Welcome, Mortals, to the primordial void, a man with 12 huge wings said to the 1000 people who stood in the infinitely white space.
What is happening here, a person blurted out among the crowd.
Wait, I understand your fear, but you don't have to worry, I mean no harm, the man said to them.
How can we be so sure? Another asked.
Because I can kill you all with a snap of my finger, and would not need to start plotting or tricking you.
Fair enough, Damien thought. For a person to be able to do something like this, it means they have passed the scope of human, he thought.
Why have you summoned us?
My master, the primordial one, has decided to host this contest for various reasons, one of which is to choose a successor.
The rest are going to be told to you when a winner is finally selected.
So what is this mission about?
It is a very simple one, which you all would find interesting.
But before that, I would tell a tale to you all.
From the way I told you about the primordial one, I am sure you will think the Primordial One was the first, the man said, his voice shifting. It was no longer gentle or commanding; it was deeper, older, layered with countless echoes like ancient voices speaking through him.
His wings opened wider, casting twelve radiant arcs of light behind him. Each shimmered with a different essence: red suns, silver time, golden energy, deep oceans, shifting winds, even silent, black gravity. But even He was created.
Murmurs stirred across the thousand people, some gasped, some stepped back.
There were beings before Him, the winged man continued. We do not speak their names, we do not remember their forms. Because they made sure we could not. They are the True Creators, the Architects Before Beginning.
The Primordial One was not born, not like you. He was forged, a seed placed into the womb of the Void, grown from fragments of the First Flame. He was made to be limitless, boundless, the greatest of all potential. The man's expression grew solemn. And he fulfilled that role. He built stars, birthed time, nurtured light, danced with chaos and cradled order. He created life in all its complexity, and then watched it burn itself to ash."
The darkness behind the man took shape again, showing galaxies born in moments, civilisations rising, wars erupting, gods clashing, beauty and terror rising and falling like waves. And finally, they saw the Primordial One seated alone, silent in an empty throne surrounded by dying stars.
But over aeons, He forgot, the winged man whispered. He forgot He was not the beginning. He forgot the purpose of His creation. And most of all, he forgot that He was never meant to rule forever.
The images vanished.
And so, he said, turning to face the gathered crowd, He made this contest
Behind each of the thousand mortals, a glowing black sphere materialised, perfectly round, pulsing like a sleeping star. Some flinched, others stared. The spheres hovered, silent, waiting.
These are your Creation Cores, the winged man said. Created by the architect and passed down to the primordial one.
He stepped down onto the white surface, his wings slowly folding behind him.
You are not just here to build, you are here to awaken something deeper.
His wings extended one final time, casting radiant light in every direction.
Begin.
And the void roared to life, with a door materialising in front of every one.