Before the first heartbeat of the universe, there was only the Sunya—the Great Emptiness. In this silent expanse, the Trimurti existed as the sole consciousness. Lord Brahma, the Architect; Lord Vishnu, the Preserver; and Lord Shiva, the Destroyer, stood upon the precipice of Time.
"Brother," Vishnu spoke, his voice vibrating through the nothingness. "Look to the center of the stillness."
There, suspended in the void, was a speck. It was no larger than a grain of sand, yet it radiated a brilliance that rivaled a thousand suns. It had no form, no lineage, and no karma. It simply was.
"It was not woven by my hands," Brahma whispered, his four faces reflecting the blinding light. "I have not yet dreamt of life, yet life pulses here."
Curiosity, a rare emotion for the divine, took hold. Shiva stepped forward, his crescent moon glowing with cold fire. He reached out with a sliver of his destructive essence—the power that ends cycles. The speck did not flicker. It did not break. Instead, it drank the energy greedily. It was a bottomless well, a black hole wrapped in a solar shroud.
Billions of years passed. The Trimurti birthed the stars, the galaxies, and the realms of Devas. Through it all, the tiny thing remained at their side, unchanging. Out of curiosity, the Three began to pour their essence into it. Brahma infused the Vedas—the blueprint of all knowledge; Vishnu gave it the spark of preservation; Shiva gave it the raw, unbridled power of the end.
The speck absorbed it all, becoming "heavy" with divine potential.
"It is too heavy for this world," Vishnu observed. "If it awakens here, the universe will collapse under its weight."
"Then we shall bind it," Shiva declared. "We shall give it a vessel of clay. Let it walk among the mortals. Let its power awaken as slowly as a lotus blooms."
With a combined gesture of divine will, the Trimurti cast the golden speck toward the blue-green jewel of the mortal realm. As it fell, the light dimmed, morphing into a soul destined for a body of flesh.