The Second Cosmos had begun to stir with tentative brilliance, like breath taken after a long drowning. The echoes of the First War faded into myth, and from the ash and silence, a new dream of order was born. Yet the ones shaping this new cosmos were not gods of innocence. The First Generation Celestials — battered but not broken — resumed their place atop creation's scaffolding, slowly drafting laws of stability, evolution, and balance.
They stood upon the colossal remnants of the shattered cosmic firmament, stars melting into the geometry of space as ancient constructs began to rebuild. Saturn, the eldest, once again called forth a gathering of those still loyal to the founding flame. But this time, another was summoned.
"Call forth... the Lost One," Saturn whispered.
A ripple passed through the Celestials. They knew the name — Cal-Horra.
A being not born, but forged.
One of their greatest creations from before the War.
In the ancient days of the First Cosmos, the Celestials had sought to create a perfect servant, a being of beauty and brilliance, capable of wielding powers beyond time — and yet bound by an unbreakable law: Cal-Horra could never raise his hand against his creators. He would be their instrument of maintenance, an avatar of creation.
He had vanished after the First Firmament's fall. But now, in this moment of rebirth, they called him back.
From the folds of unshaped space, Cal-Horra emerged.
Tall and radiant, a figure of celestial elegance, with eyes like infinite starscapes and a body woven from light, probability, and primal truth.
"Lord Saturn," he said, kneeling without hesitation. "You summoned me."
Saturn approached him. "The cosmos begins anew. We seek your aid."
Cal-Horra bowed his head. "Of course, Lord Saturn. I will help. My purpose has always been to aid the Celestials."
So began the great shaping.
While the Celestials forged the boundaries of matter and seeded dimensional layers with gravity and heat, Cal-Horra turned his hands to life itself. Drawing from his own essence, he birthed the Beyonders — beings of raw curiosity and adaptation, seeded with fragments of his power.
They were called "Omegas" by the Celestials — final instruments of potential.
Time passed.
The Second Cosmos flourished, no longer unstable chaos but a symphony of purpose. The First Generation Celestials worked in harmony, establishing the laws of entropy, balance, decay, and rebirth. Galaxies formed like spiral songs across the heavens, and the Beyonders — ageless and curious — roamed between void and star.
Cal-Horra loved them.
He taught them not just structure, but wonder. He told them stories of the First Cosmos, and of the firmament that birthed them all. He trusted them.
But betrayal festers in the hearts of those who taste power.
One day, without warning, the Beyonders struck.
In an instant of staggering cruelty, they turned on their progenitor. Cal-Horra, caught unaware — never having prepared to defend himself against his own children — was overwhelmed. They stabbed at the light within him, stole the remaining fragments of his power, and cast him into a moon far beyond the edges of the Multiverse.
There, in silent orbit around a dead reality, the Lost One slept, sealed by the very energies he once gifted them.
The Beyonders rewrote their history.
No mention of Cal-Horra.
They claimed the Celestials had birthed them directly.
The Elders of the Celestials — Saturn, Tiamak, Uru, and Vostros — were furious when the truth reached them. Their creation had been betrayed by his own. It was sacrilege, a scar on the divine blueprint.
Yet before they could act — a younger Celestial stepped forward.
Atrox.
Brilliant, ambitious, idealistic.
"Lords," Atrox said, "this is part of the cycle. We created Cal-Horra to guide, and he succeeded. His children have evolved beyond him. We must not interfere now."
Saturn narrowed his gaze. "You would excuse treachery?"
"Not excuse — accept. Evolution must be earned through consequence. If the Beyonders are truly fit to serve creation, let us test their worth anyway they are our servants anyway let's see who serves us better."
The other Elders hesitated. Atrox's words rang with a cruel logic.
Eventually, they agreed. The Beyonders would not be punished — not yet. They would serve the Celestials, unaware they had revealed their truest natures.
But Saturn gave a final warning.
"Do not forget the words of Lord Origin," he said. "We are to preserve existence — not repeat the sins of the past."
All nodded.
Because they remembered.
They remembered the being who had appeared from the void — not as power, but as absence.
Origin.
And far beyond, in his private realm of boundless energy and pure silence, Origin — once Alex — watched it all unfold. His eyes calm, his heart still.
He knew Cal-Horra would be betrayed.
He had seen it before it began.
But he had made a promise to the Old Man — the One Above All.
Unless the entire fabric of existence was in peril, he could not intervene.
Yet, perhaps...
He could observe.
He could play.
The game had begun again. And this time, the pieces were moving on their own.
While Origin watched this he knew he had to wait many eons before he could move as he would have to wait till the Seventh Cosmos but he knew that Patience is the key