Thousands of stones, each carrying the consciousness of what mortals would one day call a Fragment of the Heavenly Dao, rained into the abyss. Among them, two particular stones were swallowed by a void: the Primordial Light and the Primordial Darkness.
The stones drifted through emptiness for eons, until the Primordial Stone of Light began to glow faintly. Cracks appeared along its surface, and like a fragile egg splitting open, a concentrated light spilled forth, coalescing into a girl whose body radiated a pure, luminescent glow. Wings extended from her back, shining with an otherworldly brilliance. Unsure of her purpose in the endless void, she wandered for countless centuries before stumbling upon a lone, massive rock. Guided by instinct, she shone her light upon it.
The warmth of her illumination caused the rock to fracture, revealing a darkness so dense it threatened to swallow her glow. From this shadow condensed a form—a man with horns and a tail, taking the shape of a human. His features were as captivating as hers, a reflection of the Fragment of the Heavenly Dao that had birthed him.
Without knowing why, the two sensed an intrinsic bond. They were halves of the same essence, destined to traverse the void together. For millions of years, they wandered side by side, yet even companionship could not fill the emptiness. In boredom, they began to weave worlds from nothingness—three blank realms, devoid of life, yet infused with their light and shadow. They delighted in the cycle of day and night, in the interplay of darkness and illumination, until the worlds felt as trivial as the void itself, and they abandoned them.
Eons later, a new consciousness emerged from the remnants of their combined power: a boy, horned and tailed, his body faintly aglow. He was born after the two Fragments of the Heavenly Dao had regained awareness, so they called him their son. Playful and curious, he explored the vast emptiness for centuries, eventually discovering the three abandoned worlds of his progenitors. Intrigued, he carried them back to his parents and requested them as toys.
Amused, they granted his wish. But the boy, discerning the blandness of the worlds, infused them with new life using the powers inherited from his parents and his own unique spark. In the first world, he created four immortal beings capable of reproduction. Two were fashioned after his mother—pure, angelic, and winged; the other two reflected his father—horned and tailed. He granted them the essence of light and darkness, giving each consciousness and autonomy. Then, without interference, he set them within their respective domains, leaving them to shape their own fates.
For a million years, he observed, fascinated by their growth, their conflicts, and the divergence of their thoughts from his own. In the second world, he created another set of lifeforms, but discovered his creative power had limits. He could only fashion eight beings, weaker than the angels and demons of the first world. Still, he imbued them with combat aptitude and knowledge, distributing them among the empty worlds.
Finally, with the remainder of his power, he shaped flora and fauna to sustain the lives he had made, forming the first humans. He continued to study all three worlds for eons, enthralled by the unfolding stories of his creation.
And so, the beginnings of this world were set by the sudden reappearance of Fragments of the Heavenly Dao, as they regained consciousness—awakening, wandering, and weaving existence from the very void itself and beyond.