The First Being, now determined and focused, began the next phase of creation: the foundation upon which all things would stand. Time was irrelevant to him, yet urgency stirred in his thoughts, as if the very void whispered that the moment had come.
He had already completed the first step—the crafting of the Sphere of Will. This sphere was not a physical shell, but a metaphysical boundary, an expression of pure intent. It was the line between true nothingness and the Inner Void, a sacred space carved out within the endless sea of non-existence.
Unlike the Outer Void, which was the absolute absence of everything—lawless, silent, still—the Inner Void bore a different nature. Within this hollow realm, the laws of existence could stir, shift, and one day, solidify. They did not yet fully govern, but they whispered, hovered, tested their strength. That was the influence of the First Being's will, soaking the Void like a fragrance that changes the very air.
The Sphere of Will carried with it four primal laws: "Stay, Expand, Stabilize, Flow."
These were not commands, but truths etched into the bones of the Sphere itself. Because of them, the Inner Void mirrored the paradox of the Outer Void—it was infinite, yet finite; bounded, yet boundless. A contradiction only possible through divine will.
Satisfied with the first phase, the First Being turned his gaze inward and thought:
"Now, I must weave the fabric of Space and Time."
This was not something to be done in steps, but in unison. As the Codex had revealed, space and time are interwoven, each incomplete without the other. One defines where, the other defines when. Without time, space is frozen. Without space, time has nowhere to move.
From the wisdom of the Codex Noeternum, he understood that space was not just emptiness—it was structure. It defined position, depth, scale. It offered a place for matter to exist, a canvas for change to unfold.
So, he began. Within the Inner Void, he carved a new hollowness—a void within the Void. Not absence, but potential. A sanctuary for what would become form.
He named this space "Primal Hollow", the first finite space within the infinite.
From there, he summoned concepts from the Codex, drawing invisible paths and intangible axes:
Width. Height. Depth.
These were not drawn like lines on paper. They were spoken into existence, pure intention turned into direction. They became the threads upon which all physicality would one day be stitched.
Slowly, the Primal Hollow thickened with form, not visible or tangible yet, but existent. Space was being born—not as distance, but as structure.
On the other side of the Inner Void, he simultaneously turned his thoughts to Time.
"If Time is to be the memory of the universe, then let it be born through me," he thought. "That way, it shall remember its source—and I shall know its every breath."
Yet, as he began, he encountered a problem. The first problem he had ever known since becoming self-aware.
Unlike space, which could be drawn and structured, Time required something he did not have: the past.
Time is not merely a stream. It is change remembered.
But the First Being had no past. There had been no moments before him—only void. And as the Codex explained, everything that is not self-born requires an anchor—a source from which to draw meaning.
He was eternal, yes. But even eternity needed a starting point if time was to flow.
He tried creating pulses, thinking they would mimic time. But they simply rippled in stillness and returned. He tried rotation, movement, separation—but without time, all movement was stillness pretending.
Confusion clouded his thoughts for the first time. A silence settled within the Inner Void—not from absence, but from expectation.