Before time began to pass, there was only the great void. Within this vast expanse of nothing there was only Him.
He flew through the nothingness like wind over the great dunes, formless yet heavy, one with the void. He hungered for more than silence. So he spoke, and from that word came light — a sudden bloom in the endless dark.
The light did not stay still. It spilled and rolled, chasing away the cold emptiness. Yet he was not satisfied. He reached into the infantile radiance and pulled forth matter, molding it as a great potter. The matter became a great seed, the seed of life, with another breath, it began to grow.
From the great seed, the Blessed Tree was born. Its roots formed the new world's bones; its branches created the towering mountains.
Waters gathered at the Tree's feet, carving away valleys, seas, and rivers. From the blessed tree, fruit was birthed. From this fruit was born the stars, moons, and great spheres.
Then from Him was born the blessed, his first seed — alive with the will of its maker. Son of Him, child of the earth and the heavens, was with form. The Firstborn walked the roots and shores, his eyes bright with wonder, his hands made to work what had been given. He named him Ado. Ado praised his maker because he has been wonderfully made. Ado realized his maker was without a name, authoring this himself, calling his maker "Qirox".
But before Qirox rested, a final creation was made from seeds of the tree, a second born sons, molded to be guardians of the blessed tree within the great sphere, the Veardanari. Among them there were two who stood above, Anadeus and Gilgaram.
A shadow slithered through the branches reaching into a new seed. It was older than the tree yet born from it, a twisting hunger that sought to wither the Tree and claim the seed's light.
To be used later…
This gave birth to Anadeus, one of the "angels." He wanted partial authorship of the universe itself, with a desire to craft beings reflected in his own image.
Thus the Firstborn's watch began, in a world still soft with newness, where every river and star was young — and every shadow, patient.