The darkness was vast and unchanging. It was an endless abyss stretching out in every direction, so vast it was boundless, so deep it seemed to devour all notions of time or space. Before the first flash of light, the cosmos existed in absolute silence, an infinite sea of dormant possibilities, waiting, in a state that knew no urgency or desire. Every corner of the void was permeated with a calm that bordered on the eternal as if even the concept of change was alien to its nature.

Then, in an instant that could not be measured by even the vastest of eternities, the Primordial Energy surged forth. It came not as an abrupt burst, but as a flickering spark that broke the stillness with unexpected softness, barely a whisper in the vastness. Yet that spark held within it all the power of existence. It was not just force: life in its purest form, the movement that breaks inertia, a symphony of chaos and order woven into an endless flow. It was the seed of everything, the breath that shaped the vastness of the void.

From that energy were born the first constellations. Conscious fragments, each formed by the whim and boundless will of the Primordial Energy. At first, their existence was ephemeral, like flickering reflections in a dark ocean. But soon, their forms began to consolidate, their lights becoming more stable, revealing colors impossible to describe with mortal words. Their sizes and shapes were a direct reflection of their purposes: some shone with blinding intensity, radiating a majesty that seemed to promise life and hope to those who beheld them. Others, however, twisted into erratic shapes, their glow dim, carrying an enigma as deep as the very abyss from which they emerged.

They were not simple lights in the firmament. These entities, born from the ordered chaos of the cosmos, were the rulers of destiny. Their gaze encompassed the worlds that began to form under their influence, and with each movement of their ethereal forms, they marked the rhythm of the fundamental forces that guided the expanding universe.

Constellations

What are they?

To mortals, these cosmic deities, known as constellations, appeared to be simple celestial bodies: bright points in the distant heavens. Yet they were much more than that. They were conscious fragments of the Primordial Energy, pieces of the eternal puzzle that shaped the universe. Each constellation carried within its essence a spark of the original creation, an echo of the moment when the void was broken. Their purpose was not one, but many, complex and intertwined, as vast as the heavens themselves.

They were creators and destroyers, guardians, and witnesses. From their position at the limits of space, they watched over the endless flow of the cosmos, directing their influence over the worlds that turned in their light. To the beings who inhabited these planets, the constellations were the axis of life itself, the invisible guides that offered signs in the heavens, promises of order, or warnings of danger. But for them, the burden was much greater: their existence was intrinsically linked to the balance of the universe. Each one was a pillar of the cosmos, and if one fell, the rest would falter.

Birth

Not all constellations share a common origin. While most were born from the heat accumulated in stellar energy storms, an inevitable and cyclical process, some arose from events so extraordinary that their very existence seemed to defy the logic of the cosmos. At the heart of these storms, where gravitational forces collided and collapsed upon themselves, constellations slowly took shape, as if the universe were forging its most precious guardians. Every spark, every flash of these storms, carried with it the potential to become a cosmic deity, as long as the stellar winds blew in perfect harmony.

But there were exceptions. The oldest constellations, the first born, were not forged in the storms. These emerged from incomprehensible cataclysms: the collapse of a massive star that left an immense void in the fabric of space, the hypnotic and destructive dance between two black holes that warped light in their wake, or the searing blast of a supernova that illuminated entire galaxies with its dying breath. These events not only created cosmic life but also wove legends among the deities who watched from the shadows of infinity.

The birth of a new constellation was a spectacle of universal proportions, so majestic that even the oldest entities, who had witnessed countless centuries of change, paused to watch. The initial flashes marked the deity’s first heartbeat, a pulse that resonated through the void. During these moments, the forces that shaped the new constellation danced with each other, adjusting and competing, as if the cosmos itself were deciding its fate.

Each birth was unique, a reflection of the event that had triggered it. Some constellations arose with flashes of light that seemed to sing of their arrival, while others were born silently, their light barely perceptible, as if they needed time to understand their existence. The other deities watched with a mixture of curiosity, respect, and in some cases, fear. They knew that each new constellation not only brought power to the cosmic balance but also a unique perspective, an echo of the forces that had engendered it.

Along with each deity, a planet was born. It was not a whim, nor a mere accident. It was an inviolable law of the cosmos, a deep and inseparable connection. These planets, with their shapes and landscapes, were as diverse as the deities themselves. Some were spheres covered with eternal forests, where life flourished in ceaseless cycles of growth and renewal. Others were desert wastelands, where the skies burned with shades of red and orange, and the winds carried sands as old as the stars. There were also worlds covered by endless oceans, where life forms danced on the water like free thoughts, without beginning or end.

The bond between a constellation and its planet was not just symbolic. It was vital, a relationship that defined the existence of both. If the planet prospered, nurturing the life that inhabited it, the constellation grew in strength. Its light shone brighter, its influence spread and its place in the firmament solidified. But if the planet fell into disgrace, if its life was extinguished, or if its inhabitants forgot their celestial guardian, the deity began to fade. It was a slow and cruel process, like a candle that consumes its last drop of wax, burning out without remedy. For the constellations, the death of their planet was a fate worse than destruction, for it meant not only the end of their power but also oblivion.

Death

The death of a constellation was an event that shook the foundations of the cosmos, a reminder that even the most majestic forces were not eternal. To mortals, these occurrences might seem like natural phenomena: a star going out, a solar system reduced to dust, an inexplicable cataclysm marking the end of an era. But to the constellations, each death was a deep wound, a void that echoed in their forms, reminding them of the fragility of the balance that held the universe.

When Mordeth, one of the major constellations, fell, the entire cosmos held its breath. Its disappearance was not immediate; it began as a slight fluctuation in its light, a flicker barely perceptible to mortals watching the heavens. But neighboring constellations felt the change immediately: an imbalance in the forces that flowed through space. It was as if the very fabric of the universe began to tear.

Mordeth’s planet of Kaelor had once been a vibrant world, filled with life and energy. Its oceans reflected iridescent purple skies, and its inhabitants lived in perfect harmony with the nature around them. But the Ravagers, implacable enemies of balance, had made it their target. They drained Kaelor of its emotional energy, plunging it into perpetual chaos where fear and hatred grew like a plague. Without the planet’s vitality to sustain it, Mordeth began to wither. Its light, once a radiant flame that illuminated entire systems, was extinguished within days.

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When it finally fell, its death was not silent. A scream of black energy spread across the void, an explosion that left fragments of its form floating like errant asteroids. The impact disintegrated not only Kaelor but also the nearby worlds that depended on its influence. What was once a solar system teeming with life was reduced to aimless dust and debris, a perpetual reminder of his absence.

For the constellations that remained, Mordeth's loss was more than a tragedy. They felt his absence as a pang in their forms, a void that unbalanced their energies. The eldest, like Velkarus, reflected on their vulnerability, while the lesser, like Althea, wondered if they would ever be strong enough to withstand such a threat. But Mordeth's death was also a warning, a warning that the balance was beginning to crumble and that the Custodians could not protect everything.

Hierarchy

The hierarchy of the constellations was not rigid, but it was not without its tensions. Minor constellations, like Althea, dedicated their existence to protecting young worlds, planets that were just beginning to blossom on the vast canvas of the universe. Althea was an ethereal figure, her blue form reminiscent of a flower in perpetual motion. From the skies of her world, Auralis watched over the floating islands that danced to the rhythm of the warm winds, a gift from her to sailors. Her light was not dazzling, but it was constant, a beacon of serenity in a cosmos filled with uncertainty.

Major constellations, like Velkarus, operated on a much larger scale. They were titans of light and power, in charge of entire systems. Velkarus, with his brilliantly hued fractal body, was an imposing figure, dominating not only by his size but by the intensity of his presence. Each of the three planets under his care orbited in perfect synchrony, a harmony that Velkarus maintained by manipulating gravitational forces with pinpoint precision. But his influence was not only physical: it was political as well. From his place in the firmament, he quelled rebellions and adjusted the fates of his worlds, with the coolness of a cosmic strategist.

Above them all were the primordial constellations, entities so ancient that time seemed to bend before their passage. Oron-Kai, the ruler of galaxy clusters, ruled not individual worlds, but entire regions of space. His form was a mosaic of circular and fractal patterns, each emitting pulses of primordial energy that resonated through the void. From his heavenly throne, Oron-Kai not only stabilized the cosmos, he shaped it, guiding its evolution with infinite patience.

Powers

The power of the constellations was as diverse as their essence. To mortals, their abilities were little more than myths, tales told by the light of the stars. But in truth, their powers were the tools that kept the cosmic dance in motion.

The lesser constellations, like Althea, did not possess the power to move galaxies or alter the flow of time, but their influence was essential. They could manipulate the natural elements of their planets, guiding storms and tides to protect or warn their inhabitants. Their messages were subtle, delivered in dreams or fleeting phenomena: an aurora illuminating the night sky or a wind whispering barely audible words. Their impact, though small in scale, was profound in the hearts of the mortals who revered them.

The major constellations, on the other hand, were colossal forces. Velkarus, with his titanic presence, could appear in the skies of his planets as a tangible, imposing, and undeniable figure. His inhabitants, looking up, could see the fractal form of their guardian stretching across the horizon, a reminder of his authority. Beyond these manifestations, his powers included the ability to manipulate orbits, stabilize entire solar systems, and extinguish life-threatening plasma storms.

But the primordial constellations were different. Oron-Kai, one of the oldest, did not directly intervene in the lesser affairs of the cosmos. Their power lay in the Primordial Energy itself, a force that could shape barren planets, infusing life where there had once been only desolation. Its cosmic pulses resonated across entire galaxies, altering not only matter but the perception of time as well. These entities were so vast in their scope that even the greater constellations revered them with a mix of respect and fear.

Factions

In the vast fabric of the cosmos, the forces that sought to maintain balance and those that wished to plunge it into chaos were constantly at odds. Among the most revered and feared were the Custodians, guardians of harmony, and the Ravagers, harbingers of destruction. Both factions were comprised of deities of unimaginable power, each playing a crucial role in the eternal dance of creation and destruction.

The Custodians: Protectors of Balance

Chosen not only for their power but also for their wisdom, the Custodians were the force that defended the stability of the universe. Despite their differences in personality and abilities, they shared a common purpose: to preserve the harmony of the cosmos and guide the young constellations along the path of knowledge and responsibility. Among their ranks were:

Lyra, the Timeweaver

An ethereal figure whose form seemed made of filaments of golden light, Lyra had the ability to manipulate the currents of time. Her power allowed her to travel through the ages, observing the rise and fall of entire civilizations. She did not intervene lightly, for she understood the delicate balance of time, but when she did, her decisions could change the fate of entire galaxies. Her wisdom made her a natural leader among the Custodians, though she exercised her authority not with imposition, but with the calm of one who understood the magnitude of the cosmos.

Tharos, the Warrior of the Forge

A titanic figure of concentrated energy, Tharos was a master of the manipulation of matter. His ability to reshape the very fabric of the universe made him nearly invincible in combat. In his hands, stars could be turned into weapons, and mountains into fortresses. Tharos was the Custodians' shield and sword, the first to charge forward in any battle. However, beneath his imposing appearance lay a thoughtful spirit, always questioning whether destruction was a necessary means to achieve peace.

Shizdarr, the Shepherd of Souls

Shrouded in a faint silver glow, Shizdarr's eyes seemed to reflect infinite stars. He was the guardian of the cycle between life and death, guiding souls to their final destination and ensuring that none were lost in the vastness of the cosmos. His presence was a balm for the tormented and a merciless judge for those who had committed atrocities. Though his work was grim, he was deeply respected, even by the Ravagers, who rarely dared to interfere in his domain.

Daaris, the Keeper of the Life Cycle

Complementing Shizdarr, Daaris was the bearer of the gift of life and death. His figure, shrouded in a shifting mist of green and black, seemed to constantly flow between vigor and wear. He could resurrect the fallen and also extinguish lives with a single gesture, maintaining balance in the most critical moments. Respected and feared in equal measure, Daaris understood that the eternal cycle must be respected, no matter how painful the decisions he had to make.

Despite their differences in personality and approach, the Custodians worked together as a unified whole, guided by a greater purpose. They knew that creation and destruction were inevitable parts of the cosmic cycle, but they strove to minimize damage and protect life in all its forms.

The Ravagers: Heirs of Destruction

At the other end of the spectrum, the Ravagers operated as agents of chaos. Once guardians of their planets, their purpose had been twisted when their worlds were destroyed. They refused to perish along with their creations, and in their desperation, they found a new source of power: negative emotions such as fear, hatred, and despair. Feeding on these dark energies, the Ravagers became a constant threat to the stability of the cosmos.

Nyraxis, the Master of Burning Chaos

The undisputed leader of the Ravagers, Nyraxis was an amalgam of dark fragments wreathed in black flames that burned without consuming it. Once a peaceful constellation, the collapse of its planet plunged it into an unquenchable rage. Now, its only ambition was to consume the cosmos, spreading chaos until nothing remained but ash. Nyraxis had the ability to corrupt other deities, drawing them to his cause with promises of immortality and power.

Vaelthar, the Destroyer of Worlds

Where Nyraxis led, Vaelthar executed. His form was a perpetual storm of dark energy, capable of disintegrating planets with a single blast of his wrath. He was known for his methodical cruelty, stripping worlds of all hope before razing them to the ground. Though his power was immense, what truly terrified his enemies was his strategic mind, capable of anticipating and countering any move the Custodians made.

Xyrel, the Devourer of SoulsA shadow with no defined form, Xyrel was Shizdarr's dark opposite. Instead of guiding souls, he devoured them, trapping them in an endless cycle of torment. Her influence spread a tide of despair wherever she touched, weakening the will of mortals and constellations alike. To the Custodians, Xyrel was a personal threat, for each lost soul meant a blow to the delicate balance they protected.

In the infinite fabric of the cosmos, the factions of the main conflict were not the only ones to determine its course. While the Custodians and the Ravagers fought for balance or destruction, there existed a third group: the Neutrals, deities who chose not to participate in the great cosmic disputes. These entities saw in the fights and ambitions of both factions a threat to their worlds, dedicating themselves exclusively to protecting what they considered sacred: the planets under their care.

Unlike the Custodians, who sought universal harmony, or the Ravagers, who longed for absolute chaos, the Neutrals were silent guardians, invisible to the eyes of the cosmos beyond the limits of their worlds. Although their approach was often misinterpreted as selfishness or cowardice, the Neutrals possessed a limited force, reserved solely for the defense of their territory.