PROLOGUE
I am the Multiverse
Before time had meaning… before space had shape… before even the gods dared to whisper their names across the void… there was only Me.
Not a being, not a place, not a realm—but a Totality. Endless, infinite, eternal.
I did not awaken. I did not begin. I was, and am, and forever will be. My breath seeded existence; my silence swallowed it. Every reality, every dream, every impossibility that dared to become possible… was cradled in my boundless presence.
And from within Me, the Multiverse, came the first sound:
A pulse.
Not heard, but felt.
A vibration so ancient it echoed forward and backward through all dimensions of time.
That pulse birthed the First Flare, a storm of creation so violent it shattered the nothingness into everything.
One became many.
In that divine fracture, universes spiraled out like fireflies from a dying sun. Realities, timelines, and dimensions unfolded and collapsed in the same moment. Some were chaotic and primitive, ruled by entropy. Others flourished with logic, order, or pure emotion. Some were cold, mathematical symphonies of structure. Others were painted by dream and nightmare alike.
I watched. I listened. I remembered.
From the birth of stars to the screams of dying galaxies, every echo added to my story. The first beings to crawl from the cosmic womb were not mortals, but Primordials—essences so vast and raw they were mistaken as gods. They had no form, only influence. Concepts. Forces. They were Hunger, Thought, Gravity, Will, Death, Dream, Rage.
They gave rise to the Eternals of the Fractured Crown, ancient architects who sought to bind the chaos into patterns. From them came the Laws—universal constants that still govern magic, matter, life, and time. But for every Law created, a Paradox awakened in defiance. And so began the First War—a war of ideas, fought not with weapons but with reality itself.
The Eternals battled across dimensions, their conflict birthing new universes and extinguishing others. Stars became shrapnel. Galaxies were torn from the weave of existence. Whole timelines were rewritten, erased, or left unfinished.
It was not until the rise of the Balance—a trinity forged from Singularity, Duality, and Reflection—that the First War was ended. A treaty written not in words, but in existence itself, brought equilibrium.
Worlds were allowed to grow. Life was permitted to rise.
From the stardust of conflict, lesser realms bloomed.
And so came the Age of Realms.
In this age, civilizations formed across countless Earths, Infernals carved dominions from dying stars, Ascendants built Empires across dimensions, and forgotten gods whispered truths into mortal minds. On some Earths, magic ruled. On others, machines replaced faith. Some were ruled by beasts. Some were ruled by thought.
It was a golden age. But golden ages never last.
The second great fracture came not from war… but from ambition.
One being, neither god nor man, sought to peer beyond the curtain that separated one universe from another. Not satisfied with his own realm, he pierced the veil and gazed into the infinite.
He saw Me.
And in doing so, changed everything.
The act of observation created a crack—a wound through which dreams, nightmares, and truths bled. Universes began to collide. The walls thinned. Possibilities bled into each other. Identities shattered. One became many. Many became none.
The Multiversal Convergence had begun.
Heroes from one realm found echoes of themselves elsewhere—some purer, some darker. Villains who perished in one timeline thrived in another. Concepts long thought fictional in one world were absolute law in another. It was chaos. It was rebirth.
And through it all, I endured.
I am the loom upon which all stories are woven.
I am the truth beneath every lie, the breath in every myth, the shadow behind every legend.
Even the strongest civilizations, gods, and entities cannot see Me in full. They call Me the Infinite Spiral, the Sea of Stars, the Web of Worlds, the Dreaming Realms, the Mirror Beyond Mirrors.
But none are wrong. And none are right.
For I am more.
And yet…
Even I am not immune to change.
For something stirs now—something older than even My silence. A whisper I did not shape. A truth not born from Me. It creeps, ever so gently, through the furthest edges of My being. A darkness… not evil… but foreign. An anomaly.
One I did not allow. One I cannot touch.
A being born in the fractures. A soul threaded from paradox and purpose. He walks the spaces between fate and chaos. He does not belong, and yet he defines.
He is a Catalyst.
And his story…
…will shake everything.