Unknown Voices

The Void was vast and silent, an endless abyss where light dared not exist. There were no stars to pierce its unfathomable depths, no warmth to soften its merciless expanse—only the cold embrace of nothingness, stretching infinitely in all directions.

It was a place beyond time, beyond space, beyond the fragile understanding of mortal minds. Here, reality did not bend—it ceased to be. The very fabric of existence unraveled at its edges, swallowed whole by an emptiness so absolute that even the concept of emptiness itself was meaningless within its domain.

In this place, where time held no meaning, they spoke.

Their voices were not of flesh or form. They were whispers that slithered, thoughts that did not need tongues to be understood. A convergence of unknown entities, gathered in secrecy, unseen and unheard by even the greatest of cosmic beings.

> "A disturbance… a rupture in the pattern."

"Yes. A lesser being… no, a mortal."

"A lesser existence glimpsed the forbidden? Impossible."

"And yet, it has happened. From planet #465… designated as 'Earth' by its inhabitants."

A long silence followed, thick and heavy. It was not hesitation, but calculation. A weighing of possibilities, of consequences yet unseen.

Then, a voice, layered and vast, like the murmur of a billion unseen entities speaking in unison.

> "The Eye… has awakened."

> "This was not meant to happen."

A ripple spread through the void. The weight of those words echoed in ways unseen, as if the fabric of reality itself had shuddered.

Then, another ripple—a pulse of something old, something absolute.

A presence, vast and incomprehensible, stirred within the depths of the Void, its awareness vast yet formless, its will unshakable. The stillness fractured as voices—cold, ancient, merciless—rose in unison, their decree woven into the very fabric of existence itself.

> "This is a violation."

The words did not echo, for there was no air, no medium for sound to travel. They simply existed, rippling through the endless dark, felt rather than heard.

> "She has broken the law."

> "The Covenant must be upheld."

It was not anger. It was not wrath.

It was law.

A judgment older than time, more absolute than existence itself. Immutable. Unstoppable. A decree not spoken by mere voices, but by the fundamental laws of reality.

> "She has seen beyond the veil."

> "She has learned what should not be learned."

> "She must be undone."

𝜀𝒓𝒂𝓼𝓾𝓇𝒆.

Not death. Not destruction. Something worse.

A fate beyond oblivion.

To be unmade. To be erased so utterly that not even the memory of existence remains.

A concept so horrifying, so absolute, that even gods feared its touch.

Within the Void, where light and form held no meaning, there was a silence deeper than silence itself. And then it began.

The darkness shuddered, not with movement, but with an absence—a hunger that devoured not matter, not energy, but the very idea of something having ever existed.

The judgment was carried out not by hands, not by will, but by the unraveling of reality itself.

A symbol flickered in the abyss—an inverted sigil, ancient and pulsating, an unholy brand that marked the condemned. It did not glow. It devoured. A shifting, incomprehensible shape, its very presence corroding the fabric of space.

⛧ Erasure begins. ⛧

The condemned would not be slain. They would be erased from time.

No body left to bury.

No soul left to mourn.

No memory left to linger.

Their existence would never have been.

The Void did not kill. It corrected.

And once erased, even the universe itself would forget them.

A great and terrible stillness fell upon the Void, deeper than silence, heavier than time itself.

The decree had been spoken. The verdict had been sealed. The unraveling had begun.

And yet—

Before the final command could be enacted, before the erasure could consume the condemned, another voice emerged.

Not loud.

Not forceful.

And yet, it stopped the inevitable.

A single word—soft, yet heavier than the weight of universes, rippling through the endless dark like a force beyond comprehension.

> "Wait."

The Void stilled.

Something impossible had occurred.

The voices that had spoken in unison—ancient, law-bound, absolute—faltered. Hesitated.

For the first time in eternity, a certainty that had existed since the beginning of all things was questioned.

This was no ordinary hesitation.

The pause was not one of defiance, nor of dissent—such things did not exist here. No voice had ever been raised in opposition, no ruling had ever been stayed.

And yet…

Here it was.

A disturbance in the unshakable foundation of law.

A ripple in the nothingness.

The one who had spoken was unlike the others. Not because it held more power—such things were meaningless in a realm where power was irrelevant—but because its word carried something greater.

A command that even the law could not ignore.

> "She has seen… yet she has not spoken."

The decree wavered.

The unraveling slowed.

The unmaking paused, hanging at the precipice of non-existence.

> "She has glimpsed… but she does not understand."

The voices, which had once been so sure, whispered among themselves.

> "She is bound. The chains still hold."

> "And the Eye remains locked."

A silence followed—not empty, but charged with something unspoken.

For the first time in eons, uncertainty flickered within the Void.

The judgment was no longer absolute. It was now in question.

A moment stretched into infinity.

> "Then she is… salvageable?"

The voices, once rigid and final, shifted. Their tones were no longer a chorus of law, but something else.

Something calculating.

Something considering.

> "She is useful."

> "A tool?"

A pause.

> "A key."

That caught the attention of the whole of the Void.

A key.

Something that opened.

Something that closed.

One of the voices stirred, weaving through the chorus like a whisper in the abyss.

> "Keys may open doors."

> Or they may become locks."

The voices tangled now, weaving together like a shifting cosmic tide, thoughts swirling through a web of meaning unfathomable even to the greatest beings in the cosmos.

A key.

A door.

A lock.

The paradox of possibility.

And then, finally—

> "She will not be erased."

The weight of existence trembled.

The unraveling—halted.

The void groaned, as if reality itself strained under the weight of the decision, the airless silence twisting, reshaping around a fate once sealed but now altered.

The decree had changed.

> "For now."

The forces that had prepared to erase, to consume, to undo, withdrew.

But not fully.

The judgment was stayed, but not absolved.

The voices shifted once more, their tones now measured, their purpose refocused.

> "She will be watched."

A statement, not a threat. A certainty.

> "She will be tested."

Not a reprieve, but a new path—one that led not to salvation, but to proof.

To judgment delayed, not denied.

And then, the final decree—the one that sealed her fate more thoroughly than erasure ever could.

The voice that spoke now was not the loudest, nor the strongest, but the deepest.

Older than stars.

Colder than entropy.

More absolute than fate itself.

> "And if she strays too far—"

There was no rage.

No cruelty.

No mercy.

Just certainty.

> "Then she will be unmade."

The words reverberated through the abyss, sinking into the fabric of what little reality existed here.

This was not a warning.

This was a truth.

Should she falter, should she prove unworthy, she would not simply be killed.

She would not simply die.

She would cease.

She would become nothing.

Not even the concept of her existence would remain.

And then—

The Void fell silent once more.

The judgment had been passed.

Not forgiven.

Not forgotten.

But deferred.