Chapter 2 – Eden

Nothing that Chaos had created could quell the desolation that enveloped his existence. He was the architect of everything, the creator of worlds and universes, but no cosmic structure, no dance of particles, or stellar display could fill the immeasurable void that resided within his being. Chaos was not only the creator; he was also his first victim, condemned to a consuming boredom that corroded every spark of his soul.

He was the lord of order and chaos, yet his own power was a paradox. Nothing unexpected could happen, for everything depended entirely on his will. There was no room for surprises, for twists, for a reality that was not entirely under his control. It was then that he realized that his own omnipotence was the cage that suffocated him.

In a flash of despair mixed with selfishness, Chaos conceived a radical idea: to continue existing in eternity, he needed to separate a part of himself, to give life to something that could act outside his full influence. It was both a creative and destructive act, an extreme gesture that reflected his hunger for change.

Chaos fragmented his own being, dividing his essence into shards of living fire. Each of these fragments had its own consciousness, a free will capable of shaping its own destiny.

There were seven of them, and he called them Eden, infusing them with a part of his own creative will.

The Edens were not only the children of Chaos; they were manifestations of his torment. With this division, Chaos had not eliminated his boredom; he had transferred it. These magnificent beings, about four meters tall, suspended in space around their father, found themselves suddenly condemned to search for meaning, a reason to exist, in a world that had none.

They were creatures of fire, their bodies enveloped in a fiery glow that seemed to pulse like the beat of a heart. Each Eden was different from the others, a unique reflection of a fragment of Chaos’s mind, but they all shared the same tragic legacy: the insatiable desire to understand their purpose.

As Chaos watched his children, he hoped that their existence might provide him with some distraction, perhaps even some joy. But what he saw was the reflection of his own unease. The Edens, created to break their father’s tedium, began to show signs of silent rebellion. Not directly against him, but against their own condition. They were free beings, yet trapped in the search for meaning that they could not find.

Chaos, the supreme creator, remained on his flaming throne, watching his creatures writhe in the void of Pandemonium. They were his children, his legacy, but they were also a cruel experiment, a response to his eternal struggle against monotony.

And so, as the Edens began to explore their being, the shadow of a new phase of creation loomed, one that Chaos had not fully anticipated. For the first time, the creator was confronted with something truly unpredictable: the choices of his children.

Chaos, the omnipotent architect of everything, had shaped the Edens in his image and likeness, beings of power and fire, each a reflection of a part of his being. Yet, at the moment of their creation, he had chosen not to teach them anything. He had not shared words, explanations, or meanings. With one exception: one particular Eden would soon be granted a brief dialogue.

Chaos remained distant, a silent observer of his own experiment.

This choice was not without reason. Chaos, tired of absolute predictability, wanted the Edens to learn on their own, to explore and discover their purpose without interference. He would not intervene, for his design was based on a fundamental principle: to let events unfold naturally, leaving it to them to find their own path.

Inside each Eden burned a spark of Chaos’s supreme power, the ability to create and transform. Though they were fragments of him, the Edens had separate lives, autonomous existences that followed intertwined but unique destinies. Their creation carried with it an implicit challenge, a fundamental instinct rooted in their incandescent souls: to prevail over the others.

The instinct to compete was not mere rivalry, but the manifestation of a deeper purpose, a command inscribed in their essence. They were meant to bring order to disorder, to seek balance between the structure and chaos surrounding them. It was the task entrusted to them by their father, though this had never been explicitly stated.

Chaos watched the Edens with a mix of awe and satisfaction. Every discovery, every small triumph, filled the creator with a subtle and unexpected pleasure.

He did not communicate with them, not because he was indifferent, but because it was a deliberate choice. To intervene would have destroyed the essence of his experiment. The Edens had to find their own place in the cosmic design. Thus, Chaos limited himself to watching the spectacle he had set in motion, a drama whose script was written moment by moment through the actions of his children.

Everything unfolding was, in the end, a complex spectacle, a cosmic work designed to alleviate Chaos’s endless boredom. It was a theater of divine proportions, where the Edens, the creator’s first puppets, moved trying to understand their role.

The plot was still to be discovered, and each Eden represented a living force, a unique character with its own motivations, desires, and ambitions. Chaos took pleasure in their existence, knowing that, despite the apparent simplicity of their purpose, their actions would generate an intricate web of events impossible to predict.

Thus, in the silence of Pandemonium, the creator waited, watching his creatures come to life and shape their reality, as the great cosmic drama began to unfold before his eternal eyes.

The first seven beings to populate the created world were unique, each with boundless potential and extraordinary nature. There was no comparison between them and the entities that would come later. They were insatiable conquerors, endowed with immense powers and limitless ambition.

Nothing better could be asked of the created world to satisfy Chaos’s hunger for spectacle.

Despite their inherent grandeur, the battles among the Edens did not begin immediately. As soon as they were created, they were little more than empty bodies, unaware of themselves and the world around them. They roamed through Pandemonium, exploring their being and each other’s company, devoid of thoughts or conscious actions. Only over time, in seven key stages, did they begin to evolve.

Each stage marked a revolutionary discovery, a progress that brought them closer to understanding themselves and the world. To understand this evolution, it is necessary to digress on their language, a divine tongue that represented not only words but pure concepts.

The language of the Edens was based on a system of “prime words,” each representing a fundamental and indivisible concept. These terms were the foundation of a language that evolved through successive combinations. But translating such words into our language is like trying to trap a ray of sunlight in a bottle: mutilation is necessary to make them understandable.

The very names of the Edens came from their first actions. Each name was a symbol, a reflection of their primary discovery, and defined the essence of the one who bore it.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

The first Eden to evolve was Time, which separated from its original form of pure flame and acquired a physical existence. The first conscious act it performed was thinking. And in the moment when thought took shape, it shared it with the others: Memos, the word in the divine language that meant “first thought.” It was the name it gave itself, which also became the first thought of the other Edens.

After Time, it was Space that made a revolutionary step. It moved, an action that until then none had ever conceived. That first movement was called Locos, a word that embodied the discovery of movement itself. The other Edens perceived the event, but could not fully understand it, unable to replicate that gesture.

The enigma of movement was solved when a third Eden made an equally extraordinary discovery: seeing. It was the first to open its eyes and cried out: “Lumina,” an exclamation that meant “I see.” This revelation opened new horizons. Lumina learned to move by observing Space and used its ability to see to help the others do the same. Thanks to Lumina, all the Edens began to move and see the world around them.

But among them was one Eden who never moved.

“Idea,” its name represented Balance in its most absolute form, but its penetrating gaze followed every gesture, every discovery. It was the silent observer, the keeper of balance between the forces the others were discovering.

And here, the narrator is revealed; the pen telling you this story is none other than Balance.

To gain further information on this matter, I ask you to be patient until it is appropriate...

Over time, the Edens began to develop a more complex language to communicate with each other. Through their interactions, they learned to express thoughts and share discoveries. This new language became a bridge between their minds, allowing them to discuss, debate, and, ultimately, cooperate.

Chaos watched his children with interest, seeing in their evolutions a reflection of his own creative power. The seven key stages that marked their growth were not just simple acts, but the first steps toward a future that even eternity could not predict.

For a long time, the seven siblings lived in harmony, talking and comparing without any discord. It was a time of shared discoveries, endless exchanges, and mutual exploration. But like all perfect balances, this too was destined to break.

A day arrived that would change the course of their lives forever: the day of Proxima, an event that in your language we translate as War. It was the first act of provocation among the Edens, a gesture that would open the path to every future conflict. War, with a simple act of defiance, shattered the peace. It pushed one of its brothers, an act seemingly trivial but imbued with profound meaning.

That action, a simple touch, became the seed of discord. The brothers, who until then had lived in a fragile but stable equilibrium, began to divide, and with the division came the first quarrels. War had been the catalyst for a new phase, one in which differences and tensions would transform into clashes.

Despite the growing conflict, not all among the Edens was dissent. Some formed deeper bonds, collaborating or respecting each other because of their affinities. Among them, two brothers stood out for their unique connection: Light and Shadow.

Shadow, who had not yet been mentioned, entered the story through an equally primordial gesture: Vacuum, the first affection. Shadow felt for the first time a feeling, an empathetic attraction toward the brother Lumina. Though the two were opposites in nature, with Shadow symbolizing the void and the unknown, and Lumina embodying clarity and vision, they found comfort in one another. They shared ideas and ideals.

Between Space and Time, however, there was a mutual respect. The two recognized the importance of their respective discoveries and understood their intrinsic value. Without movement, time remained still; without time, movement made no sense. Their relationship was based on a symbiotic balance, making them complementary and inseparable.

However, the last of the brothers lived a solitary and incomplete existence. He had not yet found his identity or a name that defined him. He moved among the others, trying to fit into their discussions, but no one listened. His attempts to communicate fell into the void, leaving him increasingly isolated.

The awareness of his loneliness tormented him. He felt invisible, irrelevant, a shadow without purpose amidst giants. One day, overwhelmed by the weight of this feeling, a tear fell from his face. It was an unconscious gesture, a manifestation of pain he did not fully understand.

When the other brothers noticed the tear, they stopped. For the first time, all eyes were on him. The emotion emanating from that small gesture was unknown but deep, like a reverberation in their immortal lives. They gave him a name: Mortem, which in their language meant "tear" or "cry."

Mortem was now defined, and with that name, he carried the weight of suffering and awareness.

These first events defined the dynamics among the Edens. The alliances, conflicts, and bonds that began to form reflected their nature and discoveries. Chaos watched, fascinated, as his children evolved not only in power but also in emotions and relationships.

After the events of Proxima, a fragile calm settled among the Edens. It was not true peace, but rather a truce, a condition of precarious balance that seemed to hang by a thin thread. Maintaining this apparent calm were two figures who, above all else, demonstrated superiority in both power and influence: Space and Time.

These two brothers exercised a restraining force on the more primal instincts of their siblings. They spoke continuously, comparing notes on everything, developing a mutual respect that went beyond any description. Despite being beings of titan-like will, they managed to suppress their instincts for the sake of the fragile balance that had been established.

Meanwhile, the other Edens were not as inclined to harmony. Their discussions became increasingly heated and divisive, leading them to form two distinct factions. These were not yet true alliances, but rather groups based on common visions and shared goals. Each Eden began to explore its own potential and define its own role, and these divisions began to shape the ecosystem of Pandemonium.

However, as long as Space and Time remained united and steadfast, order prevailed. Their influence was enough to maintain peace, even though beneath the surface, tensions bubbled.

But like all balances, this too was destined to break. The moment of crisis arrived when, for the first time, Space and Time found themselves in disagreement. No one could have predicted what would trigger that discord.

Everyone argued heatedly. Their voices, powerful and vibrant, echoed like reverberations through the eternal walls of Pandemonium. The words were laden with meaning, intertwined in the divine language that only they could master. The factions, which had maintained a certain composure until then, began to reveal themselves for what they were: opposing groups, each with their own vision of the future.

Chaos, from his throne, watched. The creator did not intervene, allowing his children to walk the path they themselves were tracing. For him, this was the essence of their purpose: to evolve, to clash, to grow.