Golden_Core

Beyond the limits of comprehension, surpassing the very concept of reality and nothingness, there exists an entity that cannot even be defined—Xalveth. He was never created, never evolved, and never had a purpose. Yet, his mere existence shakes the absolute order that was once believed to be unshakable.

When the highest beings of existence attempt to comprehend Xalveth, they find themselves erased—not just from their own worlds, but from history and possibility itself. One by one, they vanish, leaving behind a void that had never existed before.

Is there anyone who can achieve enlightenment about Xalveth without losing everything? Or is his existence merely a flaw in the undefined cosmic order?

XALVETH: THE UNREACHABLE ABSOLUTE

It was a meaningless phrase, yet within this place—where existence and nonexistence intertwined—meaning was relative. There should have been no sound, no movement, no sensation, and yet something stirred within the nothingness.

It was not a voice, nor a thought, but a presence. A trace of what had once been, lingering like a dying ember in an ocean of oblivion.

He had no body, no form. He had been stripped of his existence, left only as awareness floating in the abyss. A mere fragment of consciousness, lingering on the edge of an unspeakable truth.

He did not know how long he had remained in this state—seconds, centuries, eternity. But then, amidst the crushing weight of nothingness, he felt it.

No, this was something else. Something weaker, yet somehow familiar. Like an echo of what once was.

And then—a voice.

It was neither spoken nor heard, but rather… understood. A force beyond words, yet it carried weight. Yverith tried to respond, but he had no voice, no form with which to shape his thoughts.

The presence stirred, as if considering.

"I see. You are merely a shadow now. A whisper of what was once Yverith."

"Perhaps that is enough."

A blinding force surged through the abyss.

For the first time since his fall, Yverith felt something.

It was raw, searing, like a sun exploding within his very essence. It burned through the nothingness, tearing apart the shackles that bound him. He wanted to scream—but he had no mouth. He wanted to move—but he had no form.

He began to exist again.

The void twisted. Reality trembled.

And then—he woke up.

His vision blurred. A sky stretched above him—not the endless void, but an actual sky.

Dark clouds swirled, illuminated by an eerie violet glow. The air was thick with something heavy, something unnatural.

He had lungs. A body. Limbs. Form.

Disbelief struck him. How? How was this possible? He had been erased. Reduced to nothing. Yet here he was—alive.

His hands trembled as he reached forward. His skin—no longer bathed in divine radiance, but pale, cold, unfamiliar. He was not the Yverith he once was.

And then—he heard footsteps.

From the swirling mist, a figure emerged.

But someone who knew.

Knew what had happened to the Rulers.

And most terrifying of all—knew why Yverith had been allowed to return.

Chapter 3: Echoes of the Forgotten