Before time had a name, before worlds took shape, there was only the Loom and the void. Threads of pure potential stretched across the emptiness, faint as whispers, vibrating with a rhythm no ear could hear.
Then the Loom stirred. A pulse, at first imperceptible, then insistent, spreading through the void like the first heartbeat of existence. It reached for scattered fragments of reality, binding them into fragile, shifting patterns. Reality trembled, forming not yet solid, not yet alive—but moving toward something.
From the Loom's first weave came the Primordial Threads: raw, unstable strands carrying the first hints of power and possibility. They flared and twisted across the void, leaving traces that would later shape abilities, ranks, and forces beyond imagination. Nothing alive touched them yet, but the echoes they left would one day awaken in creatures, humans, and the forces of the world itself.
Anomalies began to appear. Tiny ruptures flickered where threads overextended, bending reality before snapping back. These were the first whispers of nightmares, the earliest seeds of the Void, unstable and eternal, waiting silently for the world to come.
And somewhere in the dark, a shadow mirrored the Loom itself—a faint reflection that pulsed in silence. It had no form, no name, yet it held purpose. It was the precursor to the hidden layers of danger that would haunt the worlds to come.
The Loom hummed, the threads settled, and the void was no longer empty. A fragile world stirred for the first time, ready to receive the first living beings, the first sparks of consciousness, and the first traces of power. The echoes lingered, the anomalies waited, and creation watched silently as the first doorway to life and destiny began to open.