time in the novel

I am only explaining this so that you understand that time really doesn't matter that much

Beyond the veil of mortal comprehension, where the infinite stretches beyond meaning, time does not merely exist—it dominates, shapes, and dissolves all that comes under its gaze. But even in its might, time is not a singular, absolute force. It is fragmented, divided, and in some places, utterly nonexistent. The multiverse does not bow to a single law of time, for each realm, each existence, follows its own truth—some abiding by time's tyranny, others rebelling against it, and still others where time itself is a lie, an illusion never meant to be.

In the lower worlds, time is a strict ruler. It binds all things to an inevitable march forward, trapping mortals in its grasp. They live, they grow, they age, they die—victims of an unyielding fate. It is a force they cannot challenge, an immutable current dragging them from birth to death, from existence to oblivion. To them, a single year holds meaning, a single second holds weight, for they are creatures bound by time's relentless hands.

But beyond the confines of such realms, time is no longer a master—it is a slave to the will of the cosmos.

In higher planes of existence, time accelerates beyond imagination. What is but a single breath in the lower world becomes the passing of a trillion years. Stars ignite and collapse, galaxies form and shatter, civilizations ascend to divine heights and crumble to dust—all within what a mortal would perceive as mere moments. To the beings of these realms, eternity is not an abstract concept, but a reality they witness unfolding with every blink of an eye. They are gods to those below, watching endless cycles of creation and destruction play out in an instant, their lifetimes stretching across infinities unmeasurable by mortal understanding.

Yet, just as there are realms where time races beyond all reason, there are those where it slows to a crawl, where a single year in a lesser world is stretched across an eternity. In these places, change is so gradual that even the most patient of gods would find it unbearable. A single step may take millions of years, a single thought may take an epoch to form. To dwell in such a place is to become unshackled from time's tyranny, yet at the cost of progress, of movement, of meaning itself. The beings that reside here exist in a state so slow that the destruction of universes happens before they can even lift a finger.

And then, there are the realms where time has been utterly erased—where the past, present, and future have ceased to hold any significance. Here, nothing ages, nothing decays, nothing is bound to the constraints of time's influence. It is a void beyond comprehension, where all things simply are—unchanging, unending, and eternal in the truest sense. Those who enter these timeless domains lose all connection to the world they once knew, for without time, identity itself begins to dissolve. Beings in such places do not exist in a state of immortality, for immortality implies the passage of time—they exist in something far greater, a reality beyond existence itself.

But time is not always linear, nor is it always absent. In some places, it is fractured, chaotic, unpredictable. Realms exist where time loops endlessly, trapping those within in a cycle of repetition, forced to relive their fates again and again without end. Some worlds exist in reverse, where birth follows death, where the future is set in stone while the past remains uncertain. Others are labyrinths of shattered time, where every step forward might send one hurtling into an unknown age, where cause and effect are meaningless, and where paradox is the law of reality.

And then, there are those who have broken free. The beings who have transcended time's reach. They are no longer bound by past or future, no longer confined to the slow decay of existence. To them, time is but another force to command, to shape, to wield as they see fit. They can walk through centuries as though they were mere doorways, stretch a single moment into infinity, or erase entire timelines with but a thought. To them, reality is a canvas, and time is the paint—they decide what is, what was, and what will be.

But even they, for all their power, must respect time's greater truth: Time is not a mere force. It is not a god, nor a law, nor a concept that can be tamed. It is beyond all of these things. It is chaos and order, destruction and creation. It is both everything and nothing. It can be controlled, but never truly conquered. It can be ignored, but never truly erased. It can be defied, but never truly destroyed.

For time is the silent architect of the multiverse, the unseen force that weaves reality together. It may be fast, it may be slow, it may be broken or whole, but in the end, it remains as it always has been: an eternal paradox, the infinite cycle upon which all things rest. And whether it is a cruel master or a loyal servant depends not on time itself, but on those who dare to challenge its will.

Yet even in its infinite paradox, time is not the final authority. There are those who exist beyond it, entities that do not merely transcend time but dictate its very essence. These beings are not bound by the past, present, or future, nor do they move through time as others do. To them, time is not a river to be crossed, nor an ocean to be sailed—it is a tool, a mere construct that bends at their command.

The greatest among them stand at the precipice of eternity, where the concept of "before" and "after" holds no meaning. They exist in every moment simultaneously, able to reach into the distant past or shape the far future with the same ease that one might move their hand. To them, the destruction of an age is no different than the turning of a page in a book—history is a malleable thing, a story to be rewritten at will. Some use this power to preserve order, ensuring that the multiverse remains stable and that the endless cycles continue unbroken. Others, however, wield time as a weapon, erasing civilizations before they ever come into being, rewriting fates so that they alone stand above all.

Yet even those who command time are aware of a greater truth: time itself does not need them. It is a force that existed before creation and will persist long after the last star has faded. Though countless beings have tried to master it, none have ever truly owned it, for time does not answer to any will. It moves as it desires, bends as it sees fit, and at times, even rebels against those who seek to control it.

There are legends whispered among the ancients, stories of time correcting itself, of events erased only to return in different forms. A kingdom destroyed in one timeline may rise again in another. A god erased from existence may be reborn in a different age. No matter how much time is manipulated, no matter how many changes are forced upon it, there is always a balance—a force beyond even the greatest manipulators of time that ensures the flow continues.

Some theorize that this balance is not a mere mechanism of the universe but a being in itself, an entity beyond comprehension that watches over time's weave. It is neither benevolent nor cruel, neither creator nor destroyer. It simply is—a force that exists beyond all things, ensuring that time remains in motion, even when all else fades.

But what happens when even time itself is threatened? When something arises that does not merely manipulate time but seeks to unmake it entirely? There exist horrors that lurk in the void between moments, entities that do not simply defy time but consume it. To them, time is not a flow to be navigated but a thing to be devoured, erased, and undone. Where they pass, history unravels, futures cease to exist, and even memory itself is stripped away.

In the darkest corners of the multiverse, there are realms where time has been completely annihilated, where existence itself has been left in a state of pure nothingness. No echoes of the past remain, no possibilities for the future exist—only a vast emptiness where even the gods dare not tread. These voids serve as a warning, a reminder that even time, for all its power, is not indestructible.

And so, the great cycle continues. Time flows and breaks, bends and restores, moves forward and rewinds. Those who seek to control it rise and fall, civilizations are built and erased, and the multiverse marches onward, unaware of the infinite paradox that binds it all together.

For in the end, time is not a force to be truly understood. It is a mystery, an enigma, a silent watcher that exists beyond all things. And whether it is a blessing, a curse, or something far greater—only time itself will tell.

But even as time flows, bends, and warps, the question remains—what lies beyond it? Is there a final boundary, a point where even time ceases to hold meaning, where eternity itself meets an end? Or does it stretch infinitely, looping in upon itself, forever caught in an endless cycle of destruction and rebirth?

In the highest realms, where only the most ancient beings dare to dwell, there are whispers of a place beyond time—a domain where neither past nor future exist, where cause and effect unravel, and where even the greatest cosmic forces are rendered powerless. It is said that those who reach this place become something more, shedding the very concept of existence as they ascend into a state beyond comprehension. Some call it the Apex, others the True Eternity, and some even dare to name it the Void of Origins—the place where all things began and where all things will eventually return.

Yet, for all the theories, no one truly knows what awaits beyond time's final horizon. Does existence end in absolute nothingness, or does it transform into something even greater? Is time itself a mere fragment of a larger, more fundamental force—one that governs not just the multiverse but the very fabric of reality itself?

Even those who claim to wield supreme authority over time—those who can rewrite history with a thought, who can walk through the past and future as one—are bound by a limit they cannot surpass. No matter how far they push, how deep they explore, something waits at the edge of time's dominion, a force that even they cannot comprehend.

Some believe it is the source of all things, the origin from which time itself was birthed. Others fear it is the true end, the great erasure that waits for all realities to reach their final moment. The bravest, or perhaps the most foolish, seek to reach it, to grasp the unknowable and claim mastery over the ultimate truth. But none have ever returned.

Perhaps the truth is too great, too vast for even the most powerful minds to perceive. Perhaps time, for all its complexity and paradoxes, is but a veil—a mere illusion cast over something even grander, something no being, no god, no force has ever been meant to understand.

For time, in all its chaos, all its control, all its rebellion and order, is still only a piece of the grand design. And beyond it, beyond all things, waits the answer to the ultimate question—the final mystery that no one, not even time itself, can escape.