I was born in a time when the world leaned toward darkness more than it could bear. It wasn't an extraordinary event in the history of realms, yet my birth did not pass like any other. I was the son of the leader of a major clan, yet I was not an ordinary child from the very first moment. The difference was not apparent in my features or behavior, but in the early sense that I belonged to this world as much as I was separate from it.
As the years passed, the curse began to reveal itself. It was not merely a power that rose, nor knowledge that accumulated, but a consciousness ahead of its time. I understood more than I should, and saw what others could not. This did not grant me status, but isolation. Fear does not need a clear reason; it is enough for people to feel that you are not like them.
The clan I was born into did not know how to deal with me. Some avoided me, some watched me warily, and others saw in me a latent threat. Even my family was no exception. Over time, it became clear that my existence disrupted the order they were used to.
Discovering my father's betrayal was not an emotional shock as much as it was confirmation of something I had suspected for a long time. He did not hide the truth of the curse from me out of protection, but out of fear. I was a projected threat, not a son.
That realization did not ignite immediate anger within me, but left a cold void, a void that was soon filled with a single conviction: this world leaves no place for those who cannot be controlled.
The destruction of my clan was not an impulsive act, but a decision I made when I lost any true sense of belonging. I was not seeking justice, nor salvation. I was erasing a small system that represented, in my eyes at that time, a miniature image of a larger one. After that, moving between realms became easier than remaining in a single world. The devastation was a consequence, not a goal.
But what I did not see then was that I was moving under one sole motivation: rejection. Rejection of everything that existed, without a true understanding of why it existed.
My confrontation with the higher entities was inevitable. They were neither guardians of good as portrayed, nor absolute tyrants. They were administrators of a vast, complex system, functioning because no clear alternative existed. The battle between us was not a moral struggle, but a clash between one who rejects the system entirely and one who fears its collapse.
Defeat was not a moment of fall, but a beginning of understanding.
When half of my power was taken and divided across thirty worlds, I did not feel merely punished; I was repositioned outside the center of the stage. From this place, I began to see what I had not seen before. The cosmic system was not entirely corrupt, but it was incomplete. It persisted through force and habit, not through renewal.
The power taken from me was not distributed randomly. Each portion settled in a different world, changing through its influence. The heroes entrusted with guarding it were neither evil nor carefully chosen morally, but individuals placed in a role beyond them. Some believed in their role, some doubted, and some persisted simply because retreat was not an option.
Here my goal shifted.
Regaining my power was no longer an attempt to return to what I once was, for that path had ended. What I now seek is understanding what my existence has become after this fragmentation. Each part I reclaim grants not only strength, but a broader vision. A vision of what happens when roles are imposed on worlds and individuals in the name of balance.
I will not reclaim my power all at once, nor will I attack every world I encounter. Choice has become necessary. When to confront, when to bypass, when to leave the world as it is. The conflict is no longer between me and the heroes, but between two ideas of stability: one that sees permanence as a virtue, and another that sees in it the beginning of decay.
The higher entities watch, but they do not intervene.
Perhaps because they are unsure what would happen if my restoration completes, or because, like others, they are trapped in a system they fear to change without a clear alternative.
I am not a savior, nor a direct threat, nor an inevitable end.
I am the result of an unaddressed flaw, and a question left unanswered.
Every world I visit, every part I reclaim, does not bring me closer to war, but to a point where the continuation of this system as it is becomes impossible.
This is not the beginning of collapse.
Nor a promise of a better world.
It is the beginning of a slow test…
For the system, for its makers, and for me as well.