A voice rose from somewhere beyond time.
"How was this world born?"
The Voice of Creation answered.
It did not speak in words.
It resonated—like a thousand stars awakening in darkness.
"Before the sky… before land… before life…"
"There was Nothing."
No stars to burn.
No wind to move.
No light to witness itself.
Only a pulse.
Silent.
Endless.
Waiting.
Then—
the pulse moved.
It became sound.
The sound became light.
And the light exploded into countless realities.
That was the first creation.
Galaxies spread through the void. Stars ignited like distant fires. Worlds were forged from dust, flame, and fragments of chaos.
But the greatest thing born from that beginning was not a planet.
It was the Stones.
Fragments of impossible power, cast into existence as echoes of the first explosion.
Each carried its own nature.
Its own will.
Its own color.
Black.
Navy Red.
Golden.
Sapphire Green.
And many others—
lost before they were ever named.
These were never simple gems.
They remembered.
They watched.
They waited.
Where the Stones fell, life changed forever.
Some worlds learned to hear their whispers and rose into civilizations of unimaginable strength.
Others were reduced to dust before they understood what had found them.
And every Stone became part of one eternal law:
Birth. Growth. Collapse. Rebirth.
The cycle never ended.
Among all Stones, one stood above the rest.
The Black Stone.
Known in forgotten tongues as the Kaal Crystal.
It was not merely stronger.
It was different.
The others could shape what already existed.
The Black Stone could imagine what did not.
Where others reflected creation—
it could begin it.
Because of that, every age desired it.
And every age feared it.
Time moved forward.
Stars cooled.
Empires vanished.
Civilizations turned to memory.
The voices of the Stones sank beneath history—
becoming myth,
then shadow,
then silence.
Until the world began again.
Present Day — The World of Lokh
Now there is another world.
To the eye, it looks much like Earth.
Its people call it Lokh.
A place where neon lights glow beside ancient temples.
Where highways cut through sacred land.
Where rivers pass beneath towers of glass.
Where old traditions survive as whispers inside modern streets.
To most people, it is ordinary.
Safe.
Predictable.
Real.
They do not remember the Stones.
They do not hear their whispers.
They do not know what once shaped creation itself.
But forgotten things do not stay buried forever.
They wait.
And somewhere in the heart of Lokh—
the cycle was about to begin again.
End of Chapter X:NISARGA
FATUITY: ALIVE_HERE0806