Transition: The Silent Witness
Light — if it could be called that — flickered through Shojiro's hollowed mind.
He could not tell if he was floating or falling, only that every breath felt like it echoed through a billion empty years.
The visions that had consumed him began to slow.
The chaos, the gods, the curse — all fading into drifting embers.
He hung there in the amniotic gold of the Cradle, his new body still forming within the translucent sap of Yggdrasil's root. Veins of radiant energy crawled beneath his skin, pulsing with echoes of creation's memories.
Fragments of what he had just seen shimmered like reflections on water:
Kaiser collapsing beside Savitar.
Aegriya sealing her glyphs through her own tears.
Arae, dragged screaming into the void.
The silence that followed was not peace.
It was the stillness before the next birth.
Then — her voice.
A whisper, soft as starlight, yet layered with infinite tones of comprehension.
Artemis.
"You have seen the fall, child of the Cradle."
"Now, you must see what rose from it."
Her tone carried neither pride nor pity — only the calm certainty of one who had watched reality itself rebuild.
"The void we once tore asunder became our only canvas. The madness that drowned us became our ink. What you will see now… is how gods try to repent."
The amber glow of the Cradle brightened.
The golden sap began to ripple like water disturbed by an unseen tide.
"Do not look away, Shojiro," her voice said — not in his ears, but within every atom of his soul.
"For this is the moment where despair turned to genesis — where ruin gave birth to the universe you now call home."
The visions flared again. The light bled outward, becoming a tapestry of shifting golds and blacks. Shojiro felt his consciousness expand, pulled into another era — the one that followed the sealing.
The Cradle dissolved into the void once more.
He became the witness of Creation itself.
The Creation of the Universe
There was nothing again.
No sound.
No shape.
Only the faint rhythm of Yggdrasil's pulse — the heart of a world that did not yet exist.
The Primordials stood within the emptiness they had inherited.
They were drained, their bodies cracked and leaking essence, their divine minds flickering with exhaustion. Yet where silence reigned, purpose followed.
Artemis was the first to move.
Her hand traced symbols across the void — thoughts made visible, threads of logic weaving through oblivion.
"Let there be understanding before being," she whispered.
And from her words, the first Law was born: Cognition.
Concepts began to take shape — above, below, before, after — the scaffolding upon which all else could exist.
Then Kaiser raised his hand. His muscles groaned, bones like planets grinding beneath skin of creation itself.
He clenched his fist once, and the void shuddered.
"Let there be resistance."
From that motion, the second Law was born: Mass.
The void grew dense, acquiring weight, form, and the burden of being.
Savitar followed, still limping from his shattered body, his outline trembling like a mirage.
He took one breath, then another, and the breaths became rhythm.
"Let what exists move."
And from that command, the third Law arose: Momentum.
Time unfolded like a ribbon, and the still cosmos began to drift.
Hephaestus pressed his scorched palms together, sparks of divine invention bleeding from between his fingers.
"Let creation bear purpose."
His forge was not of fire, but of design — radiant blueprints spanning across reality.
From them came the fourth Law: Structure.
Matter folded into patterns. Atoms began to hum the first symphony of substance.
Poseidara stepped forward next, her form flowing like mercury, eyes glimmering with endless tides.
"Let there be continuity."
She spread her hands, and rivers of shimmering essence cascaded across the void, shaping currents, cycles, and equilibrium.
Thus emerged the fifth Law: Flow.
Thanamira's voice was not heard but felt. It was sorrow woven into compassion.
"Let life dream."
From her tears came sparks of spectral flame — drifting lights that would one day become souls.
This birthed the sixth Law: Spirit.
Aegriya then knelt beside her, pressing her palms together, forming sigils of radiant blue geometry.
"Let what lives be protected."
The sigils spread across the forming cosmos, creating veils, atmospheres, and boundaries between realms.
The seventh Law was born: Order.
Voltraeus stood apart, his aura trembling like an unstable star.
He drove his fist into the air and ignited the darkness with a blinding surge.
"Let there be rage."
But from that fury came radiance — lightning that refused to fade, illuminating everything.
The eighth Law was born: Light.
Nocturne emerged from that same light, his form sculpted from its inverse.
"Then let there be silence to meet it."
His voice extinguished the excess brilliance, balancing illumination with shadow.
And so came the ninth Law: Obscurity.
Finally, Moara, the last to act, gazed upon what they had made — her face hidden beneath layers of woven hexes, her heart unreadable.
She pricked her finger, letting a droplet of black ichor fall into the center of creation.
"Let all that is born, one day end."
Her curse became mercy, her mercy became inevitability.
From her act, the tenth Law emerged: Death.
Ten voices.
Ten Laws.
And from those ten Laws, existence bloomed.
Yggdrasil trembled, its roots digging deep into the conceptual soil of the new universe.
Its branches stretched across eternity, connecting every Law, weaving them into a living tapestry.
Stars ignited — not as flames, but as thoughts made luminous.
Worlds began to hum, and the first waves of life pulsed in unseen oceans of time.
The Primordials stood back and watched as their masterpiece awakened.
No longer a void.
No longer nothing.
It was the Universe.
Artemis finally spoke, her voice faint but resolute.
"It is imperfect. But it will learn. As we did."
Moara looked away, her many veiled eyes shimmering with unspoken dread.
"And if it forgets… then Yggdrasil will remind it."
The light of creation dimmed into the distance.
Shojiro's soul, still watching through the Cradle, felt awe and melancholy intertwine — the weight of eternity pressing into the corners of his reborn heart.