Somewhere beyond the fragile boundaries of time and space—where both lose their meaning and dissolve into abstraction—there existed a silent, boundless expanse. In that unknowable void, an immense mass of crimson dust drifted, its deep, blood-red hues flowing in slow, hypnotic currents. It did not merely move—it pulsed, as though guided by an ancient will, like a mind awakening within the emptiness itself.
The dust coiled and unfurled in endless patterns, vast and deliberate, as if it were contemplating the void around it… or perhaps remembering something long forgotten.
Then, without warning, lights began to appear.
One by one at first, then in countless numbers, small luminous particles emerged around the crimson mass. They shimmered into existence like whispered thoughts—some radiant white, others glowing in shades of blue, grey, emerald, gold, silver, and colors that seemed to defy naming. They flickered like distant stars, yet they were far too close, their presence almost intimate, as though they were aware of one another… aware of it.
Despite their brilliance, they were insignificant beside the vastness of the crimson expanse. They drifted in slow orbits, trailing faint echoes of the same ethereal dust, as if they had been born from the great mass itself—or drawn back to it by some unseen force.
There was a rhythm to their movement. A quiet, sacred order. And within their glow, a form began to take shape.
Not fully defined, not entirely real—yet unmistakable.
They were not mere particles.
They were silhouettes.
Vaguely… human.
Within that boundless emptiness, something stirred.
A voice emerged—if it could even be called that. It was not sound, nor vibration, but a presence… a feeling that pressed itself upon existence. A command, woven into meaning itself. Ancient. Absolute.
And all who drifted within that void understood.
Crimson had spoken.
"…So, it begins."
The words did not echo—yet they lingered, etched into the very fabric of that silent expanse.
After a long stillness, a smaller spirit, glowing in soft white, pulsed gently before responding. Its presence was far less imposing, yet it carried the same otherworldly weight.
"We have done all that we can…" it said, its tone laced with quiet unease. "But my lord… why place that power in a region destined to fall at the very beginning?"
Before the silence could reclaim the void, another presence flickered to life beside it—an emerald spirit, its glow sharper, more restless.
"If I may add," it interjected, "the candidate you have chosen troubles me most. Such power, placed in the wrong hands… may hasten the destruction we seek to prevent."
Their words dissolved into the vast stillness.
For a moment, nothing answered. The crimson mass drifted, its endless currents folding inward, as though contemplating something far beyond their understanding.
Then—
It spoke again.
"That region…" the presence pressed into them, vast and immovable, "as you all know… if preserved, will become a cornerstone of what is yet to come."
The crimson dust pulsed, slow and deliberate.
"To expend our dwindling strength there would be wasteful. It is… more efficient… to entrust such matters to a singular, decisive force."
It paused.
And in that pause, something deeper stirred—something far more unsettling than before.
"But the true reason…"
The void itself seemed to tighten.
"…has nothing to do with the power. Nor the region."
A faint ripple passed through the gathered spirits.
"It concerns… the candidate."
Silence deepened.
"It was not we who reached out to him."
The words fell like an unseen weight.
"It was he… who reached out to us."
A tremor spread instantly through the countless lights. Their forms flickered, distorting, their quiet order collapsing into restless motion.
"More precisely…"
Even the void seemed to hesitate.
"…to '#'."*
The reaction was immediate. The silence shattered into a storm of chaotic murmurs—fear, disbelief, doubt—all blending into an incomprehensible chorus of otherworldly voices.
Impossible.
Unthinkable.
Forbidden.
Then—
Crimson spoke once more.
And everything fell still.
"Yes… it is nothing short of a miracle."
The vast red expanse pulsed, deeper than before—like the slow beat of something awakening.
"And in what lies ahead…"
The void itself seemed to listen.
"…nothing less will be enough to save us."