In Nethania, time flowed differently.
One month consisted of sixty days.
One year consisted of eighteen months.
To the countless civilizations that would one day inhabit the world, such a system was as natural as breathing. Kingdoms would rise and fall according to its cycles. Crops would be planted and harvested according to its rhythm. Entire generations would live and die beneath its passage.
But before time could flow...
It first had to begin.
Before kingdoms.
Before dragons.
Before gods established their divine thrones.
Before the existence of mana.
There was only the Void.
An endless darkness that stretched beyond imagination.
No stars illuminated the abyss.
No planets drifted through the emptiness.
No sound existed.
No light existed.
Even the concepts of existence and nonexistence held no meaning.
Everything remained trapped within an eternal stillness.
Nothing moved.
Nothing changed.
Nothing lived.
There was no beginning.
There was no end.
Only an infinite sea of absolute silence.
Then something impossible happened.
A crack appeared.
Not a crack in space.
Not a crack in reality.
For neither existed.
It was a crack within the stillness itself.
A tiny disturbance.
A single imperfection within eternity.
At first it was insignificant.
Barely noticeable.
Yet that tiny disturbance continued to grow.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
Until eventually, a spark emerged from within the darkness.
A tiny point of light.
Small enough to vanish within an ocean.
Yet bright enough to challenge the Void itself.
The spark drifted aimlessly.
No purpose guided it.
No hand controlled it.
It simply moved.
And in doing so, it created something that had never existed before.
Change.
The moment the spark moved, the stillness shattered.
The first second was born.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Time had begun.
The Void trembled.
For the first time in eternity, existence possessed motion.
Energy surged through the endless darkness.
Invisible currents collided with one another.
Light exploded outward.
Darkness retreated.
Matter formed.
Reality awakened.
Countless reactions unfolded simultaneously across the newborn cosmos.
Violent storms of creation erupted.
Stars ignited.
Worlds were born.
Galaxies expanded.
The foundations of existence took shape.
What had once been an empty Void transformed into a universe overflowing with endless possibilities.
Among the countless worlds born during that age, one would eventually become special.
One world would attract the attention of powers beyond comprehension.
One world would become the stage upon which fate itself would wage war.
That world was called Nethania.
A colossal world more than twice the size and mass of Earth.
Its continents stretched for unimaginable distances.
Its oceans appeared endless.
Its mountains pierced the heavens.
Its forests concealed mysteries older than civilization itself.
Most importantly...
Mana flowed throughout every corner of its existence.
Mana.
The fundamental energy of creation.
The invisible force responsible for miracles.
The lifeblood of gods.
The source of all magic.
From the deepest oceans to the highest peaks, mana saturated every inch of Nethania.
It flowed through rivers.
It drifted within the winds.
It slept beneath mountains.
It gathered within stars.
The world itself seemed alive.
Yet Nethania did not create itself.
Fourteen beings stood above the newborn world.
Watching.
Observing.
Waiting.
Their forms towered beyond mortal understanding.
Their presence alone distorted reality.
Their thoughts could reshape continents.
Their voices could destroy worlds.
They were the first gods.
The architects of creation.
The rulers of Nethania.
Yet despite their immense power, even they could not answer one simple question.
Where did they come from?
No memories existed before their awakening.
No records remained.
No clues survived.
Each god remembered only opening their eyes within the Void.
Each remembered witnessing creation unfold.
And each remembered being drawn toward Nethania.
As though fate itself had summoned them.
For ages they observed the growing world.
Then together they descended.
The first among them stepped forward.
Aurelion.
God of Order.
Golden light radiated from his figure.
His eyes resembled miniature suns.
Every movement carried absolute precision.
"The world requires structure," he declared.
Without hesitation, he extended his hand.
Invisible laws spread throughout reality.
Gravity stabilized.
Space solidified.
Natural order emerged.
The foundations of existence strengthened.
Next came Serapha.
Goddess of Light.
Her radiance illuminated entire continents.
Where her power touched, warmth followed.
The first sunlight appeared.
The first dawn broke.
The first rays of hope entered creation.
Then came Valtor.
God of Wisdom.
His knowledge seemed endless.
He observed the newborn world and recorded every detail within the fabric of reality itself.
Knowledge became possible.
Learning became possible.
Understanding became possible.
One after another, the remaining gods shaped the world.
Elyndra breathed life into barren lands.
Caelum scattered stars throughout the heavens.
Ilyra governed the flow of time.
Tharos established judgment and consequence.
Opposing them stood seven equally powerful gods.
Mordrak.
Nyxara.
Velzhar.
Drakari.
Othuun.
Zeraphine.
Malgor.
Together they introduced destruction, darkness, freedom, chaos, death, secrets, and ambition.
At first glance, their domains seemed opposed to those of the Anarica.
Yet none sought conflict.
Without destruction, creation would stagnate.
Without death, life would lose meaning.
Without ambition, civilizations would never advance.
Without freedom, existence would become a prison.
Balance emerged through opposition.
Not dominance.
Not righteousness.
Balance.
And thus the fourteen gods divided existence into Five Great Realms.
The highest realm became Heavania.
A transcendent domain beyond mortal comprehension.
The seat of the Anarica Divinity.
Below it rested the Heaven Realm.
A paradise inhabited by celestial races, divine beasts, and immortal servants.
At the center lay the Mortal Realm.
The future home of countless races.
Humans.
Elves.
Dwarves.
Giants.
Spirits.
Beastkin.
Dragons.
And races yet to be born.
Beneath the Mortal Realm stretched the Hell Realm.
A harsh and unforgiving land where survival itself became a form of strength.
At the lowest point of existence rested Hellaru.
The domain of the Zanabu Divinity.
A realm where darkness reigned.
A realm where even gods respected ancient powers hidden within its depths.
Once the realms were established, the fourteen creators watched.
Years passed.
Then centuries.
Then millennia.
Life emerged.
Plants spread across continents.
Creatures evolved.
Civilizations slowly began to appear.
The world flourished.
And for the first time since creation, the gods found themselves content.
Ten thousand years passed.
The Mortal Realm entered an age of prosperity.
Ancient kingdoms rose.
Magic developed.
Great beasts roamed untamed lands.
The races expanded across the continents.
Everything seemed destined to continue forever.
Until the impossible happened.
Within the highest reaches of Heavania Realm, a disturbance appeared.
At first it was small.
Almost invisible.
Yet every god sensed it immediately.
Aurelion's eyes snapped open.
Far away, Serapha stopped speaking.
Mordrak frowned.
Nyxara turned her gaze toward the heavens.
One by one, all fourteen gods looked toward the same point in space.
A fragment of parchment materialized.
No divine energy surrounded it.
No mana sustained it.
No law governed it.
Its existence violated every rule of reality.
Silence filled Heavania.
Even the gods hesitated.
The parchment floated through the air.
Slowly.
Calmly.
As though it belonged there.
Aurelion reached toward it.
The moment his fingers touched the parchment, golden symbols erupted across its surface.
Words appeared.
Ancient words.
Words older than creation itself.
The expressions of the fourteen gods changed.
For the first time in ten thousand years...
Fear appeared within their eyes.
Upon the parchment was written a prophecy.
A prophecy hidden from divine sight.
A prophecy hidden from fate.
A prophecy hidden from time itself.
It spoke of a single mortal.
A being whose existence should have been impossible.
A being destined to shatter the chains governing reality.
A being destined to transcend kings.
Transcend saints.
Transcend apostles.
Transcend gods.
A mortal who would one day stand above Divinity itself.
The hall fell silent.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Even Ilyra, Goddess of Time, found herself unable to see beyond the words before her.
The future had become obscured.
The threads of fate had vanished.
Something beyond divine understanding had entered the game.
Then another line appeared upon the parchment.
A single sentence.
One that caused the entire realm to tremble.
The birth has already begun.
BOOM!
Across every realm, reality shook.
Mountains cracked.
Oceans surged.
Stars flickered.
The laws of existence trembled.
Far below the heavens.
Far below the notice of mortals.
Far beyond the reach of kings and emperors.
Within a forgotten corner of the Mortal Realm.
A woman suddenly gasped.
A faint pulse of golden light emerged from her stomach.
For a brief moment, fourteen divine gazes descended upon the world.
Watching.
Waiting.
Observing.
And somewhere within the vast world of Nethania...
The child of prophecy was about to enter existence.
To be continued...