I wasn't born.
I wasn't summoned, chosen, reincarnated, or blessed.
I simply was.
Before light. Before time. Before even the first "what if?"—I existed.
They say creation began with a bang. Or a word. Or a breath.
That's false.
It began with a question.
And I was the answer.
---
For eons, I watched stories play out.
Heroes rose. Gods fell. Timelines looped and shattered. Armies clashed, universes rebooted. It was all… beautiful.
But never permanent.
No matter how strong they became, someone always beat them. Some villain. Some rewrite. Some "greater power."
Endless escalation. Endless war.
And so I remained still.
Because if I moved, even once—
Everything else would become a footnote.
---
But then came a child.
Not special. Not chosen.
She built a sandcastle on the edge of a dying planet.
And when it collapsed under its own weight, she cried.
Not because she lost.
But because she had loved it.
---
That moved me.
Not the sadness.
The meaning.
She built knowing it wouldn't last. Loved it anyway.
No god had ever done that.
---
So I knelt beside her.
"I can make it permanent," I said softly.
She wiped her tears. "But it was already perfect."
---
That night, I chose to walk the world.
Not to rule it.
To remember it.
---
The first who saw me called me a mistake.
I didn't fight them.
I watched.
When they struck, their blades rusted.
When they cursed, their words turned to flowers.
When they screamed, the sky stayed silent—because I did.
Then I spoke.
Once.
> "No."
And they were never born.
---
The second who met me was a prophet.
He fell to his knees and begged to worship me.
I said nothing.
He stood up hours later—older, wiser—and said, "You wanted me to choose, didn't you?"
I nodded.
He built a nation. Peaceful. Free.
I never touched it.
Not once.
It became the longest-lasting civilization in all of existence.
---
I could erase gods with a blink.
Resurrect the dead with a breath.
Unmake the concept of suffering.
But I didn't.
Because power is not control.
It is restraint.
---
They called me the Ineffable. The Absolute. The Final Constant.
Stories were written to contain me.
Fictions tried to explain me.
But I was never meant to be understood.
Only felt.
---
One day, a cosmic warrior—one who'd fought for all timelines—stood before me, sword drawn.
"I've defeated chaos itself," he said, eyes burning. "I am the strongest across realities."
I looked at him.
"You are," I replied kindly.
And I let him believe it.
Because I do not need to win.
I am what victory means.
---
Then came the Architects.
Multiversal beings who claimed to code existence.
They tried to write me out.
Patch me. Limit me. Replace me with a system.
And for a while, it worked.
Worlds ran without me.
Stats replaced souls. Quests replaced dreams.
But every script has a flaw.
Every system… needs a root.
And I was already there.
---
So I woke up.
Not to destroy them.
Just to remind them.
I said one sentence:
> "You forgot who imagined you first."
And like a breath on dust, they were gone.
---
I didn't erase the system.
I let it run.
Because some people need rules to find purpose.
But others?
They just need a chance.
---
So I gave them that.
Not powers. Not status.
A moment.
To choose.
---
The girl who built the sandcastle grew old.
She died smiling, surrounded by love.
When her spirit floated into the quiet dark, I caught it in my palm.
"You never asked for anything," I said.
She shrugged.
"You were always there. That was enough."
I placed her in the stars.
Not as a goddess.
But as a story no god could rewrite.
---
Now they say I am unbeatable.
Unknowable.
Untouchable.
But here's the truth—
I am not feared because I am powerful.
I am feared because I never need to use it.
Because in the end, the god of everything...
Chose to be nothing at all.
---
> [End.]
"The most powerful being in existence is the one who never has to prove it."