In a place where time cannot be recorded,
And space cannot contain,
Where laws are shattered,
And logic is slaughtered at the first threshold...
In the non-place where time gasps its last breaths...
In a realm torn from the map of existence,
Where no dawn ever rises,
And no darkness ever fades—
There…
In eternal silence that chokes awareness...
The void breathes.
Amidst this suffocating stillness—
It stood.
A castle...?
No.
That word insults the sanctity of what stood in that void.
This thing… was rooted in the nothingness,
As if it was the one that shaped space around it.
A colossal structure anchored in the abyss—
With no base, no roof,
And yet—its presence was undeniable.
Countless pillars, made of dead bones the size of planets,
Stretched into infinity.
Its entrance...
Could not be called a "hallway"...
But a cosmic wound in the skin of reality,
Torn violently so nightmares could pass through.
And on either side of that wound—
They stood.
Forms that defied definition:
Giants distorting space itself,
Creatures twisting dimensions around their limbs,
Souls without bodies,
Bodies with no form,
Demons that made Hell avert its gaze.
Each one,
Had it appeared in any normal world,
Could have extinguished planets with a single breath.
And yet…
They all knelt.
Lined along both sides of the rift,
In unbreakable reverence,
As if created for this posture alone,
As if kneeling before the one arriving
Was woven into their very being.
Every nightmare, every titan, every incomprehensible entity—
Bowed in silence.
The sound of their submission shook the cosmos.
A celestial quake—
A moan not born from throats,
But from the laws of existence itself.
At the beginning of the path—
A slit in space—
Not a distortion,
But a clean cut.
As if a blade had surpassed existence itself,
Slicing space into a perfect vertical line.
And from that slit…
A slender black hand emerged.
Five fingers—
Each ending in an eye instead of a nail.
Each finger adorned with a unique ring,
And each ring radiated an aura that made even time tremble.
Then…
He entered.
His body seemed forged from the ashes of gods.
Skin carved with symbols that belonged to no language.
A third slit pulsed on his forehead—
A gaze from before time.
His eyes burned red—
As though they held the ends of eras.
And his long black hair—
Flowed like the darkness of extinguished stars.
He sat upon a throne of eyes,
Around which coiled slick limbs covered in sight—
As if all of existence was watching through him.
And as he appeared…
The cosmos trembled.
The entities lining the rift
Lowered themselves further.
And the universe echoed with a solemn voice:
"We bow before… the Second Eternal."
He did not walk.
Reality slid beneath him.
Space and time retreated, contracted, shivered.
Existence itself flinched from his touch—afraid to be touched, seen, or interpreted.
Each step echoed—not in space, but in the memory of the universe.
And then, suddenly… he was there.
At the edge.
At the end of the corridor—
Where all things stopped, and nothingness began.
That corridor, vast enough to contain countless worlds—not just planets—
He crossed it in a single moment.
No sound. No movement.
Just… reality yielded to him.
Then he spoke, his voice like a new law etched into the foundations of creation:
"Sephral."
Before the name even finished echoing, another presence appeared beside him.
This one no less dreadful.
No less majestic.
He was so tall the ceiling of the void bent above him.
Massive, spiraling horns like the arms of ancient time adorned his head.
His eyes glowed with the color of dead gold—not warmth, but life-draining radiance.
His body was clad in an organic armor, as if Time itself had calcified upon his skin.
His words were rare.
Measured.
Heavy like forgotten gods.
He placed a hand on his chest and bowed,
with a reverence known only to those who live outside mortality:
"I greet… the Second Eternal."
The Second turned to him, speaking with a calmness that echoed unfathomable depths:
"Is our brother still within the 'Auruthal'?"
Sephral's gaze remained fixed on the void:
"Yes. He has not emerged… not even once, in forty million years."
The Second Eternal sighed.
But his sigh wasn't air.
It was a tremor that rippled through the threads of destiny.
"I didn't know that my answer to a question… would ignite all of this."
Then he turned, slowly—
So slowly that his movement seemed to reshape the corridors of time.
He glanced into a spot that only he could see, and muttered:
"…In the end, we shall see."
---
Beyond the Horizon…
In this vast, branching cosmos, there are no true borders.
Hundreds of universes…
Millions of galaxies…
Billions of worlds…
They breathe.
They collapse.
But quantity does not mean equality.
Not all universes are the same.
Not all stars are born equal.
Here, power determines the peak.
Not beauty.
Not justice.
Some worlds are ruled by law.
Others… reject the concept entirely.
Some were born millennia ago.
Others—since eternity itself.
No start. No end.
And amidst this sea of existence,
There are names whispered with reverence.
Inscribed in blood upon the walls of forbidden knowledge.
Worlds feared by all.
Revered by all.
Some can be reached—if the cost is entire civilizations.
Others… hidden, folded between dimensions,
with no door,
and no one daring to seek the key.
Three of them…
Were known only as "The Hidden Realms."
Even chaos has rulers.
Even the void has a summit.
Worlds are ranked.
Planets categorized.
Realms… either dominated—or erased.
In the Great Archive, where reality's pulses are recorded,
the rankings were etched in permanence:
---
.Fifth-Tier Realms:
Fragile, with barely stable laws.
They collapse under the slightest temporal tremor.
Home to the weak. Forgotten by history.
Often used as testing grounds for forbidden weapons.
.Fourth-Tier:
Structurally complete but still obedient.
They follow stable systems.
Inhabitants live unaware that they are merely simulations…
Watched… judged…
Awaiting evolution—or erasure.
.Third-Tier:
These worlds resonate.
Home to beings of power.
New laws manifest.
Their battles are observed.
Their victories… archived.
They are watched.
But not yet… touched.
.Second-Tier:
Here, awe begins.
Realms that survived temporal collapses.
Withstood invasions from beyond the universe.
Ancient entities visit cautiously, leaving with offerings of fear.
Myths are born here…
and reborn elsewhere.
.First-Tier:
Their number—unknown.
They defy all classification.
Time has no hold over them.
Some created their own laws.
Others… became law itself.
Merely approaching one distorts the fabric of reality.
Existing within them is a trial for mind and soul alike.
---
And then…
There is what lies beyond all classification—
The Three Hidden Realms.
Realms spoken of only in whispers.
Seen only in dreams… or in the shattering of consciousness.
They have no beginning.
No end.
They exist beyond comprehension.
The greatest beings refuse to name them.
The highest records are sealed to prevent mention of them.
And yet… they left traces.
Those who emerged from them scarred the universe.
Carved their names into the memory of creation itself.
Some spoke—and the laws of reality shuddered.
Some remained silent—and entire cosmoses paused to listen.
Every step they took…
was etched into existence.
Every appearance…
a sign that change was inevitable.
They are not part of this world.
This world… is a part of them.
And if one of them returns…
Time will never be the same.
Nothing… will ever be as it was.