Where potential passes through and blooms into a living story.
Where an unseen hand inscribes the lives of all.
Written in ink and sketched by the constellations.
The first true conditional made.
...
(The first of the five.)
During the picking of roles by the five.
The first to choose was the tallest among them.
He wore a long cloak that manifested events that were yet to happen —
wars, disasters, tragedies, natural events and more.
Set upon the collar was sharp stained glass, shining in prismatic colors.
His face bore indescribable runic patterns that shifted from time to time.
His body was marble-like. Smooth and beautiful like sculpted art.
Upon his hands were glass gauntlets, reflecting everything like a mirror.
But above all else, one thing defined his presence.
A crown.
A crown that sat on his head, shimmering like a starry night sky.
Its stars linked together like constellations.
Its palisades were unnaturally long —
twice the height of the one who wore it.
...
(The Continuum Scriptorium)
The air smelled of ink and parchment.
Amidst the countless islands floating above the cosmos.
Decorated with headless statues and ancient pillars.
And above? Was cosmic dust neighboring the endless stars and constellations.
This place... was nothing but extraordinary.
But there was something special that stood out from the rest.
One island — bigger than all the others, held a single structure.
The island had a scriptorium, surrounding it was a garden hedge blooming with mystical flowers.
And there at the entrance of the scriptorium. There stood the creator of this place —
MYTHENDROS.
In his hand was a quill. That quill manifested entirely on its own by the role he holds.
At this moment. The quill is drawing ink from the skies as the constellations twist into a spiralling double helix — entering and giving life to the colorless feather.
The Quill of Tomorrows. The feather had grown — larger than before, moving gracefully despite the absence of air.
With the quill now filled with potential, Mythendros heads inside the scriptorium.
...
(The chosen role)
At the center of the scriptorium's spherical interior stood a throne — and in front of it was a lectern.
Surrounding the throne were bookshelves filled with empty tomes and books.
The room felt his gaze.
An instinctual feeling came upon the books and tomes as they began moving on their own, adjusting their position to a more organized placement.
He then heads towards the throne and sits down grandly.
A book on one of the shelves began to levitate towards the lectern before opening itself and landing gracefully.
The role he had chosen was —
[Role: True Author, Cognitum Originator]
A role that made him the true writer of stories and narratives.
He alone inscribes what will come to be for the future Homes of all beings.
With everything prepared — Mythendros hesitates... then begins writing the first step towards the creation of...
Everything.