### **Chapter 1: The Stone That Spoke**
It was an ordinary evening.
Alexandre walked home alone, the world fading into quiet hues of dusk.
Then he saw it — a small stone lying in the middle of the road,
its surface smooth, yet impossibly deep,
as if it reflected not light, but **existence itself.**
He picked it up.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Then the air bent.
The sound of the city vanished.
And a voice — calm, mechanical, yet infinite — whispered in his mind:
> "You have been acknowledged."
Reality cracked.
Alexandre blinked, and suddenly he was *elsewhere.*
In the void before form.
In the silence before creation.
The stone pulsed softly in his hand.
He didn't understand *how,*
but when he thought of light — light appeared.
When he thought of motion — time began to flow.
When he wished for a home — **a universe unfolded.**
Stars ignited from his imagination.
Space curved in patterns he didn't design but somehow knew.
He raised his hand, and the flow of **time** stopped.
He spoke a word, and the **laws of physics** rewrote themselves.
He blinked, and **probability**—the idea of chance—
bent to his will.
He had created his own reality.
A cosmos born from a thought.
In that moment, Alexandre understood:
he was no longer bound to the world he came from.
He could shape existence itself,
not as a god, but as something far more dangerous—
a being who hadn't yet decided *why* he should create at all.
He stared into the endless light of his newborn universe and murmured:
> "If I can make everything… what should still exist?"
Inside the universe he had made, Alexandre stood amid an endless ocean of stars.
He looked at a supermassive black hole he had placed at the edge of his cosmos—
a dark sphere that devoured even light.
Curious, he reached toward it.
Space trembled.
The black hole, heavier than galaxies, **rose** in his grasp like a weightless stone.
Reality folded around his hand, screaming without sound.
He turned his wrist.
The black hole inverted.
Its gravity reversed, unfolding into blinding release—
a **white hole**, spilling creation instead of consuming it.
Alexandre's eyes reflected the torrent of energy, calm and steady.
Then, with his bare hands, he **tore open space itself.**
The vacuum split apart, revealing the raw fabric of the void.
From that tear, a **gateway** emerged—
a living vortex of endless destinations.
He held it.
He actually held the portal,
the mouth of infinity resting in his grasp as if it were a fragile glass sphere.
The universe shuddered.
He clenched both fists.
A single strike shattered the local continuum,
and the broken geometry collapsed into another white hole.
Then, placing both hands on the fractured layers of existence,
he pressed them together—
forcing **space itself to fold inward.**
Between his palms, a **singularity** was born.
A point of absolute compression—
the moment where all things lost their meaning and became one.
Alexandre watched the newborn singularity flicker,
the reflection of limitless gravity mirrored in his calm eyes.
> "So this is what it feels like,"
> he whispered,
> "to hold creation and collapse in the same breath."