Prologue: "The Birth That Was Never Meant to Be"
In the age before stories, before breath or shape or spark, there was a soul.
It drifted.
Not special. Not divine.
Just a fragment—adrift in the sea of waiting.
One day—or perhaps never—something amused noticed it.
> "Three wishes," the Being said.
"But nothing too broken. Pick wisely."
And so, the soul wished—not for dominion, not for supremacy—but for understanding:
1. To witness every beginning.
2. To see every end.
3. To endure the spaces in between.
It was… modest.
It was… naive.
And so the Being laughed, and flicked the soul—not into a world, but into the space where worlds are still imagined.
The Womb of Definition. The Unscripted Silence.
There, the wishes twisted.
> Beginnings answered before the questions could form.
Endings collapsed before anything could be known.
And the soul…
…the soul began to remember things that had never happened.
It didn't grow stronger.
It became the reason strength could exist.
Time tried to wrap itself around it—
But the moment was already owned.
Fate tried to claim it—
But the outcome had already obeyed.
The Being who had given the wish watched from beyond, wide-eyed, as the soul no longer drifted—
But defined.
> "What have I done…?" it whispered.
The soul opened its eyes.
And with that, the first true moment was born.