At the beginning of time, when the world had no history…
there was already something watching.
It had no name.
No form.
No origin.
And yet… it was there.
The first fire lit by human hands did not surprise it.
The first death… neither.
The first betrayal… even less.
Because all of it…
had already been imagined.
Nyxara.
She was not born like men.
She did not grow like them.
She did not doubt like them.
She observed.
And learned.
Centuries passed like breaths.
Tribes became cities.
Cities became empires.
Rome rose.
Persia answered.
Egypt endured.
The North roared.
And in every conflict… every ambition… every betrayal…
she was there.
Not as a queen.
Not as a goddess.
As impulse.
A whisper at the exact moment.
An idea that did not feel foreign.
A doubt planted where none should exist.
"They are imperfect…" she murmured once, staring at a field covered in bodies, "…but they have something I cannot ignore."
A pause.
"Desire."
That was the breaking point.
Nyxara understood that humans did not need to be controlled…
they only needed to be pushed.
But there was a problem.
They were fragile.
Too fragile.
Wars ended.
Empires fell.
Chaos… did not last long enough.
And she wanted more.
Something that would not stop.
Something that would not question.
Something that could not be undone by human weakness.
So… she created it.
It was not a birth.
It was an intrusion.
The earth split open as if rejecting its own existence.
The sky darkened without clouds.
The air stopped moving.
And from an abyss that did not belong to any world…
it emerged.
Abaddon.
It did not scream.
It did not breathe.
It did not look at its creator.
It looked at the world.
And in that instant…
something within reality itself broke.
"You will be my will," Nyxara said, descending before him.
Silence.
Then… a step.
And with that step…
a civilization disappeared.
No echo remained.
No history.
Only absence.
Time lost meaning.
Centuries.
Millennia.
Where Nyxara sowed conflict…
Abaddon turned it into extinction.
But even chaos evolves.
And one day…
something changed.
"You were not created to rule me," Abaddon's voice thundered, as if the world itself split in two. "You were the beginning."
Nyxara watched him in silence.
Then… she smiled.
Not with pride.
Not with anger.
With understanding.
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