The Supreme King gazed upon the spiraling galaxy of a newborn star cluster. His eyes — vast and luminous as nebulae themselves — held not a flicker of interest. Universes in the billions had bloomed and vanished under his silent vigil — each a momentary flash, glittering in the infinite dark. 🌌
He had forged stars, woven nebulae into artistic tapestries, breathed life into barren planets — and unmade it all with a single thought. His power was limitless — absolute, eternal, yet profoundly meaningless and tiresome. 😔
A deep exhalation — a sigh that could extinguish thousands of stars — escaped his lips.
"If there is no challenge," he spoke, his voice vibrating through all existence, "then power is merely a burden. I desire a life where every breath is an adventure." 🌟
Once the decision was made, it became as immutable as a cosmic law. He would renounce his omnipotence, his omniscience, and his entire authority as the Creator. He would become nothing — and then something new again. A blank canvas, untouched by the weight of infinite knowledge. 🎨
He chose a world where magic thrived — a vibrant realm, full of human struggles and arcane forces. ✨ He then plunged his hand into the depths of his being — extracting every memory, every shard of divinity. He buried it all so deep that even a void could not reach it. 🗑️
And then — he cast himself into the unknown.
The Supreme King, the Creator, was no more.
In his place remained only a "Seed of Power" — drifting towards a new beginning. 🌱