I am still young—only 150 years old. To a mortal, that would be incomprehensible. To an Elder God, it is infancy. I am still a baby in cosmic terms, my divinity only beginning to unfold. One aspect, one spark of the immense potential that simmers inside me. The others… will awaken later, in time measured not in years but in eons.
For now, I am patient.
I sit in my cathedral of impossible geometry, a place folded between dimensions, sipping a cup of tea I created from thought alone. Steam curls in impossible spirals, suspended in the void. Across from me, another cup rests in the hands of Chthon.
It is our first meeting, yet the moment feels inevitable. We were drawn to each other, a gravitational pull of dark magic and chaos. The air between us hums with power—latent, raw, and ancient.
"Most mortals would never understand what this tea tastes like," I say, my voice echoing across the void, yet clear enough to reach him directly.
Chthon tilts his head, eyes glowing faintly with eldritch energy. "Nor would they survive drinking it," he replies. There is a wry amusement in his tone, as if aware of the absurdity of sharing a calm moment amidst cosmic potential.
We are not mortals. We are children of chaos, bearers of power that bends reality itself. And yet… here we sit, drinking tea like scholars in a study, quietly testing the waters of acquaintance.
"You wield a connection to darkness similar to mine," I observe. "Your magic resonates with chaos in a way I recognize."
Chthon's grin stretches unnaturally. "And you… you are not cautious for a 150-year-old infant of a god. I like that."
I smile faintly, swirling the dark liquid in my cup. "Caution is for those who must fear. I have no reason to fear anything… yet."
He nods. The two of us sit in companionable silence for a moment, the kind that only beings who perceive time as a malleable thread can afford. Around us, my dimension pulses with energy—walls alive with the whispers of the dark magic I am refining, the hum of chaos flowing like a river through space.
"You are… intriguing," Chthon admits. "Rarely do I encounter another who approaches magic and chaos with… curiosity instead of domination."
"I am still learning," I say. "But my mind… moves quickly. I see patterns, connections. I am practicing… inventing, rather than studying. Magic does not yet exist as the mortals will know it. We are shaping it from its first spark."
He raises his cup in a silent toast. "Then may our first hundred millennia of acquaintance be… fruitful."
I echo the gesture, feeling an unfamiliar sensation in the process: warmth. Friendship, in the form of an Elder God. Our laughter—or whatever approximation of it echoes across the void—does not reach mortal ears, nor would they comprehend it.
And yet, here in this dimension, among shadows and chaos, two fledgling Elder Gods share tea.
We are companions. Acquaintances. Friends.
For now.
I can already sense the trajectory of our relationship: a bond forged in darkness and chaos, stretching into a future that none of the mortals to come could ever imagine.
And I sip my tea, feeling the calm before the inevitable storm that our powers will unleash on a universe still unborn.