As darkness covered the entire timeless space, Venterus the Venerable tapped three times, sitting on the chair in the center of the void, with the other gods scattered on either side. Each tap Venterus tapped resonated in this eternal void.
With the first tap, creation was reordered
With the second tap, the universes trembled.
Then the third and final tap, which brought awe to the gods present, trembling in their spiritual being. None of the attendees spoke, as the aura emanating from Venterus made their souls feel pressured.
A god sitting near Venterus spoke, stammering in awe.
"What... what do we serve you... my lord?!"
In the darkness, Venterus's embodiment was not clearly visible, even despite the scattered angelic light in the space. Silence reigned, and the sound of Venterus's aura rose, making everyone realize that Venterus had not spoken since the beginning of the Cosmic Council!
Venteros smiled calmly and said,
"Shall we begin?"
A sense of dread spread through everyone present, and their inner questions rose: "What do we begin with!?"
Venteros interrupted their questions with a faint smile, leaving them lost in a whirl of endless confusion:
"The Eternal Game."
Creator Rios stood, resisting the scattered aura, then said angrily and questioningly,
"Do you want us to incarnate in that unknown universe!? Haven't all the creators who entered that universe returned yet?! "
The rest of the creators stood with her, repeating the same phrases, along with phrases containing an unknown hidden secret about that so-called universe of hidden existence.
"That universe is even beyond our control, How could we incarnate in a place like this!"
"Isn't it impossible to control the system there? It could be a prison for the soul."
All this time, Venterus listened silently, and the council remained abuzz with the multitude of possibilities being raised about this unknown universe. Then, at Venterus's will, an energy explosion silenced all present, reminding them of who they were.
Venterus answered questioningly,
"Wouldn't it be easier to penetrate this universe if the soul were incarnated? "
"Sir, but all the souls who have incarnated have not yet returned. They die and then return, dying again and again, trapped in this endless cycle of reincarnation." One of the Creators present replied,
"Because they are unable to reveal the greatest secret of perception."
...Venteros clicked for the last moment, as if listening to what was being said and knowing something the Creators did not yet comprehend. Then he raised his gaze toward those still halos behind the veils of perception. His voice extended not from his mouth, but from a depth unheard since the first vibration:
—"I will go... alone."
The light danced around him as if the stars were suffocating, and some energies receded without moving. The silence split into two pulses: astonishment... and denial.
An entity without identity answered him, its voice as cold as the bone of time:
"You will forget every pulse, every flash... You will not be you."
Without raising his voice, Venenteros replied:
—"In forgetfulness, truth is revealed, and in ignorance, perception is born."
Time splintered for a moment, as if reality had questioned itself. Then the universes gathered behind him, and began to shrink... shrink until they became a breathing black dot.
Another from the council said, his shadow melting between the unseen and the decided: "And if you don't hold out? If the universe tears you apart?"
Venteros raised his palm, drawing an incomplete circle, then whispered:
"Let the body be my prison... and pain my passageway."
And then there was nothing.
For a moment... then he disappeared.
He folded behind the layers of time,
---
But the void he left behind wasn't silence, but a deep ripple in the fabric of existence, as if Venenteros's absence wasn't a disappearance... but the beginning of a crack in the stability. The auras distorted, the patterns of light changed, the circles were no longer even, nor were the frequencies regular.
One of the entities whispered, in a voice that was incomprehensible but felt:
"The point of balance has departed."
Another response, more ancient, but less clear:
"He didn't just leave... he chose to relinquish his memory. Whoever enters oblivion with full consciousness... breaks the unwritten covenant."
A chilling hum rose above the assembly, as if a third voice had begun to take shape without yet being born.
"And if he returns and is no longer himself?"
"And if he is of the Earth... not of us?"
The Great Aura, who hadn't spoken for an incalculable eternity, bowed slightly... as if the light within him had dimmed for a moment.
He said slowly, "And we are not to maintain the balance... but to watch for those who dare break it."
Then he looked—eyeless—to the spot where Venterus had been standing.
There was a small rip in the fabric... unseen, but felt.
A rip like a scar... or a warning that something irretrievable had begun.
And in the invisible margins of the council, there was an entity that remained silent throughout the meeting.
He just smiled, a smile as if he knew that chaos might not be a mistake... but rather a correction, a way to break this endless cycle of soul-energy drain.
_______________________________________________________________
[On Earth]
In the early seventeenth century, deep within the shadowed groves of the ancient oak forests—where winds still carried the voices of forgotten time—
a bloodline was born, One that would carve Russia's fate in gold and in blood.
Within a fortress of stone, beneath the stern eyes of Tsars and saints,
the Romanov saga began—a family destined to walk the knife's edge between divine rule and relentless conspiracy.
On that night, when the skies wept fire and thunder, as if mourning the future—a child was born of royal womb,carrying with him destinies yet unwritten,
though their shadows already haunted the empires, This was no ordinary child, In his veins stirred the embers of untold power, and in his bones lay a secret buried beneath the weight of history, Among the palace corridors—where marble echoed with betrayal, love, and dread—the Romanovs took their first steps upon a path, veiled in prophecy and soaked in blood.
Here, the boy would become a pawn, in a game of crowns played by ghosts and gods.
His dreams too vast for lullabies,his burdens too heavy for childhood.
The young Tsarevich—Alexei Nikolaevich Romanov—was delicate in body,
his skin pale, as though time had breathed life into him before it was ready.
A wide brow framed eyes of faded blue—not the blue of oceans,
but of ancient ice.
Eyes that did not merely look…they understood, As though they had wandered through centuries of war, oaths, and loss—and now returned to the world, through the fragile vessel of a boy, His hair was soft, the color of tarnished gold—not sunlight,but the molten crown of a fallen king, poured over his skull, His nose, sharp and noble—shaped not for pleading…but for command, His lips rarely smiled—and when they did,it was the glint of steel before the strike, His face bore the stamp of awareness.
As if he had lived before—, and remembered what no child should.
Alexei wasn't merely the heir to a throne,he was the living prophecy of a nation.
The long-awaited son to follow Tsar Nicholas Alexandrovich Romanov.
"Alexei's mind shone through his eyes long before his lips learned to speak., He wasn't a child observing the world…but a mind quietly recording every motion,analyzing every glance,extracting from each silence a full map of what must be, His logic was unerring;
his insight, not taught but inherited, A clairvoyance born not from study,vbut from something older, a sacred instinct."
_______________________________________________________________
[Nine Years Later]
The palace slumbered deeply, Outside, the wind howled through the trees,
carrying with it the whispers of centuries and ancestral truths.
But in Alexei's room—, where darkness clung to the stillness of his unblinking gaze—
something unfolded that defied all comprehension, A sound echoed…
A knock.
Then another.
And then—encryption.
[—..]
Alexei moved to the window,his eyes lifting toward the overcast sky, as if it were trying to veil a single star, flickering with quiet defiance.
His voice, barely a breath,
broke the silence:
"This path… was never mine."
Tears rolled silently down his cheeks—, not felt… not understood.
Time, it seemed, paused in reverence, The air crystallized., And the entire palace…
held its breath, His governess, watching from the shadows,
stumbled back in fear, whispering to herself: "The child… is not who we thought he was."
And in the days that followed,the whispers began—Not from mouths,
but from within, They seeped into Alexei's mind—phrases he could not decipher,
but whose gravity pressed upon his soul like ancient chains, Secrets long buried.
Prophecies awakening.