Before there was light, there was only Will.
No stars adorned the firmament. No heavens stretched across eternity. There was no dust of worlds, no laws of time, not even the silence of void. For silence presupposes the possibility of sound, and sound could not exist. All that was, all that could be, all that might never be—was folded within a single essence: a Will without form, without boundary, without end.
The sages of worlds yet unborn would one day call it the Primordial Will.
It had no body, for body was still a dream.It had no face, for perception had not yet taken root.It had no name, for names are but shadows, and it was the fire before shadows were cast.
And yet, it was.
Infinite. Absolute. Beyond eternity, for eternity itself is bound to time, and time had no meaning. It was everything, and it was nothing. It was the Source. It was All. It was the One.
This Will was complete. Perfect. Beyond flaw, beyond need, beyond hunger. All truths rested within it before truth and falsehood could even be spoken. All possibilities lay asleep in its silent heart. Nothing was hidden from it, for there was nothing yet to hide.
And still… the Will grew weary.
Perfection was stillness. Perfection was silence. Perfection was endless sameness, without journey, without surprise, without story. And the Will, though absolute, felt within itself a longing.
A longing for change.A longing for discovery.A longing for… creation.
For the first time, the Perfect One desired.
And that desire was the beginning.
The formlessness stirred. Ripples surged through the non-existent sea. The first heartbeat thundered through the emptiness, and emptiness itself bent, split, and gave way.
From that stirring came the first division. The unseen was torn apart, birthing Everythingness and Nothingnes, as twins. Time bled into being like a drop of ink upon untouched water, and space unfolded like a scroll without end.
The Will, abandoning its unreachable absoluteness, clothed itself in a form—not because it was required, but because it chose to. It stepped down from the throne of unapproachable silence and entered the realm of experience.
Thus the Will became Eidryon.
The First Dragon. The Supreme King of all Beginnings.
Eidryon was vast beyond worlds. His body, when shaped as dragon, stretched longer than the firmament he had breathed into being. His scales shimmered black as a night without stars, yet in their depths sparkled threads of white, as though entire galaxies were woven into his flesh. When his wings spread, they did not merely part air—they unfurled creation itself, stitching heaven and abyss together with every beat.
His eyes were golden, burning like suns, yet merciful like dawn. To gaze into them was to see the fire of judgment and the embrace of infinite compassion. His hair, when he walked in the guise of man, streamed long and silver-white, glittering with flecks of starlight, as though constellations themselves had taken refuge upon his brow.
With a single roar, he shattered stillness. With a single breath, he exhaled fire that became stars. With a sweep of his claws, he carved valleys in the void, shaping dimensions where spirits would one day dwell. His tail lashed, and time itself began its ceaseless march.
Thus, the multiverse was born.
Yet Eidryon was no longer what he had been. He was still sovereign, still immeasurable, still vast beyond imagination—but he had deliberately cast aside the unreachable absoluteness of his primordial state.
No longer omniscient beyond change. No longer omnipotent without limit. No longer omnipresent in still perfection. He had given those away, for the sake of creation itself.
For what joy is there in a story already known?What beauty is there in a path already walked?What meaning is there in victory that is never uncertain?
Thus Eidryon embraced limitation—not weakness, but the strength to experience.
And as he roamed among the stars he had kindled, as he breathed life into spirits of fire and water, wind and stone, he found a strange delight. He shaped fragile beings, mortals of flesh and breath, gifting them curiosity, fear, hunger, hope. Weakness became their strength. Uncertainty became their song. And from their struggles would rise tales he himself could not predict.
This was what he had longed for.
And yet… the story was not yet complete.
In the stillness between worlds, a voice stirred.
"…Father."
It was not a sound, for sound was still too crude. It was not thought, for thought was still too bound. It was simply a calling—a thread of pure being, shining with innocence, woven into the fabric of creation.
Eidryon turned, his golden gaze sweeping across eternity, and beheld what had not existed before.
A light.A soul.A child.
She emerged from the deep radiance, her form delicate and luminous. Her hair shimmered white-silver, cascading down like streams of moonlit water. Her eyes gleamed with the brilliance of stars, wide and unspoiled, yet deep enough to hold the vastness of worlds. Her body was perfect, not because it was flawless, but because it embodied the purity of beginnings.
This was Luminae Astraelis.
The Daughter of the Will.Born not from flesh, not from dust, but from the desire of the Eternal to share its creation.
Eidryon's voice thundered, shaking the roots of every dimension he had shaped.
"You… are My promise. You are the dawn I could not find within Myself. Through you, My dream shall continue."
The child lifted her face, a smile soft as spring upon her lips. She reached out her small hand. Her voice rang clear—not mighty, not divine, but achingly tender.
"Dad…"
In that moment, even the Supreme King Dragon trembled. For though he had birthed stars with a breath, carved worlds with a claw, kindled eternity with a glance, nothing had struck him so deeply as that word.
Dad.
And with that word, the Omniverse changed forever.
Thus began the Era of Light.
The formless had taken shape.The Perfect Will had become Dragon.And the Dragon had begotten a Child.
The story of creation was no longer still, no longer silent. It had a beginning. It had a family. It had a heart.
Far away, beyond the rivers of time and the valleys of eternity, a small and fragile world turned—a world called Earth. Its mortals walked blindly, knowing nothing of the infinite struggle beyond their skies. And yet, among them, in the year 2025, something stirred.
On that day, in a quiet corner of humanity's endless chaos, a girl opened her eyes. Her hair shimmered pale silver in the sun. Her gaze, wide and uncertain, carried fragments of starlight.
Her name—Luminae Astraelis.
The Daughter of God, the Child of the Will, reborn into the mortal realm.
Her footsteps would one day shake empires.Her smile would one day break curses.Her tears would one day reshape the fate of all existence.
But for now, she simply blinked at the mortal world, as if waking from a dream too vast to name.
And so began the tale.Not of a god above all things,but of a god who chose to walk among them.
The tale of the Will before dawn.