“Everything has a beginning and an end. Even the heavens, vast and eternal, must one day yield to mortality…”

  — Excerpt recovered from “Site of Beginning”

  Have you ever lingered in the eternal void after witnessing the exodus of a nascent universe—when its dreams, heavy with promise, begin to coalesce into reality—only to find a would‐be deity carelessly birthing another cosmos nearby? In that moment, the impulse to extinguish this audacious creator flitted through my mind like a desperate spark. Yet I hesitated, recalling the splendor and revelry of my previous cosmic sojourn.

  Each universe, with its wild tapestry of chaos and order, seems to echo the same fundamental notes of creation. Even now, after untold eons, I marvel at how the raw elements—so inscrutable in their mystery—recur across the boundless multiverse, each composition a slightly varied echo of a singular primordial melody. My musings, as capricious as the void itself, wandered again.

  Now, approaching the fledgling god, I was confronted by a pressing quandary: Should I reveal myself to him? Every architect of a universe is an enigma—a tapestry woven from threads of brilliance and madness. Is he the transcendent visionary who dares proclaim, “Impossible? I have already transcended all boundaries,” or the haughty cultivator who might sneer, “Impudent mortal, how dare you manifest before a god?” Or perhaps he is a destroyer—a cosmic force capable of erasing the very fabric of existence. A destroyer, I remind myself, is no mere terminator of worlds but a being whose own universe lies in ruin, consumed by the dark hunger of its own making. I must discern if this being harbors the makings of such cataclysm.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  As I drew nearer, it was not his form but his eyes that ensnared my attention. In them lay an ocean of solitude, the melancholy of a life that endured when all else had faded to dust. I recognized fragments of my own spirit within that lonely gaze. There, before me, he labored at his own undoing—self-annihilating to kindle the birth of a new cosmos. Intervention seemed both necessary and perilous. Could I halt his destructive ritual without condemning him to oblivion? His eyes whispered of inevitability—a tragic self-destruction awaiting any force that might attempt to intercede.

  Yet, a spark of resolve kindled within me: I must attempt to save him, even if the method remains as elusive as the void. Gathering my courage, I resolved to initiate a dialogue.

  “Hello,” I intoned, my voice a ripple through the emptiness.

  He turned toward the sound, his gaze laden with confusion and fragile terror. I realized, with a disquieting clarity, that I was merging with the void—a spectral presence unseen and unfelt by him. Now arose another dilemma: in what form should I manifest, so that he might truly perceive my intent?

  From the Perspective of the Would-Be God (Past):

  “I am Win Chum, the solitary cultivator of the Jinxain Continent—one who has defied the clutches of mortality and ascended into the realm of the immortal. Yet now I stand here, adrift in a nothingness devoid of the celestial palace, bereft of the promised lands…”

  All that surrounded me was emptiness.

  “Where are the celestial maidens? Why does naught but emptiness stretch before me?” I cried into the void.

  But the void answered only with silence.