Before time carved its first second from eternity, before the first star dared to burn against the infinite dark, there existed only the Primordial Balance — Matter and Antimatter, locked in perfect, silent equilibrium.
From this cosmic stillness, the Omniverse drew its first breath. Reality unfurled like a flower blooming across infinite dimensions. Matter reached outward, sculpting galaxies from stardust, breathing life into barren worlds. But Antimatter — wild, formless, and eternally opposed to creation — recoiled from the growing light. It retreated to the furthest edges of existence, to the cold womb of the void where silence reigned supreme.
There, in that absolute darkness, something stirred.
Not born, but formed — a living convergence of antimatter given consciousness and terrible purpose.
Galactico.
He was not like the ravenous black holes that devoured light, nor the burning stars that consumed hydrogen in their nuclear hearts. Galactico did not hunger. His nature was far more absolute, more final. When antimatter meets matter, they do not merge or feed — they annihilate. In a blinding instant of perfect destruction, both cease to exist, their combined mass converting to pure energy that tears through the fabric of reality itself.
This was Galactico's truth: not conquest, but erasure. Not dominion, but silence.
To him, existence was a wound in the perfection of the void — a scream that shattered the peace of nothingness. His purpose was singular, inevitable: return all to the silence from which it came.
As eons passed, the universe of Lumerion flourished. In its heart, the crystalline world of Zephyros became the seat of the Galactic Concord — an interdimensional peacekeeping force born from the ashes of the First Galactic War. They established laws that governed time travel, regulated the use of Essentia, and maintained balance across countless worlds.
For millennia, peace reigned.
But in the shadow galaxy of Nekros, hidden beyond the seventh spiral where light feared to travel, Galactico finally awakened.
Though he commanded no armies, his presence drew zealots like moths to a dying flame. They called themselves the Children of Stillness, mistaking his desire for annihilation as a promise of enlightenment. They believed serving him meant power over lesser worlds, never understanding that he sought not to rule but to end.
Wherever the Children marched, Galactico's shadow followed. Planets fell silent. Stars dimmed and died. Entire civilizations simply... stopped.
The Concord responded by forming an elite strike force — The Primordials.
Tiraxis, the Flamekeeper, whose cosmic fire could reignite dead suns.
Vaelra, Warden of Time, who could unravel causality itself.
Drokar, the Stone Titan, forged in the gravitational heart of a collapsed star.
Selune, Whisper of Wind, faster than light itself.
Myrren, Heart of Light, a being of pure radiant Essentia.
Five warriors of unimaginable power confronted the Devourer of Silence.
And were obliterated in seconds.
Their destruction shattered more than bodies — it broke the illusion of safety that had protected the universe. Reality itself trembled. Time fractured. The Concord, humbled and desperate, turned to delay tactics: freezing time, distorting gravity, building cosmic barriers — anything to postpone the inevitable.
Generations passed in this shadow of fear.
Then rose a warrior unlike any before him.
Kaelen Vaelor.
He bore no mana, that weak echo of power found on distant worlds. Instead, Kaelen wielded Essentia — the primal force that predated magic, that flowed from the Source of All Creation itself. Each bearer was marked with a unique rune etched into their very soul, linking them to the cosmic heartbeat of existence.
Kaelen had faced Galactico once before, during the Siege of Varinox — a battle that raged for twenty-eight days and twenty-eight nights while stars wept tears of dying light. He had been defeated then, his broken body hurled into the debris field of a shattered moon. The Concord found him there, barely clinging to life, and nursed him back from the brink of oblivion.
The warrior who emerged was forever changed — harder, more focused, carrying the weight of impossible knowledge.
Now Supreme Commander of the Galactic Concord, Kaelen stood upon the battlements of Elarion as the Children of Stillness laid siege to the fortress world once more.
KRAAAAKOOM! Energy blasts rained from warships, setting the sky ablaze in crimson fire. THOOOM! The planet shuddered with each devastating volley. Rune-powered warriors clashed with zealots beneath a fractured sky while the wails of voidblades echoed like the screams of dying gods.
Kaelen stood at the center of the chaos, Essentia radiating from his form like captured starlight. His armor gleamed with ancient sigils that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat. He knew the terrible truth: wherever the Children of Stillness went, their master would inevitably follow.
Refusing to let history repeat itself, Kaelen raised his hands and spoke words that should never be spoken.
WHOOOOM!
The Chronoseal erupted outward in a thunderous wave, freezing time across the entire battlefield. Warriors hung suspended mid-strike. Energy blasts stopped in the air like deadly sculptures. Even the wind held its breath.
In this stolen moment outside of time, Kaelen ran.
Through corridors of frozen soldiers and past statues of crystallized flame, he reached the secure chamber beneath the fortress. There, in a cradle woven from starlight itself, lay his infant son.
Auron Vaelor.
With trembling hands, Kaelen activated the Runes of Origin — a power that should have died with the Primordials. He embedded them into a pendant shaped like a spiraling infinity symbol, forged from mythril and crystallite, a gift from his master in what felt like another lifetime.
Into the pendant's heart, he etched a single line of hope:
"In the silence, may you find your voice."
He kissed his son's forehead one last time, memorizing the warmth of that small life against his lips.
FWOOOSH!
A portal tore through the fabric of reality itself, its edges crackling with interdimensional energy. Without hesitation, Kaelen placed his son within the swirling vortex.
Auron vanished, carried away by forces beyond space and time.
With time still frozen around him, Kaelen emerged onto the battlefield for the final time. He could feel Galactico's approach — a cold presence that made reality itself recoil in fear.
Drawing upon the deepest wells of his Essentia, upon power that would burn out his very soul, Kaelen attempted the impossible. He would become the spark that ignited annihilation itself.
When Galactico materialized — a figure of absolute darkness that seemed to devour light itself — Kaelen hurled himself forward without hesitation.
Matter met antimatter.
KRRRRRAAAAAAAKOOOOOOOOOOM!
The explosion scorched the stars themselves. Planets in distant systems felt the shockwave. For one impossible moment, the universe held its breath as two fundamental forces canceled each other out in perfect, terrible symmetry.
Then — silence.
But Kaelen's sacrifice, though it shook the foundations of reality, was not enough.
The Children of Stillness had prepared for this moment. In hidden sanctuaries across the void, they had gathered antimatter through rituals that cost them their sanity and their lives. Particle by particle, prayer by prayer, they had stored the essence of their god.
Antimatter cannot grow as life does — it must be born in cosmic collisions, forged through pure energy. Difficult to contain, impossible to tame, but the zealots had found a way through faith and madness.
They rebuilt him.
Galactico returned — reborn from oblivion, silent and complete and eternal.
The universe trembled.
And Auron?
The portal had cast him far across the Omniverse, beyond the reach of cosmic wars and dying stars. He crash-landed in a world so distant from the galactic core that its inhabitants knew nothing of Essentia or the Concord or the silence that stalked between the stars.
Seoul, South Korea. Earth.
There, beneath a cherry blossom tree heavy with spring rain, a young couple found the child amidst wreckage that seemed more divine than alien. They had prayed for years for a child, their hearts breaking with each unanswered plea.
Until now.
To Ji-Hoon and Min-Seo, he was not the son of a cosmic warrior or the last hope of a dying universe.
He was simply a miracle.
And so they raised him as their own, naming him Min-Jun after the spring rain that had brought him to them.
Unaware of the cosmos that watched from afar.
Unaware of the silence that would one day come calling.
Unaware that in their small apartment in Seoul, the fate of all existence slept peacefully in a child's bed, dreaming innocent dreams while wearing a pendant that pulsed with the heartbeat of creation itself.
The war was over.
The real battle had yet to begin.