Adargas smiled.
But it wasn't just any smile. It was the first true smile. Not the kind made with lips... but with the entire universe.
It was a new feeling even for him, the Ruler. Deeper than love, vaster than gratitude.
It was happiness. Pure. Uncontainable. Unexpected.
And because of that, he took them.
Holding their hands like a father on his children's first walk, Adargas traveled with Akasha and Elshua along the edges of the universe.
There was no time to rush, no distance to measure. They were the awareness of creation.
And like children before an infinite garden, the brothers watched. Felt. Learned.
They saw planets being shaped by collisions. Stars being born and dying in tragic dances of light.
Supernovas exploded like fireworks in the silence of space.
Nebulae danced to laws that no one had taught — but everyone obeyed.
Adargas showed, pointed, explained. But more than that: he felt alongside them.
Every spinning atom was like a note in his symphony.
And Akasha and Elshua grew. Not in height, but in essence.
They absorbed their father's wisdom as if it were light.
Until... Adargas let go of their hands.
Not because he abandoned them — but because they were ready.
Ready to fly, to explore, to learn on their own.
Yet even free, Adargas never ceased to be present.
His influence was like an invisible gravitational force: silent… but inevitable.
And so the two went on: Akasha, impatient and passionate, dove into civilizations.
He watched, judged, interfered. He played god.
He believed chaos needed taming. That evolution needed direction.
Elshua, by contrast, preferred to observe from afar.
He saw beauty in spontaneity — in cultures that danced on their own,
in the logic of fractals, the mathematics of tides, the poetry of celestial orbits.
One interfered. The other contemplated.
And for the first time... the Garden began to split into two views.
But time… even where it doesn't exist… transforms.
Akasha grew.
Not just in knowledge — but in presence.
His form occupied worlds. His influence overflowed star systems.
He no longer merely observed civilizations — he guided them. And later… possessed them.
His creations became powerful. They mastered physics. Traveled between galaxies.
But they also imposed fear. Conquered. Destroyed. Subjugated.
Akasha's voice echoed in them. They called him Father, Lord, Legacy.
But behind reverence, there was disorder. There was vanity.
Elshua watched, anguished.
Adargas… fell silent.
He diminished his form. Dimmed his influence.
Withdrew into the depths of space, as if bowing to his own mistake.
Then, Elshua did what he had never done: he went to Akasha.
— You cannot play with existence — he said, with firm yet gentle eyes.
— You cannot claim as yours what was meant to grow free.
But Akasha... smiled.
— Free? Freedom is an illusion invented by the weak so they don't have to admit they were born to obey.
Elshua felt the chill of inevitability. Something was off balance.
And neither of them could ignore it any longer.
Elshua understood something.
To preserve balance... he had to act. He had to grow.
And so he interfered.
He made the same mistake as his brother — but with a different heart.
Where Akasha imposed, Elshua taught.
Where the firstborn ruled, the second walked beside.
And where Akasha shaped empires with iron and plasma, Elshua planted ideas with words and thought.
Elshua's civilizations were few. Fragile. But just.
They built societies guided by collectivity. Protected the weak.
Created systems where even mistakes generated wisdom.
And when new galaxies emerged — both sides contested their seeds.
Akasha's creatures arrived first, with ravenous machines and advanced technologies.
They colonized. Extracted. Took.
But Elshua never gave up.
He taught his children the power of the mind — the ability to mold reality with thought, to achieve the impossible through discipline and wisdom.
And so, slowly...
While Akasha ruled through force, Elshua inspired through idea.
The battles were unfair. Good often lost. But it never died.
Elshua and Akasha lost themselves in conflict.
Infinity passed in a moment.
Then, Elshua missed his father.
Where was his presence?
Even feeling him everywhere, he could not find him.
His gravitational pull was immense, yet weak.
His presence in all places hid his core, his essence.
Then Elshua remembered where his father had created them.
He left his creatures — they had the knowledge, they had to resist on their own — and went in search of Adargas.
When he finally found the little blue dot, uninhabited yet full of cosmic presence...
Adargas was walking as a man.
That was all he needed. Everything aligned perfectly.
Elshua diminished himself and walked with his father.