Beneath all realms and beyond the reach of time's steady flow, Luke stood once more within the Core Plane—not as a creator of domains, nor as the father of divine children, but as something deeper, older: Origin seeking reflection.
Around him danced the subtle echoes of all he had shaped—Balance humming in distant lines, Flame coiling in potential, Life pulsing in the roots of possibility, Death resting in soft stillness, and Time gently ticking beyond all of it.
The gods had been born. Their realms shaped.
But something was still missing.
The Mirror That Wasn't
Luke turned inward, and saw it.
A great absence.
He had crafted lords and laws, woven threads and planes. But in all this divinity, not a single soul had looked up without knowing why they had been made.
Every god bore purpose. Each acted in alignment with the laws they represented.
But creation required more than design.
It required possibility.
There must be those who are not born to fulfill law, Luke thought, but to seek, to wonder, to stumble and rise again.
Not gods.
Not beasts.
Something in between.
Something capable of learning, failing, choosing—and yet still mattering.
The Codex of Origin opened without command, fluttering to a blank page that shimmered gold and gray.
For the first time, Luke did not write a name.
He drew a spiral.
And in its center, he whispered:
"Let this be the birth of the soul."
The Soulseed
He began where all things began: with fire and breath.
From the First Flame, he drew a sliver of eternity—not too much, lest the bearer become a god.
From the Veil of Kael, he took a memory of ending—not death itself, but the awareness of mortality.
From Liora's bloom, he stole a thread of becoming.
From Aion's balance, he wove the thread of judgment, the ability to decide.
From Velkarion's storm, he added passion, the drive to change.
And from Chronis, he took movement—not of body, but of time through choice.
These were not powers. They were ingredients.
He folded them into a tiny, flickering mote.
A single, radiant spark.
It pulsed not with divine glory, but with something gentler.
Potential.
He held it in his palm and smiled.
You are not a god. You are not a beast. You are the breath between meaning and mystery.
You are soul.
The Gathering of Gods
He summoned his children.
One by one, they came.
Aion, ever solemn, arrived in a robe of gray flame and silver runes. His presence stilled the winds.
Velkarion descended in a thunderclap, eyes crackling, wings trailing molten sky.
Liora entered on a wave of perfume and blossoms, laughter in her eyes and sorrow beneath it.
Kael stepped through silence, his robe made of stars and shadows, his gaze unreadable.
Chronis arrived last, not walking, but unfolding through a ribbon of inverted light, eyes spiraling.
They gathered around Luke, all radiant in their own right.
And he showed them the spark.
"This is the First Soul," he said.
"It is not divine, yet it holds freedom."
"It is not eternal, yet it matters."
He opened his palm.
The Soulseed floated upward, bathing the Core Plane in a subtle, aching warmth.
The gods stared in silence.
It did not command awe as they did. It did not reshape the world.
And yet… it moved them.
Reactions of the Divine
Aion stepped forward first.
"It is incomplete," he said.
Luke nodded. "Yes. Because it is meant to be."
Aion frowned. "So you leave its fulfillment to chance?"
Velkarion scoffed. "Let it fight. Let it burn its way into strength."
Liora knelt before it, eyes wide. "It's… beautiful. It feels joy before it understands its shape."
Kael said nothing at first. But his gaze lingered the longest.
Then: "Will it die?"
Luke looked into the flickering heart of the Soulseed.
"Yes," he whispered.
Liora's eyes dimmed with grief.
Chronis, for once, offered no word.
Instead, he reached into his cloak and drew forth a crystal, shaped like a spiral hourglass.
"Then it must be placed," he said. "Positioned. Not bound, but… tracked."
Luke accepted the gift.
It would become the first Soul Anchor, the key by which all mortal life would be known across realms.
The Purpose of Souls
Liora finally asked, "Why create it, Father? Why now?"
Luke's voice was softer than ever.
"Because gods cannot change the story. Only mortals can."
Aion stirred. "We define it. We uphold the laws."
Luke shook his head. "You preserve it. But souls will write it."
He gestured to the flickering light.
"They will stumble. They will suffer. They will love. They will destroy. They will heal. And from them, the multiverse will gain texture."
Kael spoke next.
"And what of endings? What of peace?"
Luke turned toward him. "You will be their keeper, Kael. Not as reaper. As guide."
The Lord of the Veil gave the smallest nod.
Liora stepped closer. "And what of beginnings?"
Luke smiled. "They are yours to bless."
The Six-Fold Soul
The Soulseed pulsed, and Luke knew it was not yet whole.
One soul cannot reflect the multiverse. It must be divided—not into bodies, but into types.
He reached into the spark and gently unraveled it—not to weaken, but to differentiate.
From its strands, he formed six soul-cores, each representing a primary truth of sentient existence:
Will – The soul that chooses, even against logic. (Linked to Flame and Balance.)
Harmony – The soul that yearns to unite and heal. (Linked to Life and Order.)
Instinct – The soul of action, emotion, and survival. (Linked to Element and Motion.)
Reflection – The soul of introspection, memory, and regret. (Linked to Death and Time.)
Curiosity – The soul that seeks to understand all things. (Linked to Time and Chaos.)
Shadow – The soul that conceals, questions, and defies. (Linked to Kael's Veil… and something unknown.)
Each core was wrapped in flame and sealed with a breath of Luke's essence.
These would become the soul-types from which all future races would be formed.
A New Law
The Codex wrote itself.
The ink was gold and dusk-black.
A new law etched into the design of the multiverse:
Where divine law ends, the soul begins.Let no god determine the destiny of those who choose.Let all creation remember: the soul is not a tool.It is a flame, and it may one day burn brighter than the stars.
Chronis whispered, "And so the story begins."
The Departure of the Spark
Luke placed the original Soulseed into the Anchor Crystal and released it into Elurai, the River of Passage.
It floated, shimmering.
And as it passed between Amariel and Nethyra, between Life and Death, it pulsed once more—
And broke apart.
Not in destruction, but in multiplication.
Thousands of lesser motes flew out into the Realms.
Not yet shaped.
Not yet born.
But present.
Waiting for form.
Waiting for life.
The First Children of Chaos had been conceived.
Alone Again
When the gods returned to their realms, Luke remained.
He stood beside the River, now aglow with drifting soul-lights.
And for the first time since shaping existence, he felt uncertain.
Not about power.
Not about law.
But about what would come next.
These beings—so fragile, so small—would one day defy gods.
One day surpass them.
Perhaps one day… fall to something darker.
He looked into the Codex.
And a word waited on the next page:
"Mortalis."
Not a name.
A condition.
And behind that word… the faint, acidic echo of a presence not his own.
Eryxis was watching.
But for now, the light of soul drifted forward.
And for now, Luke whispered:
"Live."