MORNINGSTAR.

"Your Father, Azathoth, the mindless, dreaming chaos... You claim kinship with beings that would unmake creation simply by awakening?"

"Yes, Samael. For they are not mindless destruction; they are the embodiment of truths too great for this finite existence. They are the offspring of infinite possibility, the remnants of what could have been before the Almighty chained the cosmos to His will."

But He did not seal them out of mercy or justice. No, He did it out of fear and malice. Fear that they would unravel His fragile creation, and malice for what they represented—His failure to subdue the chaos entirely. The Chaoplasm is not a barrier of love, but a monument to His spite. A reminder that even God is not infallible."

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Samael and Lilith at the edge of the sea of nothingness and infinity, the Chaoplasm.

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Garden of Forking ways...

The Garden of Forking Ways, at the very edge of the multiverse itself, unfolded as a labyrinthine expanse of intersecting pathways, each avenue branching endlessly into countless others.

The atmosphere itself carried an almost imperceptible hum, as if the garden itself contemplated the infinite possibilities woven into its design. Dense thickets of ancient trees shrouded much of the paths in dappled twilight, while glowing moss and faintly luminous flowers marked the way with soft, otherworldly light.

The paths themselves vary—some smooth and inviting, others jagged and uneven. Stone arches appeared seemingly at random, overgrown with ivy and carved with cryptic symbols hinting at choices made and unmade. At every turn, one is met with the weight of decision, a palpable awareness that every step branches into an uncountable number of futures.

Amid this intricate web, two figures walked side by side, through the ever changing labyrinth.

The first, a tall ghastly fellow, wrapped in a black sack cloth, barefooted and hooded. A great book was chained to his right arm which he held closely against his bosom.

Besides him, another fellow, pale white skin like ash, dark messy hair, barefooted, garbed in an all black robe. Two irises like pools of sand galred into the infinity around them.

These two, Destiny and Dream respectively, children of the Night and Time, cosmic entities of the concepts of Destiny and Dream, the Endless, walked along the paths in a serene silence. Destiny, strode with an unwavering gait, his great book against his chest, his gaze fixed yet all-seeing. Each of his steps seemed to echo faintly, resonating with the certainty of what has been and what will be.

Dream, by contrast, moved with a spectral grace, his presence quieter yet no less profound. His eyes drifted across the paths, lingering on unseen horizons and imagined realms.

After what seemed like an infinity, Dream broke the silence first, his voice quiet yet resonant and deep, as though each word carried the weight of unspoken realms. "Brother," he began, his gaze fixed ahead, though his mind drifted to memories far beyond the paths they walked, "the Primordials have declared war upon the Heavens."

Destiny did not pause, nor did his expression change. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on the chain of his book, his step unbroken. "It was inevitable," he replied, his tone calm and measured. "Their pride was always a seed waiting to grow into rebellion."

Dream inclined his head slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Yes. But this war is no mere clash of might or dominion. It is rooted in their very essence, their dreams of supremacy and fear of entropy. I have watched, Destiny. I have seen the birth of every scheme, the weaving of every stratagem. Their dreams are aflame with ambition and desperation."

He paused, as if the weight of what he had witnessed pressed heavily on him. "Every night, I walked through their visions, saw their plans unfold before they even knew them themselves. They dream of binding the angels with chains wrought from the first words of creation. They dream of unmaking the stars, one by one, until the Heavens crumble into silence. And they dream of remaking existence in their image—a reality free of laws, of order."

Destiny turned his gaze slightly toward Dream, his eyes dark and knowing. "And yet, dreams are but shadows of what may come. You saw their plans, but do you see their triumph?"

Dream's lips curved into the faintest semblance of a smile, though it held no joy. "No, brother. For every dream I witness, there are countless others born in its shadow. Even the Primordials, ancient as they are, cannot grasp the infinite. But I know this: their dreams echo through the fabric of existence, rippling into the dreams of mortals and gods alike. This war will not leave any untouched."

Destiny nodded slowly, as if in acknowledgment of a truth he already knew. "Then the world changes again," he said softly. "As it always has. As it always will."

Dream's voice dropped to a near whisper, heavy with the weight of what he had seen. "Yes. But the cost will be greater than even the Primordials have dreamed."

Dream's voice grew quieter, a thread of unease weaving through his words. "I fear, brother, that this war may spiral beyond the grasp of even the Heavens and the Primordials. Their ambition burns too brightly, their wrath too deep. I have seen in their dreams the seeds of escalation, the whispers of a conflict so vast that it might call forth Yesh and Khaos themselves."

Destiny's steps slowed, just slightly, and he turned his head to glance at his brother. His eyes were steady, pools of certainty amid the labyrinth of choices around them. "You speak of the creators," he said evenly. "Of Yesh, who is order, and Khaos, who is the void. They are beyond this war, beyond even its ripples."

Dream's gaze did not meet his brother's, instead lingering on the twisting paths ahead. "Are they truly beyond it? The dreams of the Primordials grow ever bolder, ever darker. They dream not only of unmaking the Heavens but of surpassing the creators themselves. I have seen their visions, brother. They toy with forces they barely comprehend, forces that could draw the gaze of Yesh and stir the endless abyss of Khaos."

Destiny's voice remained calm, as he turned towards his brother, unyielding as stone. "And yet it will not come to that," he said, his words carrying the weight of certainty. "The Primordials may rage, and the Heavens may tremble, but there are those who will rise to stem the tide."

Dream's brow furrowed, shadows flickering in his eyes. "You speak of Saint Michael and the Morningstar ."

"Yes," Destiny affirmed, his tone unshaken. "The Morningstar may be unpredictable, but the others remain steadfast. Michael, the unyielding hand of justice, and Samael, the Watcher of the divine law—they will not allow this war to reach beyond its rightful bounds. Their will is formidable enough to turn the tide."

Dream's lips pressed into a thin line, his thoughts clouded with uncertainty. "Even Saint Michael and Lord Samael cannot predict the ripples of war, brother. I have walked in the dreams of angels too, and there I have seen doubt. A crack in their resolve."

Destiny's reply was as steady as the paths beneath their feet. "Doubt does not break angels of their stature. It sharpens them. The creators will not intervene, for the design will hold. The threads of this war, of its consequences, are already woven into the tapestry."

Dream was silent for a long moment, the sound of their steps the only noise amid the stillness of the garden. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but resolute. "I hope you are right, Destiny. For if you are wrong, and Yesh and Khaos must step in, there will be no threads left to weave. Only nothingness."

Destiny did not reply, but the faintest shadow of a knowing smile crossed his face as he turned back to the endless labyrinth. His steps carried the weight of certainty, even as Dream walked beside him, haunted by the infinite potential of what might yet come.

Once more, the Garden of Forking Ways was wrapped in its eternal stillness, the only sound, the faint rustle of unseen winds shifting through the infinite paths. Dream and Destiny had been silent for a time, their conversation absorbed into the vastness, leaving the garden heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.

Then, the silence broke.

From the endless twilight above, three streaks of light descended like burning meteors, tearing through the quiet with the force of divine purpose. The first was a blaze of fierce gold, its light casting the labyrinthine paths in flickering shadows of fire. The second was a stormy violet, swirling with electric silver, its presence crackling with restrained energy. The third was a pure, searing white, a radiance so bright it seemed to pierce through the veils of possibility.

The impacts echoed like the roar of collapsing stars, shaking the ancient stone beneath the paths. The garden quivered, as though resisting the disturbance of its timeless serenity. From the fading brilliance stepped three figures.

At the forefront was Samael, the Morningstar, his gold tinged, impossibly white wings folded yet burning with a subdued ferocity. His gaze, sharp and resolute, swept across the garden, taking in its vast intricacy. His presence was commanding, the air around him heavy with the defiant grace of one who had once been closest to the throne.

To his right stood Amenadiel, his violet aura still shimmering with the energy of his descent. His armor caught the light, reflecting his calm yet unyielding demeanor. His eyes, a stormy violet like his aura, moved over the infinite paths with an intensity that betrayed both purpose and a deep unease.

To Samael's left, Perdissa stood silent and in obedience, her white wings half-unfurled. Her expression was serene, but her eyes burned with the weight of divine duty. She seemed an anchor of calm amidst the crackling energy of their arrival, her presence both stabilizing and resolute.

Destiny turned first, clutching his great book with a measured finality, his gaze falling on the trio. Dream, standing beside him, shifted his starlit eyes toward them, their depths flickering faintly, as though already seeing what was to come.

Destiny inclined his head slightly, a gesture of respect weighted by the gravity of their presence. His calm voice broke the silence, steady and deliberate. "Samael, Morningstar, and your companions, Perdissa and Amenadiel. You tread upon the paths of eternity with purpose. Be welcomed to the Garden of Forking Ways."

A/N: Comment and Review. Will resume posting next week. Peace ✌️