Chapter Two: The Void That Chose Me
The first thing Elioth realized when he opened his eyes was that he had eyelashes for days. Like, these lashes could cause minor tornadoes with a blink. And his skin? Celestial. Glowing like someone poured moonlight and drama into one divine vessel.
The second thing he realized? He was floating.
Like, actually levitating a few inches off the ground without a fan, wires, or Marvel green screen magic.
"Okay, universe," he murmured, looking down at his bare feet—delicate, elegant, no crusty heels in sight. "You've finally made me the baddest bitch in creation."
His voice was softer than before, musical in a way that echoed slightly in the air. It was the kind of voice that could convince stars to realign and gods to tremble. And his body? Let's just say if chaos had a form, it came with a tiny waist, a perfectly cinched silk robe that fluttered without wind, and hair that looked like liquid void-starlight.
Elioth was no longer human.
He wasn't even sure he had ever been fully human. Something had changed. Or maybe awakened. But one thing was clear:
He was divine.
"Work," he whispered, admiring his reflection in a pool of floating water droplets.
"Absolute. Work."
A soft breeze whispered his name—not vocally, more like the wind was gossiping about him. The trees bent slightly in his direction. The clouds hovered overhead, shaped vaguely like hearts. The earth itself knew: something chaotic, sparkly, and fabulous had entered the chat.
And then…
The Void opened.
Not with a bang. Not with a crack. But with a fabulous swoosh, like silk tearing through time.
From the swirling nothing emerged a figure—formless, faceless, a glitch in reality made sentient. It gave drama. It gave mystery. It gave final boss energy.
Elioth raised a brow. "Oh, what are you? My fairy godmother but like... dark mode?"
The thing shimmered, then spoke—not with words, but vibes. Straight into his skull. Like cosmic ASMR:
You are born of entropy and will. A god not of destruction… but of possibility. The world has grown too neat. Too clean. You are our spark.
"Oh, so I'm the chaos gay," Elioth said, putting a manicured finger to his chin. "Like a walking plot twist. Love that for me."
The entity pulsed in approval.
You are not a servant. Not a warrior. A weaver. Shape what is broken. Twist what is rigid. Bend reality until it forgets its name.
Elioth crossed his arms. "You want me to go full Wanda, huh? I mean… not gonna lie, I've practiced my chaos magic twirls in the mirror, so I'm prepared."
From the heart of the Void, a cube of dense, shimmering anti-light floated toward him. Elioth took it dramatically, as any good gay deity would. It dissolved in his palm, and a glowing sigil appeared across his chest, just above his heart—an ever-shifting symbol of chaos and infinity.
And just like that, the Void vanished, leaving behind silence… and potential.
Elioth sighed. "No dramatic exit music? Rude."
Later—because apparently gods needed to process—Elioth laid in a flower-drenched field, a single glowing butterfly resting on his fingertip.
His mind raced.
"Okay," he said aloud. "No Archons. No mortals posting thirst traps. No system menus. Just vibes and weird magic."
He twirled his finger and turned the butterfly into a tiny disco ball. It spun for three seconds before exploding into stardust.
"Okay, slay, but also ow." He clutched his head. "That took energy? Ugh. So chaotic power comes at a cost. Fine, fine. We're not overpowered. We're balanced... for now."
Suddenly, a crash echoed nearby. Then a scream. Then something that sounded suspiciously like a Hilichurl trying to beatbox.
Elioth floated toward the noise out of pure curiosity. Not concern. Definitely not compassion.
He emerged from the trees to find a strange scene: a human-like figure covered in fur and feathers holding a massive club, chasing a second creature through the woods.
"Wait…" Elioth squinted. "Are those Hilichurls? Like, early-model beta Hilichurls?"
The chaser stopped mid-swing and looked at him. It made a confused grunt, clearly startled by Elioth's glowing, ethereal fabulousness.
Elioth waved.
"Hey, babes. You're giving prehistoric fashion, but I respect the commitment."
The Hilichurl snarled and charged.
Elioth sighed. "Why do they always try violence first?"
He clapped his hands.
A burst of pure chaos energy erupted around him. The world folded slightly, like a glitchy game. The Hilichurl froze in mid-air, caught in a stasis bubble made of flickering light and distorted sound.
Elioth floated closer.
"Listen, sweetie, I don't do melee. I just got this robe dry-cleaned in the void."
He flicked his finger. The Hilichurl was yeeted gently—gently!—back into the trees with a squeaky pop.
The other Hilichurl, who had been running, looked at Elioth in awe.
Elioth cocked a brow. "You good?"
The creature dropped its club and fell to its knees. Not in fear. In reverence.
"Oh no," Elioth muttered. "Don't you dare worship me. I don't have a fanbase yet. I don't even have a throne."
The Hilichurl said something in an ancient tongue. But Elioth heard it clearly, as if spoken in glitter and intuition:
"Born of stars. Voice of undoing. Maker of mirrors."
"Okay," Elioth said slowly. "That was kinda poetic. Still not accepting prayers, though. Maybe later."
Night came, and Elioth sat atop a floating stone platform he conjured just for the aesthetic. Stars above, glowing mushrooms below. He watched as the world breathed—chaotic, wild, unformed.
"This place is a mess," he whispered. "But she's my mess now."
A soft echo replied—not from the Void, but from the land itself. Teyvat recognized its newest god. Not born of war or purpose… but of will. Of longing. Of fabulousness given form.
Elioth lay back, hands folded behind his head, robe glowing gently in the starlight.
Tomorrow, he'd explore. He'd bend things. Shake things. Maybe conjure a palace made of obsidian and mirrors. Maybe visit a volcano and convince it to chill.
But tonight?
He'd just exist. A tiny-waisted god of chaos lounging on a floating slab like he was doing a photoshoot for "Divinity Weekly."
The world had no idea what was coming.
And he couldn't wait to ruin it just right.