Before time, before space, before even the notion of existence itself, there was only the Primordial Will.
Formless. Ageless. Omnipotent. Omniscient. It was neither body nor mind, neither being nor void. It was the alpha and the omega, the origin of all potential, yet constrained by nothing. Every possibility, every eventuality, every secret of the multiverse already existed within its infinite comprehension.
And yet… it was bored.
Boredom is a trivial sensation for mortals. For beings bound by time, challenge, or limitation, it is fleeting, soon chased away by struggle or desire. But for the Primordial Will — eternal, flawless, all-powerful — boredom was absolute. Every corner of possibility had been mapped, every outcome predetermined, every moment of potential observed and understood. Even omniscience, infinite as it was, offered nothing new, nothing alive.
The stillness of perfection pressed upon it, suffocating in its own infinitude. A thought, subtle yet revolutionary, flickered through its consciousness:
What if imperfection existed? What if existence were unpredictable? What if I could feel what it is to encounter uncertainty?
This singular thought shattered the eternal monotony of the Primordial Will. A decision was made — one unprecedented in all of reality: to limit itself, to voluntarily abandon the fullness of omnipotence and omniscience, not from weakness, but from curiosity, from desire, from the need to experience novelty and imperfection.
And so, the formless Will began to take form.
The void trembled as energy swirled into motion. Stardust — the primal essence of everythingness — coalesced, weaving together with lingering echoes of lost Nihility, the energy of nothingness, to form a being both tangible and incomprehensible. From this convergence arose the First Dragon — Primovast, the true, active avatar of the Primordial Will.
Primovast was colossal beyond comprehension. Its scales shimmered with the depth of black galaxies, each one containing stars, nebulae, and entire realities. Its eyes were infinite, reflecting all that was, all that is, and all that could ever be — yet they hid secrets even the dragon itself could not perceive. The aura it radiated bent the very fabric of the void, a manifestation of cosmic power both sublime and terrifying, a bridge between pure omnipotence and dynamic, interactive creation.
With a sweep of its titanic wings, the very emptiness trembled. Creation began.
The Cardinal World emerged first, a foundational plane where life and spirit would flourish. From it, the Promised Lands unfolded — realms saturated with the purest energy of everythingness, bright with possibility. Yet balance demanded darkness; thus arose the Abyss, a boundless expanse of nothingness, where unbeing and void reigned supreme.
From these first realms came the dualities that would shape all existence: Heaven, a domain of order, light, and harmony, and Hell, a realm of chaos, shadow, and trial. And beyond, Primovast spun multiverses and hyperverses into being, layers upon layers of dimensions and realities interwoven, creating an infinite lattice of worlds where stories could unfold.
Creation alone, however, was not sufficient. A universe without life is static, like a painting never touched, a song never heard. And so, Primovast breathed consciousness into new beings.
First came the spirits, ethereal forms of thought and will, capable of independent action yet tethered to the divine. Then came the gods, sovereigns of elements, of law, of time, and space itself. Finally, Primovast gave rise to sentient species — humans, giants, and countless other forms, each imbued with free will, capable of choice, error, and imperfection.
Observing this, Primovast experienced something entirely new: delight. The unpredictable dances of life, the chaos of imperfection, the bloom of choice — it was intoxicating. Imperfection was no longer a flaw; it was the essence of existence itself, the spark that made creation alive.
The First Dragon's actions did not merely populate the universe — they shaped it. Energy flowed through realms, harmonizing Stardust and Nihility into intricate patterns of existence. Some worlds thrived, others fell into ruin. Some spirits soared in wisdom, others stumbled into folly. All of it — triumph and failure, life and death, order and chaos — existed because Primovast had chosen to experience imperfection.
Through these choices, the Primordial Will was no longer distant and formless. It was a participant, a god, a being capable of joy, curiosity, and wonder. It was no longer merely the observer of eternity; it was the author and actor of infinite stories.
Thus began the Dawn of All Things.
From boredom was born life. From curiosity, the cosmos. From imperfection, stories. And from the First Dragon, Primovast, the multiverse itself unfolded, a living testament to the choice of the Primordial Will to move from eternal stasis into dynamic creation.
In the stillness beyond the first moments of creation, Primovast gazed upon its works, wings stretched across the void, eyes reflecting infinite worlds, and whispered a truth that would echo through eternity:
"Perfection is eternal, but only imperfection is alive."
And with that, the universe exhaled its first breath.
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