The era of struggle had passed into the quiet hum of eternity. Aegis was no longer the Reality Breaker, the Glitch, or the Monarch of a dying simulation. Throughout the countless new planes he had anchored to the First Draft, he was known by a single, resonant title: The God of Origin.
It was a name spoken with reverence in the halls of the Iron Sects and whispered with wonder in the bioluminescent forests of the Aether Realms. Yet, to the man himself, the title was merely a quiet background noise to the far more important sounds of his life: the crackle of a campfire, the splash of a warm ocean, and the laughter of his children.
