In the beginning, before the first stars drew breath and before the Progenitors were even a fevered dream in the minds of lesser creators, there existed the Pantheon of the Eternal Loom.
Not gods in the way mortals imagined them—no benevolent fathers or vengeful kings with thunderbolts. These were weavers. Architects of possibility. Beings who spun entire universes from threads of raw potential, then watched them unravel or flourish according to rules only they understood.
The goddess who now called herself the Seeder had once been known as Aeloria, the Third Weaver of the Loom. She had been born—no, manifested—from the collision of two dying concepts: Hope and Hunger. A beautiful accident in the grand tapestry. While her siblings wove stable realms filled with predictable cycles of life and death, Aeloria had always been different. She preferred chaos. She liked planting seeds in barren soil just to see what monstrous beauty might bloom.
