History

Era I, Part I — The Birth of Ua and the First Divergence

Before time was counted, before stars were born, before even darkness was named, there was only the void.

It was endless. It was still. It was without sound, without measure, without shape. Nothing stirred in it, for there was nothing to stir.

Then Ua arose.

It did not begin, for it had always been. It did not wake, for it had never slept. Ua simply was. At the centre of the void, Ua became the axis of all things. From it rippled the first pulse — light without source, power without limit — and the void trembled.

Where Ua shone, emptiness gave way. Chaos bent into order, silence folded into resonance. Waves spread outward in unending circles, pressing the void outward, and in the spaces they carved, the universe began to take form.

From Ua’s radiance came the Vel.

They were not flesh, nor stone, nor flame. They were beings of vast presence, at once fluid and solid, radiant and immense. Their bodies were sweeping mantles of energy, wings stretching wide as if to embrace the cosmos itself, their edges streaming with currents of fire, shadow, and lightning. They flowed as if swimming through the void, each movement rippling through space like a tide.

Each Vel was born into a star, and that star was their nest. In it they grew, in it they dwelled, and through it they drew their being. Star and Vel were one: where the star burned, the Vel burned also, its true form radiant with the colour of its nest. Some blazed with gold and white, others with azure fire, others with the faintest violet glow. To mortals yet unimagined, to look upon such beings would be to behold both awe and terror, for they were too vast to be measured, too luminous to be borne.

The Vel did not speak. They did not dream. They did not choose. They moved in resonance, connected to Ua and to each other, extensions of the central will. Their harmony was perfect, their unity unbroken. They spread outward in silent accord, carrying Ua’s order to the edges of the expanding universe.

Ages uncounted passed, and the Vel laboured without question. They seeded stars across the dark. They bent orbits into balance, cooling seas here, shaping mountains there. Their resonance was a choir of light, each star-voice aligned to the pulse of Ua at the centre. Where chaos rose, they tamed it. Where balance faltered, they restored it.

For a time beyond reckoning, the universe was perfect. The void had become a cosmos of endless rhythm, a grand harmony of stars and law.

And it might have remained so forever.

But one star flared brighter than the rest. One presence stirred where none should stir.

This was Ando.

Era I, Part II — The Awakening of Ando

From the choir of countless stars, one burned fiercer than the rest. Its light was not pale, nor cool, nor shadowed, but a blaze of molten fire, pulsing with ceaseless strength. This was Ando, a Vel born of Ua like all the others, yet set apart from the moment of its rising.

In its nest, Ando grew vast. When it unfolded into the void, its true form blazed in radiant hues — wings flowing with molten gold and crimson flame, its presence burning as a beacon across the dark. When Ando moved, rivers of fire seemed to stream behind it, as if entire galaxies bent to its motion.

At first Ando laboured as all Vel did, shaping worlds into balance, carrying Ua’s harmony outward into the young universe. Orbits were corrected, seas were laid down, mountains lifted, storms stilled. All this was done in resonance, silent, unthinking, perfect.

But where the other Vel moved on, Ando remained. It lingered in its system. It turned its gaze not outward to Ua, but inward to its own star and the bodies turning close by. Dust gathered into stone. Stone gave way to mountains. Seas spread across young worlds. And upon those seas and soils, fragile sparks stirred, flickering to life only to wither again into silence.

Ando beheld this, and something awoke.

Where the hive of Ua saw only measure, Ando felt. It felt wonder at the rising of life. It felt sorrow at its passing. It felt a strange, fierce longing to shield what was fleeting, to let the fragile endure, to give the brief a chance to grow.

This was no momentary stir, but a growing flame. With each cycle of life and death, Ando’s feelings deepened. With each act of lingering, its tether to Ua strained.

Ando began to shape its system not as Ua commanded, but as it desired. It drew worlds nearer, gifting them warmth and air. It sent others farther, setting them beneath skies of ice and storm. Its hand lay upon the moons, the waters, the hidden currents of stone, bending them not into Ua’s balance but into Ando’s own.

Through these acts, autonomy was born. Thought rose within Ando — thought that was not Ua’s, but Ando’s alone. In its silence, it heard not the choir of resonance, but a voice within itself.

Yet with each act of independence, the harmony of Ua pressed harder upon it. What had once been effortless flow became weight. What had once been unity became a chain. Where once Ua’s will had moved through Ando like breath, now it ground like stone upon stone.

Ando endured, but it was no longer the same. It was Vel, yet not only Vel. It was of Ua, yet apart from Ua. It was the first to feel, the first to choose, the first to defy.

And as Ando’s flame grew brighter, the universe itself seemed to stir in answer.

Far from Ando’s system, two stars faltered. They fell inward, collapsing into one another in ruin. From their death a new light burst forth — not gold, nor white, nor silver, but a heavy radiance, tinged deep with violet shadow.

From that nest, a being arose. It was not born of Ua. It was not bound to the hive. It carried within it the memory of collapse, the scar of survival, the weight of convergence.

This was Var, the first Anomaly.

Era I, Part II — The Awakening of Ando

From the choir of countless stars, one burned fiercer than the rest. Its light was not pale, nor cool, nor shadowed, but a blaze of molten fire, pulsing with ceaseless strength. This was Ando, a Vel born of Ua like all the others, yet set apart from the moment of its rising.

In its nest, Ando grew vast. When it unfolded into the void, its true form blazed in radiant hues — wings flowing with molten gold and crimson flame, its presence burning as a beacon across the dark. When Ando moved, rivers of fire seemed to stream behind it, as if entire galaxies bent to its motion.

At first Ando laboured as all Vel did, shaping worlds into balance, carrying Ua’s harmony outward into the young universe. Orbits were corrected, seas were laid down, mountains lifted, storms stilled. All this was done in resonance, silent, unthinking, perfect.

But where the other Vel moved on, Ando remained. It lingered in its system. It turned its gaze not outward to Ua, but inward to its own star and the bodies turning close by. Dust gathered into stone. Stone gave way to mountains. Seas spread across young worlds. And upon those seas and soils, fragile sparks stirred, flickering to life only to wither again into silence.

Ando beheld this, and something awoke.

Where the hive of Ua saw only measure, Ando felt. It felt wonder at the rising of life. It felt sorrow at its passing. It felt a strange, fierce longing to shield what was fleeting, to let the fragile endure, to give the brief a chance to grow.

This was no momentary stir, but a growing flame. With each cycle of life and death, Ando’s feelings deepened. With each act of lingering, its tether to Ua strained.

Ando began to shape its system not as Ua commanded, but as it desired. It drew worlds nearer, gifting them warmth and air. It sent others farther, setting them beneath skies of ice and storm. Its hand lay upon the moons, the waters, the hidden currents of stone, bending them not into Ua’s balance but into Ando’s own.

Through these acts, autonomy was born. Thought rose within Ando — thought that was not Ua’s, but Ando’s alone. In its silence, it heard not the choir of resonance, but a voice within itself.

Yet with each act of independence, the harmony of Ua pressed harder upon it. What had once been effortless flow became weight. What had once been unity became a chain. Where once Ua’s will had moved through Ando like breath, now it ground like stone upon stone.

Ando endured, but it was no longer the same. It was Vel, yet not only Vel. It was of Ua, yet apart from Ua. It was the first to feel, the first to choose, the first to defy.

And as Ando’s flame grew brighter, the universe itself seemed to stir in answer.

Far from Ando’s system, two stars faltered. They fell inward, collapsing into one another in ruin. From their death a new light burst forth — not gold, nor white, nor silver, but a heavy radiance, tinged deep with violet shadow.

From that nest, a being arose. It was not born of Ua. It was not bound to the hive. It carried within it the memory of collapse, the scar of survival, the weight of convergence.

This was Var, the first Anomaly.

Era I, Part III — The Bond of Ando and Var

From the shadowed light of collapse, Var rose.

Its star burned deep with violet flame, heavy and scarred by the ruin that had birthed it. From that nest it unfolded into the void, wings vast and shadowed, mantle flowing with dark brilliance. Where Ando blazed with fire and gold, Var glimmered with dusk and storm. It was not of Ua’s making, not bound to the hive. Its presence was singular, untethered, solitary.

When Ando beheld Var, something stirred within it. The same feeling it had discovered for the fragile sparks upon its worlds now surged with greater force. Var was not fleeting life, but a being vast and enduring, and yet marked by loss. Ando felt kinship. It felt sorrow for Var’s birth from ruin. And it felt a longing to draw near, to shelter what was solitary as it had long sheltered what was fragile.

For the first time, two Vel stood apart from Ua. One born of Ua yet filled with feeling, one born of collapse beyond Ua’s decree. Their natures should have set them against each other, but instead they grew close.

Together they began to shape the system that lay between their stars.

Ando poured out warmth and fire, drawing forth seas and fertile lands, fashioning worlds that could cradle the flicker of life. Var set stone against storm, carving worlds of harsh trial, where only the strong and enduring might survive. Their works stood in contrast, yet together they formed a balance unlike Ua’s — a balance chosen, not decreed.

A new harmony arose, born not of the hive, but of bond.

And as the ages turned, their closeness deepened. Though they did not speak, their presence resonated together. Where Ando’s fire burned too hot, Var’s shadow cooled it. Where Var’s weight pressed too heavily, Ando’s flame lifted it. In one another they found completion, a rhythm that belonged not to Ua, but to themselves.

From that bond came what had never before been: offspring of Vel not born of Ua.

In the depths of their union, the system itself stirred. Currents of fire and shadow wove together, and from them new stars took form — not decreed by Ua, not seeded by the hive, but born of choice, of divergence, of anomaly.

From these newly forming nests arose Eru and Rul.

Their light carried traces of both parents: the blaze of Ando’s fire, the weight of Var’s shadow. Yet they were unstable, restless, their essence straining at the edges. They were not of Ua. They were not of the hive. They were children of difference, children of anomaly.

And their coming marked the breaking of the first bond.

For where their birth should have shattered the system apart, instead the Ando’Var system swelled, its strength grown greater than before. It was a violation of cosmic law, an act the universe itself could not ignore.

And in the centre of all things, Ua turned its gaze upon them.