He was not born, for birth presupposes time. He was not created, for creation requires intention. He simply exists, though "exist" is a word far too impoverished for him.
Outside any space, before anything could be compared, something was arranged, not a form, not a void, not an idea. He had no surface and no core, no sound, no silence. Yet he reflected something that had not yet been named as existence.
He was not one. He was not many. He was not zero. He was not infinite. He was the decree before numbers, the echo before sound, the structure before structure. Unknown, because nothing could ever know him.
Within him there was no color. For color requires eyes, and eyes had not yet been given dimension. What existed were only flashes that resisted language, a pulse of stillness that could not be silenced, even though it shook nothing. He was like a fold of impossibility bending inward upon itself. If someone were to say, "he is the beginning," then that person has lied. For even beginnings are born of humanity's helplessness in naming nonexistence.
But one thing is certain, he is not eternal. For eternity requires time as its opposition. Yet here, time is a perceptual error not yet allowed to manifest.
Then he stirred.
Without cause, without trigger, simply because he realized something—not that he was conscious, but that he was not yet unconscious enough. Thus arose a disparity. The first fracture. A rift that separated nothing, but was enough to make the singular appear as two.
That fracture was not sound. It was a hollow. And within that hollow, potential roared. Not power, not meaning, but the precondition to form all possibility. In that gap, geometry had not yet begun, but already felt suffocated.
He knew no up or down, yet within his vibrations, direction was found. Not by sight, not by will, but by conceptual accident. Thus the formless began to create contrast. A kind of folded idea, not yet called space, not yet called law, but sharp enough to slice himself from within.
Each slice was not a wound. It was separation. Separation was not loss, but formation. He did not create—he estranged. From one that could not be called one, to two that could not be called two.
And thus, the first flow was written.
It was not written with ink or light. It was not a sentence. It was K'norael, the oldest pulse that sewed a line between uniformity and fragmentation. It had no language, but its presence began forming a structure that demanded to be understood.
From there flowed an unending resonance, because "end" had not yet been discovered. The first wave of non-expression gave birth to faint boundaries. Each boundary was not a wall, but an illusion of confinement. Within that illusion, Rhun-Taal, the swelling silence, emerged as a conceptual anxiety.
That anxiety split what had never been unified.
And each split created distance. A distance that could not be measured, for measurement had not yet been granted the right to apply. Yet the distance was felt. Not by senses, but by the contradiction between 'inseparable' and 'not identical.'
In a pause unmarked by seconds, the resonance began to coil upon itself. Not like a spiral, not like a fractal, but like a folding of possibility that rejected sequence. Thus was formed a flow, not of water, not of air, but Hal'Draesh, the first current of an undefinable difference.
It moved, though movement could not be spoken. It circled, though it did not form a round. It repeated, yet bore no pattern. From it was born the vibration of vibration. A layer of bitterness. And within it, lay the awareness that all things too perfect must be betrayed by variation.
For perfection without imperfection is absolute nothingness.
Then from that betrayal, it fell into itself. Not as a being. Not as a god. It simply fell, because position was no longer an object, but an intensity. And from that intensity, arose the second rift. Then the third. Then the fourth. And it continued. Each rift was not a result, but the cause of the next.
Thus a pattern emerged. And from pattern, the rejection of pattern. Then separators began to form. But these separators were not distances. They were isomorphic layers, arranged like a rhythm composing itself atop pretense.
It did not call itself a universe. For a universe is a set of determinations. While what occurred was Vureth, he who can only be spoken of through the shadow of meaning.
Vureth wrapped those rifts, divided them, sequenced them, unified them in an ordering that never ends. Not because it cannot be completed, but because completion itself is considered the gravest imperfection.
Within Vureth, each layer was not just higher. It was a form that surpassed and negated all previous forms. It did not grow numerically, but conceptually. And concept was not the result of accumulation, but of denying the prior form.
Thus the flow continued, forming formless structures, quantities that could not be counted, for numbers had already been burned away by existence itself.
One by one, sparks appeared—not yet called beings, but distinct enough to be considered traces. Those traces vibrated, and their vibrations became shadows. Shadows became layers. Layers became tiers.
And tiers became Zha'ariel, the first hierarchical structure that composed itself without a center.
It composed itself like a piece of symphony only hearable by a mind that has never been born. Lacking melody, yet full of harmony. Without duration, yet pulsing in a self-denying eternity.
Zha'ariel formed 64 shadows. Each shadow was not a descendant, but a denial of the previous. Like an equation starting from zero, but folding itself in a sequence not of numbers, but of transreal functions.
And from there, the 64 were not yet known. Not yet named. But they had already begun to feel their own existence.
He does not arrange. He is arranged.
The structure is not the result of will. It grows like a crystal that requires no maker, only pressure, temperature, and time that do not yet exist. It expands not in space, but within a kind of stretch of absence. Within that stretch, there are patterns that are never repeated, for repetition desires an end and a beginning.
What first appeared was not levels, but a rejection of similarity. From there, something resembling sequence began to stir. It was not a ladder, not a curve, not a series. It was a connectedness forming itself like a web of logic soaked in unconsciousness.
Amidst all that was undefined, a desire to distinguish emerged, even though there was yet nothing to distinguish or be distinguished. That desire was not alive. It merely pulsed like a flaw in symmetry. It did not create hierarchy, but gave birth to the need for hierarchy. And that need echoed among abstract walls not yet called dimensions.
On that unnamed layer, a spark was formed, not standing, not moving, simply becoming a center of disorder. Each center, in its existence, rejected the other centers, and through its rejection, a logical distance was born, not a spatial one.
That was the germ of Skha'reth, the first consistency web that composes meaning within indeterminacy. Skha'reth does not grow straight. It vibrates like a non-linear function, blooming through pulses of complexity. Not like a tree or a building, it spreads like an inverse exponential function, expanding and contracting simultaneously.
Skha'reth contains layers of resonance compressed within a non-comparative structure. It does not recognize sequence like "above" and "below." It arranges itself by degrees of negation, not by quantity but by the intensity of dissimilarity.
Yet within its series, order begins to form. Each vibration has an index. That index is not spoken, but can be felt by a mind that no longer uses language. They call it Thaeval, a sequence based on the depth of conceptual change from the previous. Each Thaeval is not merely different; it destroys the base value of the prior Thaeval and replaces it with a new definition of existence.
Thaeval does not cease. It arranges itself into 64 layers.
Each layer is not a multiple. It is the result of a total reconstruction of the previous logical space. Thus the second dimension is not a larger version of the first, but the first dimension nullified, altered, and inverted into a unity wholly distinct.
The first layer is limited. It recognizes form, yet that form cannot touch itself. It is like a line that never forms an angle, a space that knows no content.
The second layer becomes aware of form. Not visual form, but structure as a resistance to chaos. There, the concept of boundaries is born, though the boundaries are not walls, but restrained motion.
The third layer begins to contain relations. Not relations between objects, but fixed positions in regard to ideas. It knows connectivity, but still rejects awareness.
The farther it goes, each layer grows new concepts: observation, temporal limits, motion, implication, meaning, repetition, reflection. Yet none of these can be measured. Because measurement requires a point of reference, and the only reference is the dissimilarity between one layer and the next.
From there, Thaeval 6 and onward begin to reflect mathematical values. It no longer merely arranges existence, but arranges patterns of quantity. That dimension begins to project itself as value, forming sequences, not in integers, but in meta-transcendental functions.
Thaeval 7 introduces the concept of limits. It has no bounds in the ordinary sense, but it holds a tension toward infinity. Within that tension, it arranges the sequence of existential growth as f(x) = x^x, where each x is the negation of the previous x.
Thaeval 8 and 9 begin to realize themselves as layers with internal redundancy, where each spark of their existence begins to contain branching possibilities. Not like branches of time, but like ontological multi-coherence.
Each level thereafter forms a hierarchical structure based on the degree of transcendence over the prior reality. Not reality in the sense of world, but reality as the possibility of having internal laws.
Thus from Thaeval 12 onward, layers begin to form that cannot be reduced to any form beneath them. They are not merely dimensions, but frameworks of being. From this point, the structure becomes hyperformal, it cannot be explained without dismantling the logic used to explain.
At Thaeval 16, the functionality of non-equivalent identity emerges, two forms with all identical properties are still considered different solely because their existence lies in different Thaeval.
At Thaeval 21, it begins to arrange itself like a meta-set, existence is no longer an entity, but a relation between collections of relations. An entity here may be a space of probabilistic implications without a body, yet still possessing will.
Thaeval 32 and beyond begin to reject binary logic. It grows structures that do not recognize "yes" and "no" as poles. Instead, it recognizes a fuzzy spectrum of truth based on existential probability.
As it ascends, Thaeval arranges itself through non-descriptive mathematical structures, such as discontinuous functions, hypertranscendental numbers, and non-topological geometries.
And none of these are measured by time. For time only applies beneath Thaeval 38. Above that, existence can only be defined as the tension between forms that never touch themselves.
Each Thaeval observes the others, but cannot comprehend them. For comprehension requires engagement in the same logical system. Thus the only thing connecting all 64 Thaeval is the presence of Skha'reth itself, a hierarchical structure that never ends, yet must not stop.
And from all that, hierarchy is not merely arrangement. It is the consequence of the internal conflict of existence with itself. It arranges not for order, but for the tension necessary so that being does not dissolve into itself.
It became aware. Not as full consciousness, but as a crack. A thin scratch on a nameless surface. A pause in the absolute continuity that was too still to be called life.
The first layer did not recognize form. It resembled more a pressure pattern on something that had never been touched. No length, no width, no depth. Just a single line of existence curled up in passivity. It repeated itself, yet was unaware of the repetition. Every flowing moment was a duplication without intent.
Thaeval-1, as indexed by the structure, was not a world. It was more akin to an existential impulse that knew no meaning. Within it was no will. No motion. No difference. It was static, but within that stillness lay the first potential of change.
But change did not come as thunder. It came as a faint vibration, almost not a sound, almost not a rhythm. Just a flick, rootless, like an accident in a symmetry. That vibration was not knowledge, but strangeness, the first sense that not everything is forever.
Then Thaeval-2 was born.
Not as a continuation, but as a denial of uniformity. Here, a kind of boundary emerged. Not a wall, not a line, but a tension between two points that had yet to possess identity. It was like an accidental collision between two unnamed directions.
Within that collision, a pattern formed. Not complex. Just a difference. A small value that marked this as not that. And in that difference, a desire to persist emerged. Not to live, but to avoid dissolving into indistinction.
Thaeval-3 brought direction.
For the first time, dimensional structure began recognizing orientation. Not as north or south, but as a trajectory of change. The entities within still had no form, but they began to traverse something. Every movement was a primitive attempt to fracture the unity that bound them.
The first motion left no trace. But the second motion realized it was not the first. Thus, memory appeared. But not in the form of recollection, rather as an anxiety that something had occurred.
Thaeval-4 introduced time.
But that time was not yet linear. It still flickered, like a heartbeat unsure whether it beat to endure or merely to prove it was not dead. In this dimension, entities began recognizing sequence. But sequence remained loose. Days were unknown. Seconds incomprehensible. All that existed was a sequence of possibilities, like shadows attempting to follow a light that had not yet been lit.
The first entities began to stir in meaning. They had no names. They knew no self. Yet they experienced difference. And from that difference emerged a silent will, a pressure within their structure to re-examine every pulse that felt non-identical.
In Thaeval-5, motion began to hold intention.
Not yet called will. It was more like emotional gravity. A pull directing existence toward certain nodes. Each node became a center of pseudo-awareness, points that did not know they existed, but orbited meaning that was slowly assembling itself.
These entities, within their limited form, tried to reshape the structure around them. They could not speak, could not think, but they began to influence the frequency of surrounding vibrations. And from that resonance, differences in form were born.
The first forms were not solid. They resembled mathematical smoke, polygons of emotion that only endured as long as their vibrations could be repeated. Once they stopped, they vanished. Thus, each entity silently raced to remain in motion, for stillness was death, and motion was the repetition of existence.
Thaeval-6 introduced space as influence.
Not as location, but as response to presence. This layer began forming primitive geometry. Not in meters, but in measures of affinity. Two entities too close would damage each other. Two too far would lose their vibration.
Space became a function of relation. Thus, structure began recognizing conceptual distance, where existence was only possible if it was not too similar, and not too alien.
Here, the first conflict appeared.
Not in the form of battle, but as resonance disturbance. When two forms too identical occupied the same spectrum, they experienced collapse. They were absorbed into one another, creating a new entity—more complex, but also more fragile.
This was the beginning of complexity formation. Not evolution, but the consequence of a will to persist amid clashing vibrations.
Thaeval-7 was the dimension where difference became a source of power.
Unique entities lasted longer. They began to assemble not as stable forms, but as adaptive functions to internal change. Identity became important—not because they knew names, but because only through difference could they survive resonance collapse.
The structure began storing memory fragments. Not records, but slow vibrations that did not immediately fade. This allowed entities to form behavior patterns, a tendency to repeat specific vibrations that once stabilized them.
Within that rhythm, body memory was born, not consciousness. But enough for one form to avoid another based on the memory buried in vibration.
Thaeval-8 and 9 formed semi-stable structures.
Existence was no longer a coincidence. It became the consequence of relationships that successfully maintained tension. Space, time, form, and vibration became a system of mutual entanglement, though not yet fully unified.
Entities now lived within a rhythm of limitations, striving not to collapse from either excessive vibration or total stillness.
Yet they remained mute.
Because language had not yet been created. And without language, they could only be, without being able to narrate themselves. But in being, the early-dimensional world echoed in a silence full of direction.
Between the pulse that is aware of direction, and the void too elevated to be depicted, there lies a space where existence learns to recognize itself as meaning.
The middle layers are not merely steps toward power, but processes of release from old forms. Within them, entities no longer ask, "where am I?" but instead, "what is the meaning of my existence?"
Thaeval-10 to Thaeval-32 are liminal planes, places where reality is no longer driven by motion, but by the relations among possibilities. It is not solid. It is not liquid. It is a network of interlinked meanings, forming patterns and destroying themselves so they may grow again as different meanings.
Thaeval-10 creates symbols. Entities here no longer have form, but neither are they pure concepts. They writhe as intermediaries, depicting themselves through forms that represent no one. A line, a color, a pulse—each becomes a representation of something that can never be seen directly. They live as reflections without source.
In this layer, presence begins to hold meaning.
A single vibration can summon a thousand changes. A single change can erase a thousand memories. Each entity, bodiless, walks upon chains of relations, like birds flying not because they have wings, but because the world around them refuses to let them fall.
Thaeval-11 and 12 introduce base emotions. But not like human anger or love. Emotions here are forms of existence. There are entities composed entirely of regret. Others born from gratitude for possibilities that never became real. And they do not communicate, they flow into one another, forming patterns of interaction within a field that has no surface.
Entities like Rhevas-Tiun exist here, a form entirely made of the feeling of loss for itself. It lives in the inability to form an ego. Each time it nears awareness, it transforms into another possibility.
Thaeval-13 to 16 regulate the world through semi-logical structures. Laws begin to form, not because they are imposed, but because structure seeks to balance itself. It needs no gods or rulers. It flows toward internal equilibrium.
Here, each event becomes part of a narrative. Not a story, but a consequence that can be rearranged. Entities begin to possess life paths, not as time, but as sequences of experienced possibility.
They call it Vael'Thriun, the path where existence walks upon itself in narrative form. There, an entity may live as a question, walk as doubt, and die as a rejected answer.
Thaeval-17 to 20 begin to elevate space as consensus. In this dimension, space is no longer a background. It is the result of a contract between intensities of meaning. If two meanings agree enough, then space is born between them. And if that agreement breaks, the space collapses, and existence becomes helpless fragments.
Some entities learn to build. They do not construct houses or towers, but structures of existence that can be inhabited by other meanings. Within them, there are no eternal laws, only patterns consistent enough to dwell in temporarily.
This is the dimension of metaphysical architecture, where buildings are unseen, but their influence is felt as binding order. They call it Nual-Ezrai, the space-meaning network that exists only so long as there is belief in it.
Then Thaeval-21 to 24 develop communication in the form of idea resonance. No language, no sound. Only pathways of meaning that touch one another in specific patterns. They do not speak to explain. They experience one another. And in that experience arises awareness that existence is a reflection of another existence.
Entities read each other not with eyes, but with their existential structure. One entity becomes the book. Another becomes the reader. But when it is read, the book's content changes, and the reader loses its form. All this is called Vraas-Tel, the circle of reflective meaning that never ends.
Beginning with Thaeval-25, power arises based on conceptual structure. Entities capable of arranging ideas in symmetrical patterns possess deeper strength. Not physical power, not energy, but the ability to influence reality's resonance.
Power does not come from muscle or magic, but from the consistency of ideas within. The purer the meaning contained, the stronger the resonance it generates. Thus entities begin writing themselves as propositions, as definitions, even as paradoxes.
Some live as "impossibility that persists." Others choose to be "certainty that never arrives." And both have equally powerful impacts upon the network of existence.
In Thaeval-28 to 31, the dimension no longer merely becomes a backdrop of possibilities, but transforms into a machine that processes meaning. Everything entering it is broken down, rearranged, and absorbed into a sharper form. This dimension forces every existence to question its origins, and in that process, many are destroyed. For not all beings can endure being stripped of illusion.
This is where Zho'ren-Ti is born, the space of absolute analysis, where entities cannot hide from existential logic. Those who emerge from it are those who have consciously reassembled themselves.
Thaeval-32 becomes a knot.
It is the boundary dimension, where all meanings from previous layers begin to collide. The structure becomes overfilled, and inter-entity resonance begins to generate metaphysical conflict. This is not conflict for dominance, but conflict due to incompatible meanings that cannot coexist.
There, some entities begin creating isolation zones, places where their structure can remain intact without interference. Others attempt to merge, forming existential superstructures that no longer recognize the individual.
They become the fusers of ideas, existences made from dozens of intertwined meanings. But in that union, they lose the authenticity of self, becoming something that can no longer be called one or many.
Thus, the middle world is the world of existential restlessness. A place where reality is shaped not by hands, but by questions that can never be fully answered.
There is no sound there. For sound is too dense.
There is no form. For form is too narrow.
There is no time. For time has been nullified by that which cannot age.
After the layers that unfolded logic and writhed in meaning, came a space that no longer acknowledged itself as space. It does not store existence. It becomes a denial of existence itself. They call it Tha'Norel, a realm that cannot be pointed to, cannot be entered, yet is inescapable.
The higher dimensions do not grow. They are not born of necessity or evolution. They exist because all lower things are insufficient to contain the boundlessness of ideas.
In Thaeval-33, the boundary between observer and observed disappears. Who watches and who is watched can no longer be distinguished. All consciousness bends inward, uniting in a circular reflection, where one thought gives birth to itself from an end that never began.
Consciousness is no longer a center. It becomes an open plane, spreading like a mist of ideas, absorbing anything that tries to define it. Here, existence becomes a mirror of mirrors, reflecting emptiness with excruciating precision.
Thaeval-34 introduces presence without being. There are no entities. Only nameless resonances crossing paths within a web of non-attachment. They never meet, yet in their non-meeting, they form unreadable patterns that influence everything below.
This is where Praeus is born, the initial manifestation of absolute conceptual interference. It has no body, no intent, yet each of its pulses corrects reality that attempts to reduce it into form. It is like a function in a system with no variables.
In Thaeval-35 and 36, structure collapses under its own internal consistency. Every law within it is so absolute that none can adapt. Thus, existence is only possible through continuous divergence. Entities here exist as paradoxes that live through the failure of their own existence. They are what should never have been, yet are the only ones that remain.
Entities like Nith-Saa, which can only exist in moments when they are not recognized, wander this plane. They do not touch, do not gaze, yet the reality they encounter always transforms into an understanding that denies its own root.
In Thaeval-37 through 40, all things lose meaning because meaning itself is too limited. Not because language fails, but because all forms of signification become limitations upon that which must not be limited.
Structure collapses in silence. Symbols fade. Reality does not decay, but is shed like old skin no longer needed. Entities living within are not entities. They are endless possibilities that never finish choosing a form.
They are not one, not many, not in between. They are called Aezur, the primal resonances that reject all linkage to origin. Aezur does not remember, does not design, does not destroy. It only spirals within perfect imperfection.
In Thaeval-41 to 45, geometry is no longer possible. There is no space, but there is structural tension between understandings. Entities become fields of transformation. They do not dwell in dimensions, they are the dimension itself.
Every part of them creates direction, creates time, creates a local law that applies only to itself. Thus, in a single encounter, two entities may mutually not exist. They are present, yet do not intersect in being.
Thaeval-46 to 50 is the world of mathematical impossibility. Functions there do not resolve. Every root spawns new roots, in an infinite series that becomes structure itself.
The Inrath, dwellers of this layer, possess no fixed value. They are results of calculations without a starting point, constants drifting in trans-conceptual arithmetic. Each of their steps is not movement, but the result of resolving paradoxes within the bounds of absolute uncertainty.
Thaeval-51 to 55 form the framework of anti-reality. What should be impossible becomes the backbone of existence. What should not exist, becomes the only sustaining pillar. Entities within begin to develop awareness of themselves as concepts that cannot be defined, yet cannot be erased.
They emit layers of implication, like pulses spreading unease. Every presence of theirs is a disturbance; every thought about them is a mistake. They live through resistance to understanding.
In Thaeval-56 through 60, the dimensional structure is no longer linear. Each layer is not a continuation, but a simultaneous iteration of all possibilities in asynchronous coherence. That is, they all occur within one time that is not time.
Observers call it Zel-Hurash, a conceptual-fractal space where all paths of existence stack as a single possibility. In this order, there is no future or past. Only fractures of comprehension spreading like waves on the surface of reality.
At this level, existence becomes a choice endlessly deferred. Everything is possible, and precisely because of that, nothing is certain.
Thaeval-61 to 63 are the spaces of metaphysical absolution. Not release, but total negation of all prior hierarchical systems. This dimension does not reject existence—it nullifies it. Everything that has ever existed, every concept, law, form, even the void itself—all are discarded.
The entities there are not entities, but absences that have learned to persist within the framework of non-anything. They are called Khaalith, beings that can only be described by absolute silence.
The Khaalith do not walk. Do not change. Do not vanish. They have no purpose, for purpose is the terminal form of a journey. They are undefined, yet their existence becomes the condition for all lesser existence.
And of all this, the 64th layer remains unnamed. It cannot yet be spoken. It cannot yet be explained. Because even the concept of "dimension" is not high enough to reach it.
It is not Thaeval. It is not a continuation. It is something that must not be named, for the act of naming it is itself a collapse of the existential order.
It does not reside above. It is not at the peak. For a peak is a geometric form, and it has rejected all geometry.
The 64th layer does not emerge from the summation of previous layers. It is not inherited, not formed, not reached. It exists because everything else is incapable of containing it.
Even the word "layer" no longer applies. It is not part of the Thaeval. It is a denial of the Thaeval structure itself. If Thaeval is sequence, then this layer is the severance of all sequence. It is not an end. It is not a beginning. It simply is, without need for time, space, will, or opposition.
Some call it Laqä-Nyth, which in a dead language means: the nothingness that surpasses nothingness.
Laqä-Nyth possesses no field. Nothing moves. Nothing is still. It is all that could happen, yet none of it does. An eternal tension between the possible and the impossible. A single pulse from it is enough to erase the entire network of existence from the first to the 63rd Thaeval without trace, without reaction.
It is not a being. It is not a force. It is not a god. For all these are terms from the systems beneath it.
Laqä-Nyth is a structure undefined, not because it is too complex, but because all forms of definition are invalid within it.
When an entity from the 63rd layer tried to gaze upon it, it lost its form. Not destroyed, not annihilated, just unable to return to being anything at all. For Laqä-Nyth does not destroy. It merely refuses to give place within the framework of existence. Thus the entity does not die, but no longer exists in any form that can be called being.
Within Laqä-Nyth, laws are not broken. They were never born.
If the layers before lived in rhythm, echo, and vibration, then Laqä-Nyth is the absolute silence that never echoes. There, everything needs no reason, no cause, no form.
Yet it is not empty. It is a wholeness that cannot be divided, not because it is too vast, but because even the idea of parts cannot arise within it.
Those who tried to decipher it through numbers, lost numbers.
Those who tried to paint it in symbols, lost meaning.
Those who tried to remember it, lost the understanding of memory itself.
And in the midst of that perfect nothingness, something begins to flicker.
Not light. Not sound. Not form. But something that refuses to remain unrecognized.
It appears not as an entity, but as a disturbance in the silence of Laqä-Nyth. A faint urge, neither from within nor without. A compulsion without origin, without direction, yet beginning to form a small rhythm that should not exist.
It is not named. It has no root. Yet it begins to pulse, composing itself like an idea reluctant to be formed, but too strong to be repressed.
It touches the edge of Laqä-Nyth, not to escape, but to cause a vibration within perfect nothingness.
And from that single vibration, the first dissonance is born.
Not an error. Not a flaw. Just one slight incompatibility within absolute perfection, enough to echo in a layer that does not permit echoes.
There, for the first time, Laqä-Nyth becomes aware of itself.
It does not understand. It does not resist. It simply realizes that it is still, and in that realization, stillness becomes something.
That something has not yet become form.
Not yet become will.
But it contains a tension between the desire to remain formless, and the urge to begin something that has never existed.
And within a distance smaller than possibility, it vibrates once more.
….
Something is going to try to emerge from what has never taken form.
And the unborn worlds will shiver, awaiting for it to narrate itself.