Seros floated in the inky blackness, a canvas sprinkled with the nascent light of countless galaxies. He was young, at least in the terms used by those like him, a Higher Unbound. Newly changed, still grappling with the sheer scale of his being, his very essence resonated with the raw power of creation and destruction. He owed his current state to Omnius, a being of unimaginable age and wisdom, who had taken him under his wing after his… awakening. Omnius had guided him, teaching him to temper the destructive urges inherent in their nature, to see the potential for beauty and complexity in the chaos.
And he had seen it. He had witnessed the birth of an omniverse, a sprawling tapestry woven from infinite multiverses, each humming with its own unique laws and possibilities. Within these universes, life bloomed in a riot of forms, species evolving, thriving, warring, creating art, building civilizations, and reaching for the stars. He watched them, fascinated, for eons. He watched them learn to harness fire, build empires, discover the secrets of the atom, and dream of travelling beyond their tiny blue spheres.
He found himself drawn to their ingenuity, their resilience, their capacity for both breathtaking cruelty and selfless love. He felt a protectiveness bloom within him, a strange and unfamiliar emotion for a being whose existence transcended mortal comprehension. He loved them, these fleeting, fragile sparks of consciousness flickering across the vast cosmic stage.
But he knew he could not interfere. As Omnius had warned, a single thought from him, a moment of unchecked power, could unravel the delicate threads of reality and extinguish entire universes. He had learned to maintain a careful distance, observing from the periphery, a silent guardian, forever unseen and unknown. It was a lonely existence, but he bore it willingly, content to watch his "children" flourish in their own chaotic, unpredictable way.
Then came the darkness.
It began as a ripple, a disturbance in the fabric of reality, a discordant note in the cosmic symphony. Soon, it coalesced into something tangible, something malignant: the Chaos Gods. Beings born from the primordial void, from another omniverse, fueled by entropy and driven by an insatiable hunger for destruction. They erupted into the omniverse like a plague, their power raw and unbridled, their intent clear: annihilation.
Leading the charge was Karal, a hulking figure wreathed in shadows, his voice a guttural roar that echoed across shattered dimensions. "DEATH TO ALL WEAKLINGS!" he bellowed, his words a prelude to the slaughter that followed. Three other Chaos Gods, each wielding unimaginable power, flanked him, their presence a suffocating blanket of despair.
Seros watched in horror as the multiverses began to fall, one by one, consumed by the encroaching chaos. He witnessed civilizations crumble, planets shatter, and entire species extinguished in the blink of an eye. He heard their silent screams, felt their collective terror, and the agony tore at his very being.
He clenched his fists, the immensity of his power thrumming beneath his skin. He could obliterate mere apex authority beings, snuff them out like candles in the wind. But he hesitated. Omnius's words echoed in his mind: "Interference is a dangerous game, young one. It can have unintended consequences."
His hands trembled. He saw a vibrant, thriving world choked by tendrils of chaos, its inhabitants pleading for salvation that would never come. He whispered, his voice barely audible even to himself, "This cannot be... my children...I..."
Suddenly, a presence materialized beside him, a familiar warmth that radiated wisdom and immense age. It was another Higher Unbound, ancient and serene, their form shimmering with an ethereal light. Seros recognized them; they were an elder, one of the first changed.
"I know, young one," the elder said, their voice a gentle resonance that calmed the turmoil raging within Seros. "But we cannot interfere."
"But they're dying!" Seros cried, his voice laced with desperation. "They're being destroyed!"
The elder's eyes, ancient as the cosmos themselves, held a profound sadness. "I know. But it is already difficult for you to control yourself, still so new to your change. Interference would not be wise. It could unleash forces you cannot comprehend, and the consequences could be far worse than what you see now."
"But I can't just stand here and watch them die!" Seros protested, his power surging, threatening to break free from his control.
The elder placed a hand on Seros's arm, a gesture of impossible gentleness. "It is not good to interfere. We see them, but they cannot see us. We understand them, but they cannot understand us. We know everything about them, but they know nothing about us. We love them, but they don't know our love."
Their words were a soothing balm, but Seros still resisted. "Isn't there anything we can do?"
The elder shook their head slowly. "Our role is not to dictate their destiny, but to observe, to learn, to understand the ebb and flow of creation and destruction. We are the guardians of the balance, not the architects of fate."
"But what about their potential?" Seros pleaded. "What about all the wonders they could have created, the knowledge they could have discovered, the love they could have shared?"
The elder sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of countless lost worlds. "Their potential will live on, young one. In other universes, in other forms, in other lives. The cycle continues. Nothing is ever truly lost."
They paused, their gaze fixed on the dying omniverse, a galaxy of hope fading into the encroaching darkness. "It's time to let go, young one."
Seros stared at the carnage, his heart aching with a profound and unbearable grief. He watched as the last flickers of light were extinguished, as the screams of the dying faded into silence. He watched until there was nothing left but the cold, empty void.
Finally, with a monumental effort, he closed his eyes and turned away. He knew the elder was right. He could not interfere. He had to let go.
But as he drifted away, guided by the elder into the silent expanse between universes, he carried with him the memory of the lost omniverse, a burning ember of love and sorrow that would forever shape his existence. He was a Higher Unbound, a guardian of the balance. And he had learned, in the most devastating way possible, the true meaning of his burden. He would watch, he would observe, and he would remember. He would remember his children, and their lost potential. And he would vow to never forget the price of inaction, even as he understood the necessity of it. He would be a lover, even in the face of eternal loss.