As the Goddess of Genesis, Aurelya, painted the vast emptiness with galaxies and set stars into their celestial dance, something subtle began to stir in the depths of reality. It was not in her realm of creation, nor in the still silence of Nytherion's inner void. It emerged from somewhere in between—a crack between realms, a seam in the fabric of the cosmos.
It began quietly, almost imperceptibly, as a ripple in the flow of space-time. But then it grew. Whether summoned by the inevitable law of balance, or pulled into existence by the silent threads of fate, a new force began to coalesce. Energy and matter bled from the Sea of Chaos into this anomaly, forming a nascent realm. Law and memory, the echoes of creation, bled into it as well. From the friction of opposing forces, something new was conceived.
A being.
It gestated slowly, drawing from everything that surrounded it—the chaos below, the order above, the time that flowed like a silent current, and the knowledge embedded in reality itself. This was not an act of will, like the First Being or Aurelya. This was inevitability. A reaction. A primordial answer to unchecked creation.
The God of Destruction.
Unlike his siblings, this being did not rise in the same space. He formed in the liminal fold between Aurelya's radiant plane of creation and the volatile Sea of Chaos. His realm took shape as a jagged storm of collapsing stars, twisted voids, and entropy given breath. It was a realm of endings, not beginnings. The domain of ruin—beautiful in its raw, tragic finality.
Aurelya felt it. A soft shiver in the threads of her woven cosmos. The humming of reality shifted its pitch, harmonizing with a darker, deeper tone. She turned her radiant gaze toward the sea of laws and paused. For a moment, awe flickered across her face. A new god was coming.
Nytherion, in the inner void, felt it too. A new presence. Not born by intent, but by cosmic necessity. And both primordial gods understood without words: another had joined them. One whose essence was not to build, or to observe, but to unmake.
Aurelya watched the forming presence for a while, her golden eyes reflecting the churning horizon. But her purpose called her back. She turned once more to the constellation of her designs. She raised her hand to sculpt another realm, but then—
Weakness.
It washed over her like a tide. Not pain, not decay, but weariness. Her limbs, woven from the light of stars, felt heavy. Her mind, so attuned to the rhythm of birth, now struggled to hold a single thought. She staggered slightly in the void, confused.
"Why?" she whispered to herself. "Why do I feel so… tired?"
Primordial gods were eternal. Their essence was bound to the reality they shaped. She knew this. Yet something in her was fading, like a flame drawn to slumber.
She needed answers.
She thought of Nytherion. Of his stillness, of the strange familiarity she sensed in him. Perhaps he knew. Perhaps he, too, felt it.
Finding him took no effort. Distance did not constrain them. She traveled not through space, but through the living tapestry of her own creation. And at the edge of all things, she stood once again before the vast silence of the Inner Void.
She reached out.
From the shadows, he emerged, soundless as the breath between stars.
"Your Highness Nytherion," she said, her voice gentle, though marked by weariness.
Nytherion inclined his head, his cloak of shadow flowing like smoke. "Your Highness Aurelya. May I know the reason for your presence?"
She did not hesitate. "I have come seeking clarity. I feel… weak. Diminished. I know that we, as primordial beings, are eternal. Yet I feel the need to sleep. To fall into slumber. I do not understand."
Nytherion was silent for a moment, watching her through eclipse-dark eyes.
"I may have an answer," he said, "but first, let me ask you: how much do you truly know of your power—and the cost of its use?"
"This..." she began, her voice trailing off into the void.