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With the Age of Chaos at a close, the one who claimed the mantle of God found himself in an empty void. It was a hollowed world—like an ember all burned out. Countless years of pandemonium had left nothing of the past. Only silent whispers lingered, and Shirou, The Empty King, drifted and dreamily chased after those lucid echoes. They were echoes of a long, lost dream. But it was rapturous. He walked endlessly to nowhere. As if treading on sand, each of his steps would fall and collapse upon itself. However, his footsteps, the very evidence of his existence, was washed away as if fate was just a cold tide.
Within this endless loop, he eyed but a simple light in the distance—a light he could never reach. Yet, still he desperately tried to reach it, tripping over himself. Of course, he would inevitably collapse as it always happened. But always he would get up and run until he could run no more, whereupon he would trudge forward with even more disparity. Every time he fell a sad voice would caress his ears, “Stop…” The voice was the couplet of the echo; it was the siren against his wills, but it was weak and thus the king kept his chase allowing the voice to become sadder and sadder.
Eventually the voice grew with power and became something beyond that of a simple echo. The sound was simple but it was an actual voice—something the king hadn’t heard in the longest of times. He stopped, his skin was pale, his hair long, and the look of death and lethargy was about him. Two arms swung around his back and he hesitated, but slowly he placed his hand upon the soft hands gripping his shoulder. He held them first loosely then tightly as the voice resonated over his shoulder.
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“I have finally found you—you don’t know how long I have waited,” the girl kept shaking her head before she rested her head on his back, “but it doesn’t matter. You can stop chasing the kingdom.” Her voice broke briefly as she added with the smallest voice yet, “You know it's already gone.” She stopped momentarily again and it seemed in that moment even the desperate light gave out in the king as he slumped further, but before he faded completely she continued, “But that lost kingdom, we can have it again. You only have to dream if but once more.” The girl kissed his neck and whispered, “I am the one that should be sorry after all﹘”
With those final words the girl departed and the king’s hands collapsed upon nothing. The sounds could only linger above his astral body like a sweet fragrance caressing his lips and ears. In response, he stretched out his hand longingly, but again there was only nothing, no sea, no sand, his eyes weren’t even open. The realization dawned on him...he was still alone. It was still only a whisper. But it was different now. Something rumbled. Two golden globes lit up the void as a massive fox laughed. He was Shirou, The Great White Fox, The God King, The Chosen of Chaos. And he was awake now, and the void was now merely but a speck of his shadow. The universe was ready to listen to his commands:
The past would be restored. Chaos would disperse and time would flow linearly and eternally. The soul would cease being fragile, and instead become indestructible and immortal. Memories, belonging to the soul, in turn would become indestructible. These would be the Fundamental Laws of the Universe. Its name will be the River of Falling Snow. Everyone will be able to attain happiness. Myriad worlds would exist with limitless bounds to the realities that could exist–so long as those realities conformed to the Fundamental Laws.
Shirou would take on many forms to govern this new universe. The Fisherman of the Abyss or the Ferryman of Souls would become one such form. This would be the identity that handled new souls. These souls would flow through the Island of Dreams, where they would sow karma with the rest of the universe. In doing so, the souls would experience many different realities so they may develop. Afterwards, the matured souls would speak with the Fisherman and make a choice.
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