The void was dark and silent. It wasn't the simple silence and darkness but the utter absence of all concepts like light, vision or sound; a profound, infinite stillness—where neither Chaos nor Order existed.
A ripple of pale grey light cut through the darkness, coalescing into the vague silhouette of a man.
Elias' avatar stepped out from nothingness and onto the unseen currents of Earth's reality. Even here, outside the flow of its reality, his presence bent the subtle laws—the way a heavy object distorts the surface of calm water. His aura shimmered faintly, muffling the chaos sealed within him.
"Earth's fiction," he murmured, voice tinged with boredom and the faintest anticipation. His gaze swept across the countless filaments before him—each a story, each a thread shaped from the imagination of countless humans across earth's history. He walked through them as though strolling through a gallery of living worlds.
One story caught his eye—a tangle of gray fog threaded with madness and distant whispers. The pressure it exuded was chaotic and … fun. Elias smiled.
"Finally, the world of mysteries," he breathed, a note of excitement softening his tone. "This should be fun."
He lingered at the edge of the branch, studying the countless narratives twisting within.
Klein Moretti's thread was faint, glimmering against the oppressive darkness. Many bright lights shined throughout history.
Elias stood there deep in his thoughts. "Now, what pathway should I choose?" He tapped his chin theatrically. "Or maybe… I should just create a new one?"
The void answered only with silence.
Then he suddenly remembered a long forgotten memory, he extended his hand to the still void and summoned a translucent sphere—a relic of his own amusement back on Earth, his own fan-made pathway. Inside swirled three embryonic pathways and a nascent Sefirah, waiting to be used.
He paused, staring at the sphere "should I add some refinements, I'm not sure if it would be enough.." then laughed quietly. "Where's the fun in that? If I lose or die that is just part of the fun, I could always start over, if I'm still interested that is, but just one small thing." His hand released a wisp of white aura and entered the sphere, "a small change in one of the rituals should bring interesting scenarios"
Satisfied, he clenched his fist, and the sphere dissolved into motes of light.
"Now what pathway should I begin with? Rightful, Warlock maybe?…," he mused, his grin widening.
"Rightful it is," he declared. "Warlock would be too dull before the apocalypse. And as for the Sefirah… I'll do like Klein—lower my control. Best not to steal the stage entirely and make it too easy."
The threads of narrative began to hum. Faces flickered before him: noble families in Backlund's smog-choked streets, a stubborn boy praying beneath the City of Silver's eternal lightning. Elias browsed between them like choosing photos.
"Who should I be? A noble… or a boy from the City of Silver?" His eyes glinted with mischief.
Then, with an exaggerated stretch and a dramatic sweep of his arm, he whispered, "Now… let the story begin."
His form shattered into brilliant grey dust that scattered across the branch, infiltrating the story. The mist swallowed him, and for the briefest instant, reality seemed to shiver—an alien presence slipping into the gears of fiction.