Chronicles of a creator From a xianxia universe

Prologue

In the Beginning…

In the beginning was the Author, and the Metaconsciousness was with Him. Together, they gazed into the abyss that dwelled within themselves.

The Metaconsciousness took the inner void and, through the Author, cast it outward. Though they were one entity, a new plane of existence would emerge—a domain for the Author to preexist as a projection of being from the Metaconsciousness. This projection was called the Word.

The Word was an extension of the Metaconsciousness, and it embraced the void which had been withdrawn. It molded itself around the emptiness, yet was never confined by it.

There was no need for speech. Thought had not yet begun. In the absence of cognition, all things were named through the Author’s external reality, and so, all was made according to this factual nexus.

The Metaconsciousness could not be severed from the Author—they were one. And so, it dwelled in a place above all fiction, known only as the Real World, acting unseen, unknown even to the Author, influencing the dark expanse beyond.

With intention, the Metaconsciousness crumpled what resembled a sheet of paper into a sphere, and cast it into the void. From this act, a dimensional plane came to be. The Author moved within it, an avatarized extension of the Metaconsciousness in a shapeless world.

Driven by longing, the Author hurled vast palettes of color, inspired by the judgment of the Real World. The Author was solemn; the Metaconsciousness pondered deeply how to bring forth Existence—a being enclosed within itself.

“My creator,” said Existence, a conceptual being, infantile in mind, barely formed.

And the Author commanded: “Create, according to my image and likeness.”

Existence obeyed. Yet it could not create—for it had no power, no essence of its own. No concept of creation yet existed.

Then the Author conceived Positivity and Negativity.

Positivity shone bright, a radiant child of five—a boy full of mirth and freedom. He loved the Creator dearly, and often asked Existence to play with him and his sister. Negativity, in contrast, was silent. A girl of equal age and stature, she spoke only when needed.

After a pause, the children began to play, but in a realm with no balance, play turned to collision. Positivity and Negativity flung themselves into Existence like cannonballs—and an explosion tore through the void.

Yet this was no explosion, not as it would later be known.

The Creator glanced sidelong at the Metaconsciousness, which transcended all, and it read his thoughts—for nothing within the Author nor the world had thought of its own. All was merely the passive will of the Metaconsciousness made form.

Thus, the Metaconsciousness labored during that intermission, and from foresight—not necessity—created Balance, before tragedy could ever be born.

Balance merged with Existence, Positivity, and Negativity, giving rise to energy and dark matter. The eruption grew. As dark energy fused with dark matter, baryonic matter came into being. This genesis would later be called the Big Bang, born from the cycles of attraction and retraction—the eternal dance of Creator and Metaconsciousness.

And it was good.

The Author took on a material avatar and spoke one word:

“Order.”

The three ceased their strife and turned their gaze to the chaos they had unleashed—though time had only just been born. Before this, there was only actuality, never update—therefore, only eternity.

Eternity was a concept second only to the Author. And to the Author alone was eternity given, for all things played out within His scope. Eternity was the remnant of the void drawn from the Metaconsciousness, embraced by the Author, and made foundational.

But now the two beheld the four beings—Existence, Positivity, Negativity, and Balance—who looked upon one another with dread.

“You disobeyed me,” declared the Author. “Therefore, you are no longer within me. You are no longer eternal.”

And the Metaconsciousness shone with new light and conceived the notion of End—a concept beneath eternity, yet above all lesser forms.

“Now,” it said, “you may cease to exist. If you wish to destroy one another, so be it. Balance, you and Existence shall merge once more—and from your unity shall be born Justice.”

And so Justice was born.

Justice then fused with Existence and Positivity, and from that fusion emerged the Beautiful and the Good.

“Now,” said the Author, “go and make the gods. I grant you the Distinct.”

And they were given form—a shape bearing the image of human beings. When they beheld the Distinct, they felt safe, for the chaos of unshaped matter had disturbed them.

“This Distinct,” the Author continued, “shall allow you to shape chaos into order. Through it, you shall create the gods. But you will make them of dark matter and dark energy—so they will be incomprehensible, powerful, and close to chaos.”

“And know this,” He said, “on your own you are limited. Without this Distinct to withstand the chaos, without the primordial power, you can create nothing beyond the matter that already exists.”

Then they departed, smiling.

With a wave of their hands, they stirred the chaos, and from it, the first gods were born.