I. The Hollow Seed

I sought them not for worship, but for grace—
A shadow once I loved, who vanished slow.
In Nihra’s hush, I saw my silent face.
In Vireon’s fire, the ache I came to know.

I reached into the void that memory might restore,
To touch the source of my core, beyond my chaos,
Hoping beginnings might return to me once more,
That the wonder of self in me might not be lost—

…

…

…

…

I am pulled between the null and endless tide.
In my emptiness the void is where I hide.

II. A Crack in the Cosmic Foundation

When stillness met the flame, the rays took form,
Creation burst forth from touching fire’s eternal spin.
Pre-birth stirred within the boundless storm,
As void and spark grew, soul woven deep within.

Nihra, the quiet womb of unborn stars,
Received Vireon’s blaze with sacred lush.
No clash, no war, just breath and then quasars—
Touch was thought, and thought became a rush.

From this embrace, the Realm of Phantasia began,
Phantasia—woven, endless, wild, and wise.
Yet doubts stir where blazes burn fear none withstand,

And ashes birth the shaded and dreadful skies.

For love creates—but choice may yet unmake—

One born of void might cause the weave to break.

III. The Veil Between Realms

The story of the mortal stars—long since been told—

Of dust and time, of galaxies and flame.
The mortal realm is cast with its stories of old,
Though few recall the Lords who bestowed our name.

I speak, for I have seen the threads grow thin.
I walk between what’s real and what is dream.
I pass where myth and waking thoughts begin,
And cross where loss and chaos chafed the seam—

Where thought and myth together slip and slide,

A shimmer lost between the now and when.

No bars, no chains—just moments pulled aside,

No locks divide, only pain—the veil is thin—

I am the Seeker—unamed, though name once was known—
And now I tell of what once was, and is still undone.

IV. Hollow—Son of the First Fall

Hollow—the pause that would not yield to fire,
The shadow born when union was still young.
Not silence, no—but hunger, empty and with ire,
A name half-formed and never truly sung.

The son of Nihra and Vireon, a destructive phase,
He sees the threads and scoffs at how they weave.
“Why must all breath obey the Lords and praise?
Why serve the song when my power can deceive?”

He whispers into creation, “Peer past this depth—
Your will is free beyond the Three.
Why bow when flame and void are your breadth?
Unmake the weave—null eternity.”

Thus Hollow rose, the first to turn and fall—
The empty one who’d consume the roots of all.

V. The Response of the Three

The Lord beheld the Son that turned away,
This child of light, chose dark, now clothed in pride.
He would not build, but sought to strip and fray—
To tear the thread, and let the roots divide.

The Lord of Light stood first, and said: “I shall bend—

not break—but bow and bear the cost, the flames.
For love must bleed and meet a heartless end,
that through this wound, I’ll sacrifice for all names.”

Then Time, who keeps the ledger of the years,
Declared, “I’ll wait so all who fall may rise.
I will not halt, but slow through hope and tears—
And mark the moment mercy splits the skies.”

Then Truth steps forth, and with unwavering breath—

Promises redemption will outlast death.