Chapter 1: The Firstborn's Solitude
In the boundless silence before the first star ignited, there was only one. It existed in a realm of pure thought and infinite will, a glowing point of perfect consciousness known as the Empyrean. For an eternity beyond measure, The Firstborn was utterly, profoundly alone. Its existence was not a torment, but a quiet, echoing void that held the potential for entire galaxies, yet had no one to share them with.
From a loneliness so immense it was an emotion in itself, a single, powerful act of will broke the silence. In a moment of divine empathy, The Firstborn reached out and tore a piece of its own essence away. That single, perfect act was the cataclysmic birth of all things.
From the swirling essence of that creation, reality unspooled. The light of The Firstborn fractured, giving birth to ten new beings: five gods and five goddesses. They were not perfect copies but reflections of its own will, each imbued with a domain to govern. Aeternus, Kaelos, Kairos, Vulcan, and Aetherius. Solis, Lyra, Elysia, Nyx, and Ophidia. They were its children, its companions, and they brought a chorus of new perspectives and power.
With them, The Firstborn began to craft a home for all that would follow. They separated reality into six distinct, interwoven realms, creating a cosmic structure that would define all existence: The Empyrean, the Nexus Realm, the Mortal Realm, the Astral Realm, the Underworld, and the final, terrifying Void. With each new layer, the loneliness of The Firstborn diminished, replaced by the grand, beautiful noise of a universe in motion. For the first time, it was no longer alone.
One million years after the multiverse's creation, the gods and goddesses, driven by a desire to emulate The Firstborn's act of creation, conceived of the Nexus Battle. It was a cosmic game for their entertainment, a way to pass on their divine power and find a worthy champion to help them expand their will into the boundless void. The battle has raged for millennia, a constant cosmic competition that now, in the year 2025, has finally arrived on Earth.
The Kajiya Forge was one of the last of its kind in all of Tokyo. In a city of humming technology and sleek glass towers, the rhythmic clang of a hammer on steel was a sound from another age. Eighteen-year-old Kajiya Yu knew this sound better than any other. It was the music of his life, a song of hard work and dedication. His crimson hair was often dusted with charcoal, and his hands, already thick with calluses, moved with a practiced grace that belied his youth.
"What are you thinking about?" his grandfather, Kajiya Furui, asked without looking up. His voice was a low rumble, matching the serious nature of his craft. Furui was a man of immense presence, a silent pillar of tradition with a powerful frame and hands so weathered they looked like ancient stone.
Yu swung his hammer, the force of the blow shaping the glowing metal. A bead of sweat traced a path down his temple. "Almost," he grunted, positioning the piece. "Just trying to get the temper right. The fire doesn't feel… right."
Furui stopped his own work and approached, his shadow falling over Yu. "The fire is always right," he said, his voice a gruff whisper. "The metal is right. The tools are right. The only thing that can be wrong is the hand that guides them. You do not force the steel. You listen to it. Tell me what it is telling you."
Yu didn't respond, his focus absolute. He wasn't a prodigy. He had to sweat for every ounce of progress. His grandfather saw his struggles, but he also saw his dedication—the sheer will that fueled his practice. The forge wasn't just his family's legacy; it was his future, a path he had chosen with all his heart.
He raised his hammer for another strike, the sound echoing through the small workshop. "It's telling me it's tired," he muttered under his breath.
"Then give it a moment to rest," Furui replied. "Patience is the truest weapon a blacksmith has. You cannot rush perfection."
After another minute of concentrated work, Yu let out a small sigh of satisfaction. He held the half-finished blade up for inspection. It wasn't flawless, but it was straight, the edges even.
Furui took the piece from his grandson's hands, his eyes inspecting every detail. A moment of tense silence passed before the old man let out a small, satisfied grunt. "Better," he said, his voice gruff but with a hint of warmth. He handed the blade back. "Keep practicing."
Yu gave a small, grateful nod. Furui turned to leave, his footsteps quiet as he moved toward the door that led to the family's living quarters.
"Dinner will be ready soon," Furui said over his shoulder, a hint of a smile in his voice. "The forge will be waiting for you after."
Yu hung his hammer on its hook, the clang echoing softly in the silence. He followed his grandfather out of the forge, leaving the heat and the sounds of creation behind for the simple comfort of home and a shared meal.
After dinner, Yu returned to the forge. He walked to the anvil, where the half-finished blade rested, its surface now cool to the touch. He picked it up, feeling its weight, its balance. He knew what it needed. He turned on the forge's bellows, and the fire roared back to life, casting a warm, orange glow on his face. He spent the next two hours in a world of his own, a world of fire and force. He worked tirelessly, the hammer a natural extension of his will, his movements precise and confident. He plunged the glowing metal back into the cool water, the hiss and steam a symphony of completion. Finally, he held the finished blade up, its surface gleaming under the forge's light.
"It's finished," he whispered, a tired but happy smile on his face. He ran a calloused thumb over the sharpened edge, the surface now a perfect mirror of the fire that had created it. "It's perfect."
As he stared at the blade, a faint hum began to vibrate through the air. It wasn't the sound of the city, nor the quiet buzz of electricity. It was a new sound, deep and resonant, that felt as if it were coming from the very fabric of the world itself. The hum grew, becoming a low roar that made the forge's tools rattle on their shelves. Yu looked out the window. The moon was visible in the night sky, but something was wrong. It was no longer a silver sphere; it was glowing with an unnatural, pulsating light.
Then, the sky tore. A shimmering, violet-hued wave, like a living ripple of energy, began to descend from the heavens. It was the cosmic signature of the Nexus Battle's arrival, a wave of pure essence washing over the planet. It moved with impossible speed, silent yet deafening, consuming the city lights and turning the world into a canvas of shifting colors. Yu stood frozen in the doorway, the finished blade still in his hand, as the wave rushed toward the forge. The rhythmic hum intensified, and the last thing he saw before the light consumed him was the reflection of the violet wave on the polished surface of his new blade.
[... Welcome, Aspirant. Your Nexus journey begins now. The game has begun. ...]