The galaxies and planets were born from the cataclysmic explosion of supernova. But they were not the only things created. Each supernova does more than scatter stardust—it warps the fundamental structure of atoms, fusing matter and essence in ways beyond comprehension. From these chaotic blends emerge entities with bodies woven from galaxies and skin forged of meteors.
These cosmic births occur across the infinite expanse of the black void. No one knows when it began. No one knows how—or if—it will ever end.
BOOM! (Well, not quite that sound—but something like it.)
A dying star, collapsing under its final breath of gravity, began to draw in every atom, pulling matter from all directions. Slowly, its core reshaped into a bright, pulsing sphere. A ring of debris spiraled around it—evidence of the countless particles consumed by gravitational force.
And then, silence broke.
The dead star detonated, releasing a blast so powerful it vaporized everything within range. Matter became dust, dust became gas—superheated by the shockwave. From the heart of the explosion, a strange laser-like ray burst outward, slicing through the dark and striking nearby meteors. They too erupted, but not into ruin… something emerged.
From the glowing clouds of meteoric gas, figures took form. Humanoid shapes—galactic beings—rose. Not of ordinary galaxies, but forged from meteors infused with an eerie green luminescence. Their eyes glowed a piercing white, unwavering, untouched by the chaos around them.
The explosion raged on—but they stood unaffected.
They turned to one another, exchanging no words—yet everything was understood. Their origin. This space. Its destiny.
But it all felt distant, like a dream—
A nightmare that punishes you with migraines when you dare to remember it.
A dying star, crushed by its own collapsing gravity, began pulling everything in—dust, light, matter, time itself seemed to bend. Its final breath wasn't quiet. It was a roar that echoed silently across the void. As it swallowed the last trace of nearby existence, something strange happened.
A glow—brilliant, white-hot—gathered at its center. It twisted and pulsed, shaping itself into a bright, almost divine sphere. Around it, rings formed—fragments of what it had consumed, caught in a spiraling dance of dust and memory.
Then, with no warning, the star exploded.
The detonation turned nearby space into ash and vapor. The shockwave rippled outward, and in the heat, the dust became gas. From the center of that chaos, a strange laser-like ray burst out—greenish, focused, and alive—piercing into distant meteors. As the rays struck, the meteors shattered… but what came out was not more debris.
It was life.
Not life as we know it—these were humanoid forms, shaped from galaxies, wrapped in green-glowing energy. Their bodies shimmered like constellations, and their eyes burned with white light, deep and endless.
They stood in the middle of destruction, completely untouched by it. No words passed between them, but they stared at one another in silence—each understanding what the other felt. Their birth, the space that bore them, the fate that seemed already written in the stars… it all rushed into their minds like a half-remembered dream.
A nightmare.
One they hadn't woken from.
Not yet.
After traveling for 21 billion light-years, the figure finally came to a halt. It lifted its hands slowly, gazing at them in silence—then reached up to its head.
Without hesitation, it began to peel away its own skin.
Galactic matter unraveled—clusters of stars and nebulae shedding like fragments of a forgotten identity. Beneath the surface, there was only pure light, radiant and pulsing with quiet sorrow. One by one, pieces of its celestial body floated away, drifting like lost memories through the void.
As the last remnants of its galaxy-woven form fell apart, the inner light began to dim—gradually, peacefully.
All that remained was a scatter of cosmic debris… meteoric fragments, circling and spiraling until, slowly, they began to reshape.
Into a planet.
From a being of stars and galaxies… came a world.
After several decades, the dormant life forms buried deep within the planet began to stir. In the quiet of the distant cosmos, the planet's barren surface slowly awakened—sprouting flowers and plants, though lifeless at first, mere echoes of life.
Then, something changed.
The atmosphere began to form. Oxygen and carbon dioxide found balance, the sky thickened with breath. With that, the dead flora trembled… and came back to life. Leaves unfurled. Roots gripped the soil. The once-still world took its first breath.
This cycle of rebirth continued for thousands of years—steady, patient, beautiful.
Until an accident.
A small nebula, drifting silently through space, brushed against the planet's edge. On contact, a reaction occurred—Strange Dusts released from the impact, multiplying exponentially. Dust turned into something more.
Cells.
Tissues.
Organs.
Then came the first creature—an ancient chicken-like being. A turtle. Primitive, but alive. One after another, life began to bloom in full form. Animals roamed the wilds, filling the forests, the skies, the rivers.
The once-lonely planet now pulsed with energy—vibrant and alive.
But peace never lasts forever.
Then came the Corruption.
Then came the Deaths.
Then came the Predators.
And then… came something worse.
"They want the world. They want to rule it. They want to ensla—"
"AAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Meet this boy—Ken, or as his friends call him, "Miro-Ken." Unfortunately, this has become his daily routine.
Moments later, the door creaks open. A doctor steps in, holding a clipboard. Her white coat flutters slightly as she approaches with calm professionalism.
"Finally awake? How are you feeling today?" she asks, the tone familiar—this is just another daily check-in.
Ken, pale and sweating, sits upright. "This month... it shifted again. It changed. This time, it keeps replaying—over and over—the creation of galaxies, and that humanoid creature made of stars. I don't know what's happening!" His voice trembles, the fear still fresh.
She jots something down, brows slightly furrowed. "Interesting. There seems to be a pattern. Last month it was supernova explosions. Now galaxies. But the thing that doesn't quite add up is the humanoid creature. That's completely out of context," she notes aloud while scribbling into her report.
Ken sighs, trying to steady himself. "Yeah, that's what I've been thinking, too. It doesn't make any sense. Maybe it's just because of the new chapter of Cosmic Heroes: Jarden Star coming out soon," he mutters, then reaches for the glass of milk sitting on the side of his hospital bed.
"There's nothing wrong with his brain cells. All of them are functioning normally. Even the dream-related neural activity looks stable. It's just his imagination. So, he must take the pills," said a man in a green coat as he walked into the room, pulling off his surgical mask.
Oh, and that man? That's Crydan Callen—known around here as Dr. No-Nonsense. A top-tier surgeon working at this mental hospital, and one of the few who doesn't waste time sugar-coating things.
"Take this report," Dr. Mira said, handing him the clipboard. "I think we should forward it to the government's science division. They might actually be onto something this time."
She left the room, heading off to retrieve Ken's medication, leaving Crydan flipping through the file with a raised brow.
"This report is kind of useless. Imagination can't manifest into reality—well, not unless you possess some form of Yin or Yang abilities," Crydan chuckled, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed.
"Yeah, I guess it's just my imagination. I mean, I was hyped for the new chapter of Cosmic Heroes: Jarden Star. That series is literally peak!" Ken said with a huff, completely unaware of the storm quietly brewing around him.
"Anyway, you're cleared to go home on Friday. There's nothing more to analyze," Crydan said, patting Ken's shoulder before leaving the room. His shift was over.
Exiting the ward, Crydan returned to his office, peeled off his white coat, and slipped into a jacket. It had been another long night shift. He collected his wallet, phone, and essentials, then made his way out of the hospital.
The streets were busy—it was Monday, after all. He moved along the crosswalk, thoughts swirling: donate to the child care center, tend to the garden, attend the noon meeting, swing by another hospital for rounds…
"Hey Doc, day going well?"
A soft yet playful voice called out from behind, snapping Crydan out of his thoughts. He turned quickly.
"Oh. I'm good, Jaylee," he said with a small smile. "Just heading to the next hospital on my weekly rounds. How about you?"
The young girl with long, wavy dark hair smiled and gently grabbed his bag.
"I'm fine! Madam Mira said you were exhausted after that surgery this morning, so I came to help!" she exclaimed cheerfully, walking beside him. Her small act of kindness made him chuckle in amusement.
This girl was Jaylee—an orphan he met while caring for her grandmother, who had been diagnosed with Cereflux Syndrome. The disease had gone untreated until its terminal stage. Her grandmother's final wish was for Jaylee to find a father figure—and in the end, that wish was fulfilled when Dr. Crydan adopted her as his own.
"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" Crydan asks as they cross the road to the other side. He intends to take her to a nearby café if she hasn't eaten anything yet.
"Yeah, some aunt from our house made me breakfast." Ah yes, his maid—also the aunt of a close patient.
"Alright then, follow me to the other hospitals and help me out there. You'll become a doctor or even a nurse one day," he says, heading toward the nearby bus, ready to take off quickly.
And so the day goes on—another day of medical training has passed.