage war only to be replaced by new ones. It was a cycle he had seen countless times before, one that would repeat endlessly. And yet, it held no meaning for him anymore.
Thus, he made a decision—one that no god before him had dared to make.
He would descend.
To experience weakness. To feel struggle. To understand loss. To be human.
The other gods called him mad. They whispered of his folly, of the arrogance of a god who thought he could abandon divinity and still return to it. But he did not listen. Their words meant nothing. He had already chosen his path.
With a single thought, he unraveled himself, casting aside his divinity, sealing his own memories and power. The heavens trembled as his godly form fractured, his essence scattering across the endless void. Stars flickered, the very fabric of time rippling in protest. It was an act of defiance against the natural order, against the laws he himself had set in motion.
And in that moment, in a world of countless stars and countless prayers, a single child was born.
A child who would grow up believing he was ordinary. A child who would one day realize he was anything but.
Yet fate, as always, was cruel.
For when the world burned, when monsters rose and humanity fell, his sealed past would return to him—not in a moment of triumph, but in a moment of rage.
When he lost everything.
When the love he cherished was torn from him. When his home, his family, everything he had built in his mortal life was reduced to ashes.
And in that despair, in that agony, the seals that bound him would shatter.
With his godhood returned, so too would his dominion over time. The first act of his rebirth would not be vengeance, nor conquest.
It would be reversal.
He would turn back time itself, to the moment before the end began. He would grasp the threads of fate with his own hands and reshape them as he saw fit.
And thus, the story of the Chrono Sovereign would begin anew.