Imagine a place where everything exists outside, such a space.
It was not a state of being before the beginning, nor a vantage point looking down at everything from above. Instead, it was merely an existence that gazed from afar at something that had not yet been born. There, the concept of time held no meaning, and the very word creation was meaningless. There was no beginning. Only one thing existed: Unreality.
Unreality was neither asleep nor waiting for something. Sleep and expectation hold no meaning without the context that gives them significance. Even darkness, silence, or a blank canvas imply some state, but here, even that something did not exist. What persisted was a state where everything did not exist—not even emptiness—but a complete absence of anything.
But change occurred. Alongside the Unreality, something began to stir ever so slightly.
This phenomenon was unexpected. If the Unreality truly encompassed all possibilities, then change should have been part of it as well. Yet, even so, a tremor coursed through, giving rise to a trace. Manifesting not from will or malice, but simply appearing through inevitability, this presence was like a drop that fell from nothingness.
This was the first trace that would come to be known as the Void.
If Unreality is a blank slate, the Void is the first scar etched upon it. It isn't merely a blank space; it is a black that rejects everything. Not only does it carry silence, but it also shatters silence itself—the very denial of existence.
However, from within that denial, something new was born. It was the prototype of causality.
At the moment when cause and effect connected, it expanded into a pulse, and from that wave emerged Chaos. If the Void signified complete silence, Chaos was its direct opposite. It was an onrush of formless impulse, symbols stripped of meaning, emotions without intent—all crashing in at once.
If one were to give color to that Chaos, it would be the primal red. Not the red of blood or the red of fire. It was an incomprehensible red, lost long ago. A violent, savage, and endlessly chaotic red.
And from that Chaos, the first emotion was born. That was Fear.
Though it lacked substance, there was a faint presence that could be distinctly felt. Later called Ungri Uvos, it resembled a gigantic eye with countless limbs, reaching inward, as though seeking something that still did not exist.
Meanwhile, the Void remained unmoving, and Unreality continued to maintain its chilly silence, simply watching over these changes.
Eventually, repetition emerged within the Chaos. Similar events recurred, ultimately morphing into a principle known as Law.
Not due to a desire for order, but because too many repetitions had occurred, a structure became inevitable. Boundaries were born, time emerged, and concepts were organized. From that moment, the previously free flow of causality was first subjected to limitations.
And then, what appeared next was the ego—Identity.
It was the first crack to arise within the expanding existence—namely, the birth of the false concept of I. Born from the whispers of Chaos, it rose from the shadows of the Void, and in the swirling Chaos, it manifested as a single face. It was a crystal of contradiction born from two opposing instincts: the impulse to move and the desire to define oneself.
From that contradiction, a new form of existence emerged. It was both a creator and a destroyer—the Twin Flame of Conflict.
And the first word that this existence uttered was We.
That single word fissured the formless world. Names were born, lies took root, and the seeds of purpose were sown. Though they were not absolute truths, they became more than enough to serve as the foundation for a story.
Thus, seven fundamental forces began to take shape. They were not gods, but the very principles that provided structure to a reality devoid of meaning:
Unreality: The untouched source
The Void: The scar of absence
Chaos: The primal torrent
Law: The framework born from repetition
Identity: The concept that calls itself I
Twin Flame: The embodiment of the contradiction that drives the story
And beyond that, further existence awaited. When the Twin Flame was born, and the first voice proclaimed that existence, an even colder and more merciless force emerged—Death.
Death did not possess a human form. It had no face, no scythe, no judgment. It was not a destroyer, yet it was undoubtedly the bringer of end. Quietly, it marked the conclusion of one chapter while simultaneously leaving the possibility for any end to be closed as a meaningful conclusion.
Deep within all those layers, beneath the tremors of Fear and the uproar of Chaos. At the bottom of the deep Void, Unreality continued to exist, undisturbed.
As creation flowed and forms constantly shifted outside of it , in a place beyond the reach of Law, where the ego faded in the fabric of time and space, there existed a singular origin.
That was a pristine white canvas, untouched by anything.
Quiet, pure, and terrifyingly devoid of anything, this page awaited just one soul.
An entity poised to engrave the first mark, heralding the moment when the story would begin anew.