original

Khæo The Progenitor

นักเขียน: Dao_Of_Shamelessnz

บท 1: Him

The void was timeless, an expanse of nothingness that stretched beyond the grasp of comprehension. In this place, there was no sound, no light, no sensation—only the faintest whisper of existence.

And then, from within the emptiness, a presence stirred.

He awoke not with a start, but with a slow, almost reluctant awareness. His consciousness was like a single spark in a darkened room, flickering faintly against the vast emptiness that surrounded him. There were no thoughts, no memories—just the simple realization that he was there, adrift in the void.

At first, he was a mere wisp, a formless essence drifting through the nothingness. He wandered aimlessly, neither knowing where he was nor caring. There was no direction, no purpose. Only movement, only the endless journey through an infinite expanse.

Gradually, something began to change. A shift, subtle and imperceptible at first, took root in the void. The emptiness that had surrounded him for what felt like eternity began to yield, as if acknowledging his presence. From the darkness, a faint glow emerged, a light so dim it could barely be called light at all.

He paused in his wandering, though it was not a conscious decision. The glow beckoned him, drawing him closer, pulling him in as if it were a long-lost companion. As he approached, the light grew stronger, and with it came a faint hum, a vibration that resonated deep within the essence of his being.

And then, the first change occurred.

A single bone materialized, ethereal and delicate, suspended in the void before him. It was the beginning of form, the first piece of a puzzle that had yet to be assembled. The bone hung in the air for a moment, as if contemplating its existence, before more bones began to appear. They came slowly, one by one, each finding its place in the growing skeleton that now hovered in the darkness.

Ribs, vertebrae, femurs, and phalanges—each bone slid into place with an almost deliberate slowness, as if savoring the act of creation. The skeleton, once a mere collection of disparate parts, now stood complete, an intricate framework suspended in the void.

But the transformation did not stop there.

From within the hollow bones, a network of veins began to weave itself, branching out like the roots of an ancient tree. They wound around the bones, embracing them, clinging to them as if in desperate need. The veins pulsed faintly, as though carrying the memory of a heartbeat that had yet to awaken.

Flesh followed, muscle and sinew knitting themselves over the veins, wrapping the bones in layers of strength and vitality. The process was agonizingly slow, each fiber, each strand of muscle, taking its time to find its place. With each addition, the figure in the void became more defined, more real.

Skin, pale and flawless, stretched itself over the flesh, encasing the form in a protective layer. The body was nearly complete now, a vessel waiting to be filled. And as the final piece of skin settled into place, the figure shuddered, as if taking its first breath.

But it was not breath that animated this form.

A soft glow began to emanate from within the chest, where a heart might have been. This light was different from the one that had guided him; it was warm, gentle, and yet, it carried the weight of ages. The glow spread outward, suffusing the entire body with life, and in that moment, a soul took residence within the flesh.

He was no longer a mere wisp of consciousness, no longer a formless presence adrift in the void. He was a man, though he did not yet know it. His limbs, heavy and unfamiliar, twitched as if testing their newfound existence. He flexed his fingers, curling them into fists, feeling the solidity of his form for the first time.

With the birth of form came the birth of memory—fragmented, elusive memories that drifted like smoke on the edges of his consciousness. He grasped at them, trying to hold on, but they slipped through his fingers, leaving only impressions behind.

Stories—he remembered stories. Tales of ancient heroes and forgotten gods, of battles fought and kingdoms lost. Words written on parchment, spoken by voices he could no longer place. They were like echoes, fading remnants of a life that was no longer his.

But there was more. He remembered knowledge, facts, and wisdom accumulated over lifetimes. He recalled the feel of a book's leather cover beneath his fingers, the scent of aged parchment, and the way words danced across the page. He remembered the comfort of solitude, the way it allowed him to lose himself in the worlds created by others, in the stories that had once been his refuge.

Yet, as he sifted through these memories, he found no faces, no names, no connections to a past life. There was a void where his identity should have been, an emptiness that mirrored the space he had wandered through. He knew stories, but he did not know himself. He knew knowledge, but he did not know his past.

His name, his face, his family—all of it was gone, erased as if it had never been. All that remained were the stories, the knowledge that had been passed down through the ages. And in that moment, he understood that this was his new beginning, a rebirth unburdened by the past.

With a final, slow breath, he began to move once more, his steps more purposeful now, though still cautious, as if testing the ground beneath his feet. The void around him was beginning to change.

---

As he wandered through the fragments of his memories, piecing together the stories and knowledge that lingered in his mind, something began to stir within him. A faint tingling sensation, almost imperceptible at first, spread through his limbs. It was as though the very essence of the void responded to his presence, bending and shaping itself in ways he could not yet comprehend.

He walked further, his movements slow and deliberate, and then—without warning—something extraordinary happened.

A ripple of energy surged from the core of his being, radiating outward. It was subtle, like the first breath of wind across a still pond, yet it carried with it a force that he had never known before. The air around him quivered, and for the first time, the void was disturbed.

He paused, holding his breath, not from fear, but from awe. His hand, still raised from the movement, seemed to pulse with a faint glow, barely visible against the darkness. He could feel the power coursing through him, a power that had been awakened by the simple act of motion. It was unlike anything he had ever read about, anything he had ever imagined.

"Wonderful..." The word escaped his lips, soft and reverent. The sound of his own voice surprised him—it was the first word he had spoken since his awakening, and it carried with it the weight of discovery.

He moved again, slower this time, more deliberate, and the ripple of energy responded, stronger now, more pronounced. It was as if the void itself was his canvas, and his movements were the brushstrokes, painting something new into existence.

Fascinated, he began to experiment, letting the knowledge from his memories guide him. He recalled the stories of creation, of ancient beings who had shaped the cosmos from nothingness, who had breathed life into the void. The tales spoke of power so vast that it could forge worlds, ignite stars, and give birth to entire realities.

He could not help but wonder—was this what they had felt? This raw, untamed energy that surged through him, this connection to something greater than himself?

Driven by curiosity, he stretched out his hand, willing the energy to respond. To his amazement, the void around him began to twist and shift, bending to his will. He focused, drawing upon the fragments of knowledge he possessed, and shaped the energy with his thoughts.

Slowly, a massive, round-shaped figure began to take form in the void, suspended by his will alone. It was unlike anything he had ever seen—perfectly smooth, without corners or edges, its surface glowing with a faint, ethereal light. It was a sphere, a shape as ancient as creation itself, yet it felt new, born from his own discovery.

The figure grew larger, expanding as he fed it more of the energy, until it was a vast orb hanging in the emptiness before him. But it was not solid; it was composed of gases, swirling and churning within its confines, a roiling mass of potential. The light within it grew stronger, brighter, until it blazed with the intensity of a thousand flames.

It was a star—a sun—though he did not yet have the words to name it. He only knew that it was a source of light, a beacon in the darkness, bringing warmth and life to the void.

A smile crept onto his face as he admired his creation. It was beautiful, a testament to the power he had discovered. He felt a thrill of exhilaration, a sense of wonder that he had not known in his memories. This was more than knowledge—this was creation, the act of bringing something new into existence.

He wasn't content with just one. The thrill of creation had taken hold of him, and he wanted to see what else he could do. With a wave of his hand, he set the star in motion, sending it drifting through the void. As it moved, he created more, shaping them with the same care and precision, each one a sphere of light and gas, each one a new star in the endless expanse.

They scattered across the darkness, illuminating the void with their radiance, each one unique, yet all connected by the same force that had brought them into being. The void, once a place of nothingness, was now alive with light and energy, a cosmos in the making.

He marveled at the sight, at the way the stars seemed to dance in the vastness of space, their light casting long shadows and creating a tapestry of brilliance. It was a sight that filled him with a sense of purpose, a feeling that he was meant to do this, to create, to bring light to the darkness.

He reached out to one of the stars, his fingers brushing its surface, and felt the warmth it radiated. It was real, tangible, and yet it was born from nothing more than his will and the energy he had discovered.

For a moment, he was content to simply watch, to let the stars drift and glow, to see how they interacted with the void and with each other. It was a dance of creation, and he was the conductor, guiding it with a simple thought.

"This... is amazing." The words came out as a breath, filled with awe and wonder. He felt a connection to these creations, as if they were a part of him, a reflection of the power that now pulsed through his veins.

As he continued to explore this newfound ability, he felt a growing sense of joy, a fulfillment that came not from remembering the past, but from creating something new. It was a power that resembled the very essence of creation itself, a gift that had been awakened by chance, and one that he intended to explore to its fullest.

And so, in the heart of the void, he played with creation, scattering light across the darkness, with the knowledge he had, and discovering the wonders that lay within his own abilities.