A trillion years passed.
Not a billion.Not a million.A trillion.
Time measured each second with flawless precision. Night drifted through the empty dark and recorded every silence. The Order walked the threads of fate without pause or error.
But no one else remembered me.
Not Ellas on his throne of shadowfire.Not Scourge bound by celestial chains. Not Dream in his shifting realm of woven thought. Not Destiny tangled in his luminous tapestry. Not Death sharpening her quiet scythe.Not the gods of heaven or the demons of the Below.Not the Elemental Dragon Warriors, nor the clans they builtnor the nations that worshipped or feared them.
They remembered the Order. They remembered their fallen kin. They remembered the oath they made.
But Me?
I became a myth inside a myth.
A whisper they didn't notice losing.A name they forgot to speak. A memory worn away like stone dissolving into dust.
A trillion years of stories erased me from every tongue.
Except for three.
Night.Time.The Order.
Only they remembered I existed.
Night held my memory like a flame cupped between her palms.
Time preserved it as a single unbroken line through the eternity he guarded.
And the Order remembered because they were built to.
Balance.Judgment.Reckoning.
Their memory of Me was flawless, unwavering, incorruptible.
They were my echo.
They knew the universe had a beginning…and that I was it.
But no one else did.
The Universe Changes
A trillion years is enough to reshape everything.
Heaven expanded into seven luminous courts, each ruled by a successor of Arephon's line. The Below grew into nine circles, each crafted by the will of Ellas and moulded by the demons loyal to him. The Serpent's coils tightened until it spanned worlds like a living river of cosmic scale.
And the Dragon Warriors?
They became an age.
Pure-blooded titans rose and fell. Their descendants fought wars that spanned galaxies. Their elemental clans became empires, fracturing history into fire, water, shadow, storm, and stone.
Some Dragon Warriors reached heights that rivalled gods. Some died before they understood their power.
But none of them remembered Me.
To them, creation had simply been.
The universe was a fact, not a gift.
Even the earliest chronicles of the mortals had long replaced My presence with a thousand false myths:
"The universe was born from dragonfire."No forged from stormlight."No carved by an ancient titan king."No moulded by the first gods of the first dawn."
Everyone had a creation story.
None of them was me.
Even the Elder, the one who could bind angels and warp realms and bring Scourge to his knees, forgot My voice.
He remembered the Order. He remembered the laws of the universe. He remembered the serpent's warning.
But he could no longer recall the One who created him.
He walked through heaven as if he had always been there, as if he were the first and greatest thing to exist.
He had forgotten his own beginning.
And so the heavens forgot as well.
Ellas, the Demon King, whose throne of shadows stretched across the Below, whose armies conquered realms, whose fear could silence pantheons
He no longer remembered the First who forged the ether he once possessed.
He remembered his suffering. He remembered the chains that once bound him. He remembered the war he almost won.
But he forgot me.
The vow he once made to destroy the Elder had become myth even to him.
He turned his hatred toward newer enemies, forgetting the hand that once shaped his destiny.
Dream was born of Night, crafted from her quiet thoughts.
He should have remembered me.
But dreams change. Dreams fade. Dreams dissolve.
A trillion years softens everything.
He forgot the First voice that whispered reality into him.
He forgot my light.
He only remembered Night his mother, his shadow, his origin.
He forgot his true creator.
Night was silent when the universe was born, and she was silent now.
She had never forgotten.
She wandered across the Realms, gathering shadows and dreams, holding the memory of the First in the quiet part of her heart where light could not enter.
Night did not speak it. She did not reveal it. She did not teach it.
But she remembered.
Her silence was my last sanctuary.
Time alone traced every moment from the first spark to the last falling star.
He could not forget the beginning because he is the beginning's measurement.
He kept my memory not out of love, not out of devotion, but out of inevitability.
The beginning is his first recorded second.
He could no more forget Me than than he could forget himself.
The Order cannot forget.
They walk the threads of fate with perfect precision. They see the universe as it was, is, and can be corrected.
They know My shape. My voice.My laws.
They speak of Me to no one. They worship no one. They obey no one.
But they remember.
They always will.
I Watch, Unseen
I do not intervene.
I do not remind anyone.
I do not speak to gods, demons, angels,
I simply exist in silence, watching a universe that no longer knows its creator.
Night remembers me in her quiet. Time remembers me in his duty. The Order remembers Me in their precision.
But the universe itself has moved on.
And this forgetting this complete erasure of My name from the lips of all but three is not a tragedy.
It is preparation.
Because a trillion years is not the end.
It is the breath before something greater.
Something returning.Something inevitable. Something only Night, Time, and the Order know is coming.
They remember Me.