Fate sat on his bed and immediately cracked open the book, leaving Kravoss to sit down in a huff.
'The book isn't going anywhere,' the Dracok said. 'And it's past midnight. You have work tomorrow, you know.'
'Uh huh, yeah,' Fate said absentmindedly, eyes glued to the book in his hand.
'You aren't even listening.' Kravoss shook his head. 'Fine. I'm going to get some sleep. Don't cry to me when you wake up feeling like you got hit by a hammer.'
But Fate had long since stopped listening, delving into the book eagerly. That urge within him had only grown the longer he waited. He had planned to start reading it in the morning, but he couldn't tear his thoughts away from the book in his possession.
Without another word, he got to reading.
The wife, Prechat, was a creator, said the book. She birthed the stars, the skies, and reality itself. She saw beauty in all things and was ready to forgive the most heinous of crimes committed by her creations. Every life was a treasure, every speck of dust its own story.
Life was endless and everywhere, and had no need for mortal concerns like food, air, or sleep.
Neptul, the husband, was a destroyer. Not because he enjoyed it, but because he saw in life what his wife could not: their selfish, self-destructive nature, their propensity to destroy all they touched and each other.
So he took it upon himself to prune the tree of existence, weeding out undesirables and leaving reality better off than before. To accomplish this task, he created an end to all things to keep everything in check.
Mortals would no longer live forever, universes themselves would slowly decay, and even the sustainers of life, the stars, would crumble in due time.
Neptul created Death.
But Prechat was appalled when she found out what her husband had done. "Life is sacred," she said. "Who are you to end it?"
"But, Prechat," Neptul explained, "you do not see the things your creations do to one another. They maim and abuse and steal and destroy for the sake of their own enjoyment. The vile things they do are inexcusable. There needs to be an end to them, for the good of the others and themselves."
"Then let them!" exclaimed Prechat. "It brings them joy, and that is all I want for my creations."
"Joy at the expense of others is not good, Prechat," Neptul insisted. "What of the ones being broken and bloodied for those you defend with your words now? What of their enjoyment, their happiness?"
"They had all of time to find their own happiness," Prechat said sadly. "But you took that from them."
"Please, wife," pleaded Neptul. "You know as well as I that existence without end is worthless. With an end looming over them, they have the drive to be better, to do better, to improve at astounding rates."
"Only to what? Have all their hard work ripped away from them by this 'death' you've created? How can they find fulfillment in their lives if those lives are rendered pointless when they die?"
"Look, Prechat," Neptul said, pointing at one of his wife's newer worlds.
For beings such as them, time was infinite and their thoughts were slowed by their own will to make it all less harrowing. As such, their 'short' conversation had taken thousands of years.
As Prechat turned her red eyes to her creation, they lit up with pleasant surprise.
In such a short time, one of her nine projects had improved massively.
From a life expectancy of thirty years, they had learned to tap into the Fragments she had gifted them to live for decades or centuries, some for millennia.
Many had smiles on their faces and families around them, the latter of which was rare due to the lack of death discouraging reproduction.
While there were still the actions Neptul condemned present, such as stealing and abuse, and a new thing they dubbed 'murder,' happiness was much more pervasive than before.
What's more, they had developed 'technology,' which allowed them to travel the stars and mingle with the other creations of Prechat, along with many other wonderful things previously limited to Prechat and her husband.
And if that wasn't enough, she could see a spark within many of this race – they had started to call themselves the Nephilim – something that could evolve their Fragments to something greater.
As she watched, they built cities and erected monuments, grew food from the ground and raised it, and developed cures for diseases and illnesses. They even did something she had reserved for herself: the creation of planets and stars.
And it fascinated her.
"See, Prechat?" Neptul asked. "What I did was for their own good. It is an ugly thing, death, but one that helps expose the beauty within your creations."
"Perhaps you are right, husband," Prechat said reluctantly. "Perhaps an inevitable end was necessary. But now I feel…"
"What, Prechat?"
"I feel we are missing our own ends. Creation brings me happiness, but looking at these Nephilim now, there are other kinds of happiness out there. Happiness we've neglected for ourselves."
"What are you saying, Prechat?"
"Our unending lives have lost meaning. Look at them. They create stars and planets, and can manage themselves. We are no longer needed."
"What do you propose then, beloved wife?" Neptul asked, placing his hands on her shoulders and looking into her eyes.
"I want a family, husband," she admitted, slipping her hands on top of his and giving them a loving squeeze. "I want to eat, to breathe, to live. But I cannot do that, not with this form."
"If you want something, dear wife, then I do as well. And if the two of us desire something, it shall be done."
So the two worked their powers, combining them for one grand work that was possibly the most important they had ever done.
They erased their memories and sealed their power, giving up their omnipotent forms and reworking fate and time so they could be reborn as Nephilim, or as they were now called, humans.
Before doing so, they made a promise and weaved a Spell so that no matter what happened, they would always find each other.