In the beginning, there was nothing.
No stars.
No time.
No existence.
Just the infinite void—pure, endless, untouched by creation or decay. In this perfect silence, where not even a whisper of thought had formed, two beings existed.
They were opposites, yet siblings. Majestic in their own right.
The first radiated light—brighter than anything that had ever been or would ever be. His presence was warm, serene, and awe-inspiring. One look at him, and you'd believe you were staring at the source of all that is good and divine. He called himself Yahweh.
The second was a shadow deeper than the void itself. Blacker than dark matter, her very form swallowed light whole. Where Yahweh inspired comfort and hope, she exuded power, silence, and the kind of stillness that follows the end of all things. She was Amara.
They were everything.
They were alone.
But they were content—because they had each other.
For eons unmeasured, they drifted through the void together, inseparable, bound by infinite love and the understanding that they were all there was.
Until Yahweh grew… bored.
He adored his sister, yes, but the endless sameness wore on him. He longed for purpose. For variety. For creation.
And so he acted.
From his own essence, he forged new beings—lesser echoes of his power, shaped in loyalty and light. He called them angels.
This act, beautiful and blasphemous in equal measure, shattered the stillness.
It was the first ripple in the void.
It was the beginning—of time, of creation, of consequence.
But with creation came division. Amara, the eternal dark, saw Yahweh's actions as betrayal. A threat to their balance.
And so, for the first time, the two who were one… split.
Forever.