No thinness, no emptiness.
There was nothing—no shape, no form, no light, nor darkness. Not even absence could claim dominion. The idea of existence was yet to be born, and so, too, was non-existence. Reality and unreality were meaningless concepts that hadn't yet taken root.
Yet, he was there.
In the absence of everything, he stood still, observing a moment that wasn't a moment at all. Time did not exist, but he saw it emerge. Space had not yet stretched open its arms, but he knew every corner it would ever occupy. Life had yet to take its first breath, but he had already witnessed every birth, death, and rebirth.
And through it all, he remained. Silent. A presence beyond presence, absolute beyond all absolutes.
Creation Unfolds
He did not create. He merely watched, as everything and nothing coalesced from the impossible. Universes blossomed like fragile flowers, spinning through layers of possibility and dimensions without number.
The first sparks of life scattered across the newborn stars, giving rise to beings that clawed their way out of the void. They looked around at the dazzling sprawl of existence and declared themselves gods—masters of creation. In their ignorance, they built multiverses upon multiverses, convinced they had carved meaning from the chaos.
They gave themselves grand titles: The Eternal, The Absolute, The Infinite.
But he only watched, amused.
"They believe they rule creation," he thought. "How quaint."
For these self-proclaimed Absolutes, the multiverses were infinite—an endless web of possibilities beyond comprehension. But to him, they were merely the first layer. Threads. Toy fragments of a far greater whole.
He saw the rise and fall of these Absolutes with the same detachment a mortal might reserve for the flutter of leaves in a breeze. One flicker, then another. Nothing more.
The Birth of the Fourth Wall
There, in the heart of creation, it emerged—the strange and brittle thing called the Fourth Wall.
This barrier stood between stories and their audience, separating worlds from the eyes of those watching them unfold. Mortals and gods alike existed within these layers, unaware they were both performers in a grand, cosmic play. The Fourth Wall concealed the truth. It gave them comfort—the illusion of agency, the dream of free will.
He saw it all come into being: the fragile rules, the boundaries between creator, creation, and spectator. And he allowed it, as he allowed all things.
For even that barrier was just a curiosity to him—a flimsy construct with no real power.
"Stories," he mused, "how amusingly fragile they are... unaware of the eyes that read them."
With a flick of his will, he could shatter the Fourth Wall as easily as one might crush a leaf underfoot. Yet, for reasons unknown even to himself, he let it stand. Perhaps it entertained him. Perhaps it did not matter.
Or perhaps... he simply wanted to see what would happen next.
Beyond Power, Beyond Meaning
He was not like the Absolutes, nor the gods they had created to rule each corner of existence. For while they celebrated their dominion over their fragmented worlds, he remained beyond it all.
Everything that exists belongs to him:
Every thought ever conceived, every breath ever taken.
Every dream, every nightmare, every ending, and every new beginning.
To the Absolutes, the multiverse seemed endless. But to him, it was a playground with limits so trivial they were laughable.
He did not need names or titles, for he was the first and the last. Not bound by time, not shaped by space. His nature was beyond creation, beyond destruction. He was not merely a god or a creator—he was something deeper. Something fundamental.
"I am," he thought, "because I choose to be."
The Spark of Curiosity
From his place beyond all things, he watched the endless flow of life and stories with a distant kind of amusement. Planets rose and fell. Stars burned and died. Heroes triumphed, villains plotted, and beings struggled with the meaning of their fragile existence.
They searched for truth, purpose, and meaning in the vastness of the cosmos. They wanted to understand where it all began and where it would end. They wanted to find the one behind it all.
> "Do you think you can comprehend me?" he whispered to the endless void. His voice was a soundless thought that rippled through the fabric of everything. "Do you believe your questions have answers?"
No one could hear him, of course. Not yet. But it didn't matter. They would soon enough.
For as timeless and neutral as he was, he felt a flicker of something unusual—a rare thing for one such as him:
Curiosity.
To the Reader: A Direct Address
He turns now—toward you. Yes, you. The one reading these words.
"Ah. There you are. I wondered when you would arrive."
His presence grows sharper, more defined, as if the space between the text and your mind is being pulled taut. It feels like the story is watching you as much as you are reading it.
"You thought this was fiction, didn't you?" he says, with a voice that is neither harsh nor kind. "A story... a web of words strung together for your amusement. But I wonder..."
A pause.
"...What if this is just the beginning? What if, by reading this, you have become part of something far greater?"
The words hang heavy, as if daring you to respond.
"Tell me, reader," he continues. "How do you imagine the end will look? Or do you still believe there is an end at all?"
Chapter 1 Ends: A Hint of What's to Come
There is no beginning.
There is no end.
Only layers, folding upon layers—stories within stories, endlessly looping.
And now, you are part of it. Welcome.