There was no before.
There was only the fire.
It bloomed without warning, without sound, without even the concept of surprise, because surprise had not yet been born. Energy flared outward, folding space into itself, unraveling time into a thousand tangled threads. Matter spilled, seared, cooled. Suns caught fire and burned, galaxies twisted into shape, and the silence that had never been was filled with creation's roar.
And from that storm, concepts opened their eyes.
The first was vast and radiant, his form impossible and endless, yet shaped enough to be perceived. Within his silhouette spun galaxies, constellations churning across the canvas of his being. His voice was the hum of all things in motion.
"I am Eternity."
The second shimmered into existence, her form fluid, shifting — now a woman, now a child, now a horizon of infinite horizons. Futures overlapped in her shape, each possibility as real as the last. Her voice was many voices, layered upon each other like an eternal chord.
"I am Infinity."
Darkness pressed against the newborn cosmos. It was not the absence of light, but a deeper void, a swallowing weight that promised erasure. It moved like hunger, inexorable, patient. Its presence carved silence into the noise.
"I am Oblivion."
The fourth was small compared to the rest, almost delicate, though the weight of her presence stilled stars. A pale figure, robed in black, her eyes kind, her smile soft, she carried no threat — only inevitability. Her voice was not vast but intimate, a whisper that could fall on the ears of the greatest titan or the smallest child.
"I am Death."
The four stood in silence, beholding one another. None had memory. None had context. They were truths born into being, aware only of themselves, their dominion written into their essence.
But there was a fifth.
A pale figure cloaked in shadow and starlight, his eyes wells of galaxies, his presence calm yet vast. He had been born with them — and unlike them, he remembered.
Azrael Morpheus Oneiros. The name flickered in his mind, the echo of a mortal who had once lived and died on a world far from here. He remembered comic books and glowing screens, late nights of speculation and laughter. He remembered the stories.
And he knew these beings before him. He knew what they were, what they would become. His siblings did not know him — but he knew them.
He let silence stretch, his cloak stirring softly in the breathless void. At last, they turned to him.
Eternity's galaxies blazed. "And you?"
Infinity's shifting forms leaned close, a thousand eyes blinking as one. "Name yourself."
Oblivion's presence thickened, crushing, smothering. Define yourself… or be nothing.
Death tilted her head, her kind eyes sharp with curiosity.
Dream's voice was calm, deliberate, soft as sleep.
"I am Dream. I am the boundary between waking and silence. I am story, hope, and nightmare. Where there is thought, I dwell. Where there is fear, I walk. Where there is rest, I reign."
The others regarded him.
Eternity inclined his vast head. "A necessary balance."
Infinity shimmered, a thousand faces folding into one. "Without dream, no mind may endure."
Oblivion receded slightly, though his weight did not vanish. You too will end. All will. Until then… you may be.
Death smiled faintly, her eyes lingering on him longer than the rest. "Welcome, brother."
Dream inclined his head, cloak whispering around him. "And to you, my siblings."
Inside, however, he whispered words he could never speak aloud:
I know you. I know this story. And I know what is to come.