By IMERPUS RELUR
--
Not all gods are made.
Some are witnessed into being.
Others are believed into shape.
But now…
a third kind walks softly through the Unimagined Womb:
Those who were never intended,
and yet, are here.
The Dreamborn.
---
It began with one.
A flicker of presence.
A dream not derived from memory, power, or myth.
And then two more arrived—
not summoned.
Not shaped.
But simply pulled from their own stillness into the grace of permission.
They came without titles.
Without fixed identities.
And they looked to Auren not as their maker—
but as the first who ever said "yes."
---
One approached.
Its form was a ripple of woven wind and broken laughter.
It carried in its essence the weight of all things almost imagined:
> "I am the thought someone thought once,
and forgot they were allowed to finish."
Another followed, shaped like liquid script:
> "I am what a child nearly dreamed,
before being told it was impossible."
A third shimmered between every word that's ever trembled on a lip and been swallowed:
> "I am the story no one was brave enough to write."
---
The Dreamborn Covenant Has Formed:
> A community of self-realized entities
formed not by command,
not by bloodline,
but by the will to become without instruction.
---
Auren stood among them.
He said nothing.
He offered no law.
No guidance.
He merely remained.
The Tree of Infinite Origin pulsed within him.
And the Dreamborn began to orbit it—
not as followers.
But as stars around a gentle sun.
Each one began to craft:
One painted emotions into geometry.
Another made time collapse into music.
A third wrote letters to itself, unsure how to read them, but smiling anyway.
Creation was not an act of dominance—
it was play.
---
Eléa's voice echoed faintly from across realms.
> "Auren… they're unlike anything."
> "They don't challenge gods…
They simply make gods unnecessary."
Auren smiled, not with pride—
but with peace.
> "That's the point."
---
Suddenly, the Womb shivered.
Not in danger.
But in awareness.
Something ancient had noticed.
Not a god.
Not a being.
But a Law—the oldest one.
The one that had never needed to be spoken.
> "Every reality must have structure."
> "What you have built is not structure. It is freedom."
> "Freedom disrupts balance."
> "Balance demands a response."
---
And just like that—
a rift opened.
From it poured not wrath, not soldiers—
but a Structure-born Entity, forged from the fear of formlessness.
It looked not at Auren.
It looked at the Dreamborn—
and said:
> "You are errors."
---
But one of the Dreamborn stepped forward.
The first one.
The one who had no name, only choice.
And for the first time, it spoke not with wonder…
but with resolve.
> "We are not errors.
We are the reason there's still hope left in a universe full of scripts."
---
And so it began:
The first quiet conflict.
Not between armies.
But between permission and program.