1,000 cosmic years later, the entire expanse of the cosmos was thrown into chaotic tumult, as realms across its vast reaches experienced relentless dimensional fracturing. These rifts were potent enough to rip apart even the mightiest demonic or celestial races.
Thunderclaps roared like cosmic drums, reverberating through the void, while time itself twisted and stretched unnaturally, plunging all creation into a collective state of dread. Even the most exalted leaders among the celestial and demonic races were terrified before this incomprehensible upheaval.
Traveling across millennia and through unimaginable distances of space, this anomaly finally presented itself at the edge of the universe, an area hidden away within a dimension that was self-sustaining and enclosed upon itself. And within this mysterious region, there loomed a huge castle made completely of ash-white stone that distorted the fabric of space around it. Imposing with spires reaching up toward infinity, this castle manifested both greatness and terror.
In one of the enormous rooms in that castle, there was a huge female Primordial lying on a gigantic bed of gold carved out of mountainous stone. The bed itself was some sort of tremendous contraption, cut from the bones of some ancient eldritch giants. Groaning with pure effort, the cries of the Titan woman sounded like the rumble of faraway stars colliding. Her giant body strained as she put everything into the struggle to give life anew.
"Do not falter! The child is almost here!" cried one of the old nannies in a tone full of command and urging. Her words carried in the weight of ages, yet were tenderly urgent as she stood beside the laboring mother.
Before the high door, outside, another huge form was pacing. The huge male Primordial, with surging white hair seeming like rivers of starlight, matched the woman's height and scale. His massive hands clawed at his head in agitation, and his huge form exuded unrest, moving in agitated circles. Though huge and powerful, tremors of fear came from him like ripples on a pond hit by a thrown stone.
In that moment, one of the elder Primordials whirled into view, towering over his fellows by a titanic 100-foot height. Every movement was calculated in an un-earthly ballet as he strode with measured grace, gnarled staff in hand that came down with each step. Every time it touched the ground, it seemed to pin surrounding void in place, as though asserting dominion over the chaos. His face was cut into by the ravages of an ageless time; his air cast a weight in the air that silently and respectfully demanded utter silence.
"Zephyrion," the elder said, his voice even, rumbling with the weight of galaxies. His calloused hand fell reassuringly onto the head of the younger Primordial. "As the Void Archon of the Nihilith clan, you must steady your thoughts. The balance of those who depend on you hangs in the balance."
Zephyrion raised his head; now his eyes were as grey as grief and repentance. "What else am I to do? This chaos is of my doing… born of my own negligence," he spoke with a quivering voice, like some sort of echoed response to some cosmic storm.
The elder's face softened, a small smile playing across his ancient features, though charged and volatile the atmosphere remained around them. "No, Zephyrion, this is not your doing. This was a thing unseen-a Primordial born of another Primordial. Such a thing runs against the order of the cosmos. It was not by your will but by the freak and inscrutable laws which govern life. Do not take upon yourself guilt not warranted."
The elder's words hung in the air, some sort of fleece, spun between stars-a fragile solace against the storm. Yet within and without the castle gates, the air was turbulent-an evidence of the poignancy of that instant inshore within its hallowed precincts.
The corridor was taut with expectant silence to which Zephyrion's anxiety was brewing, an open wound. The heavy chamber doors then groaned open, slicing through the quiet like the swift turn of a heavenly page. Zephyrion and the elder turned briskly as one of the nannies emerged-her small figure dwarfed by the grandeur of the doors.
"Congratulations, sir, the delivery was a success," she announced; her voice breaking with wonder. But, before she could utter more, Zephyrion brushed roughly by her in a whirly-gush of impatience and his tremendous body vanished into the chamber.
Inside, Zephyrion's wife was lying wan but composed, her enormous body subsiding into the bed like a mountain settling into the ground. She breathed in rapid, shallow lungfuls of air, and her fatigue was cut deep into every crease and fold in her face and around her eyes. Zephyrion ran to her side, grasping her enormous hand, his fingers tracing the contours of her palm with a shaking caress. "Are you all right? How do you feel?
He asked in a thickened voice, cracked with concern, his eyes running over her body, searching for signs of hurt.
She nodded slightly, the corners of her lips curving in a faint smile. "Yes, everything is all right. Just a few internal injuries… they will heal with time." The weight of her words, though soft, drowned the frantic thoughts that had been swimming in his mind.
It was then that the elder came in, and his old eyes beheld the 10-foot newborn cradled by quivering nannies. The child lay still; its small form bereft of the energetic life that was supposed to course through its veins. And an instant silence filled the room as Zephyrion and his wife turned their faces toward the lifeless child, a cold dread clawing at their hearts.
What has happened? Why does the child not respond?" the elder demanded, curiosity and concern cutting like a knife in his voice. His weathered features screwed up in concentration as he peered at the infant, mentally working over possibilities.
The three nannies had dropped to their knees, pale with terror. "Please excuse our incompetence," one stammered, voice shaking. "The child was delivered without consciousness." The force of their bow sent faint shockwaves through the room as they slammed their heads into the ground.
The elder lifted his hand; his voice was firm, yet absolving. "No, this is not your fault. This is uncharted ground, a Primordial born through mortal means is unprecedented. You may rise.
The nannies stood, their bodies shaking with residual fear. Zephyrion and his wife stood over the child in fixed astonishment, some unexplainable dread coiling around their hearts. And the room, which recently had held the cries of a laboring mother, was deafeningly silent with the weight of uncertainty upon them all.
The air quivered with latent energy as the agony lingered on, a tenuous, unspoken bond between all there. And then, as if the universe itself intervened, sparks of lightning began to arc across the still form of the baby, veins of light against the cloth of reality. Zion's old memories surged into his mind, rushing and crashing with a force like an unrelenting spring flood.
In that instant, a fragment of memory burst to the fore: some heavenly body conducting bizarre and incomprehensible rituals upon the fragile Earth.
The moment wrenched Zion's soul from its abyss and dragged him back to the mortal plane with a jolt. The baby stirred, and in a second, an eruption of life hit him like a star. A scream tore through the night, sharp and primeval, as his eyes blazed with white lightning.
Tendrils of crackling energy wrapped around his tiny form in an ethereal cocoon of power that was both wondrous and terrifying. His wails echoed like thunder through the chamber, reverberating with a resonance that seemed to shake the very foundation of existence.
As if yielding to a symphony, faint lightning dancing across his body now strengthened into a plethora of crackling arcs, crowning him with an aura of raw, untamed energy. His hair, fine and shining like spun silver, was wreathed in electric radiance, as though forged from lightning.
Every gaze turned toward him and their wide eyes glistened with awe and trepidation. The air, thick with dread only an instant before, changed in a heartbeat. The room, quivering with something beyond human conception, now vibrated with silent, holy respect.