There was no beginning.
Only silence so complete it weighed like eternity, a void without shape, without time, without memory.
And then… a thought.
Not a word — more like the trembling echo of existence waking from an endless dream.
Who am I?
Nothing answered.
Cold nothingness flowed around him. It should have been terrifying — yet instead, his eyes opened with quiet clarity, as if this emptiness belonged to him.
A body? No.
A presence. Will, condensed into form.
He looked around the void. No stars. No laws. No time. Reality had not yet been written.
His existence felt wrong — like a blade resting quietly in its sheath, forged for slaughter yet unwilling to move without reason.
Why am I here?
No answer again. But something stirred far beyond. A whisper of energy — faint, yet ancient.
An instinct rose within him like a silent oath:
"If I cannot find meaning in this existence… I will carve one myself."
No warmth accompanied the thought. No hope. Only quiet determination — and something colder beneath, a savage truth buried in stillness:
If something tried to stop him, he would erase it. Whether god, universe, or destiny — none would stand above him.
A spark awakened in his core.
A starless sky quivered.
The void trembled as existence acknowledged a new truth —
A being who did not seek power. He would become power.
And creation would follow.