PROLOGUE
Beyond the reach of the oldest starlight, where the concepts of "distance" and "time" lose all meaning, an absolute silence reigns. This is the Outer Rim—an infinite expanse that knows neither the laws of physics nor the boundaries of dimension. Here, He exists.
To the Sovereign, the existence of the cosmos beneath Him is like a fragile soap bubble adrift in an endless ocean. He does not see the worlds as land or sea, but as strands of melody and law intricately intertwined. Yet lately, the melody has gone discordant. Notes are missing. Laws are beginning to decay.
"Reality is a script that is beginning to lose its ink," He thought. That thought alone is enough to shake the foundations of thousands of galaxies below, even if He does not intend it.
He gazed downward, toward the lower dimensions, thin as stacked sheets of paper. There, the laws of causality—cause and effect—are cracking. An unnatural chaos is consuming everything from within. If left unchecked, that void will swallow all existence, leaving nothing to remember.
The Sovereign stood.
His first step required no space. He merely decided to exist elsewhere. But to mend what is broken, He cannot remain the "Absolute." He must feel weight. He must know limits.
So He began compressing His boundless existence into a single focal point. The process was agonizing to the logic of the universe. Surrounding dimensions groaned as He forced His essence into a shell that could breathe, that could be wounded, that could touch dust.
The golden light that usually enveloped His soul dimmed, forming a physical figure—a man with eyes that held the depths of the cosmos. The first time His feet touched the rocky ground of a dying world, the Sovereign flinched.
For the first time in eternity, He felt weight. He felt the cold wind. And most shocking of all… He felt His own heartbeat—a tiny clock ticking toward something foreign: Time.
This reality system was already deeply broken. And He was the only law left to repair it.