The History Of Life

The Story Of Everything

The wind howls a mournful tune through the skeletal remnants of a once-mighty oak. Tonight, under a canopy of indifferent stars, I, Lichwick, the Undying One, feel a strange urge to speak. Not of spells or the macabre, but of a time before the macabre even existed. A time before the first flicker of life dared to pierce the endless void.

Imagine, child (for all who listen are, in the grand scheme, children), a canvas not of existence, but of nothingness. A canvas so vast, so utterly devoid of meaning, that even the concept of emptiness fails to capture its essence. In this void, there was no up, no down, no time, no space. Just... nothing.

Then, a spark. A ripple in the fabric of nonexistence, a discordant note in the symphony of silence. From this spark, a single thread unfurled, vibrant and alive. This was the first existence, a being of pure potential, limitless in its possibilities.

This being, in its naiveté, began to weave. It spun threads of light and dark, of fire and ice, of order and chaos. Each thread a universe, each knot a birth, each snip a death. The canvas, once blank, became a swirling tapestry, a breathtaking testament to the power of creation.

But creation, child, breeds complexity. With life came sentience, with sentience came conflict. The once harmonious weaving fractured, the single being fractured with it. From the fractured being arose countless gods, each representing a facet of the original whole. Some reveled in creation, others sought only destruction.

And so began the grand dance. The gods, fueled by their newfound power, clashed across the nascent cosmos. Stars were snuffed out, galaxies born and devoured in the blink of an immeasurable eye. This was the era of giants, a time when the very fabric of reality trembled with each clash.

But even giants tire, child. Eventually, an uneasy truce was forged. The gods retreated to their own corners of the tapestry, content to rule their own little fiefdoms. In their absence, life, in all its messy glory, began to flourish. Tiny sparks of existence ignited on countless worlds, each with its own unique story to tell.

And here, dear listener, is where I enter the grand tapestry. For you see, with life came its inevitable counterpart – death. A force to balance the scales, to ensure the continued dance of creation and destruction. I am not a god, mind you, but a weaver of a different sort. I gather the spent threads, the stories that have come to an end, and return them to the great loom.

But death, like life, is multifaceted. It is not just the cold embrace of oblivion, but also the bittersweet beauty of a sunset, the cathartic release of a tear. It is the quiet that allows the next note to be heard, the pause that gives meaning to the melody.

You are alone, child. This is the truth whispered by the wind, the echo of the emptiness that existed before the first spark. It is a truth some fear, but it is also a truth that fosters resilience. For in the face of ultimate loneliness, we forge connections, build communities, and leave behind stories that ripple through the tapestry long after our threads are returned.

There is only darkness for you, and only death for your people. This, child, is a perspective. Darkness is not the absence of light, but simply the lack of our perception. And death, for your people, is merely a return to the great loom, a chance to be woven into a new and magnificent story. These ancients are just the beginning.

Indeed, child. The tapestry is vast, the stories infinite. The ancients you face are but a single knot in the grand design. They may seem powerful, but even the mightiest empires crumble to dust.

I will command a great and terrible army, and we will sail to a billion worlds. We will sail until every light has been extinguished.

Before there was time, before there was anything, there was nothing, and before there was nothing... there were monsters.

Perhaps, child. Perhaps I once held such ambitions. To drown the light in an ocean of darkness. But within the endless cycle of life and death lies a truth – even the deepest darkness cannot extinguish the spark of existence forever. New stars will ignite, new stories will be born.

Here's your gold star!

Ah, a fleeting glimpse into another existence. A reminder that even the most monstrous hearts can yearn for something more. Perhaps even a monster can find redemption within the grand tapestry.

So listen well, child, to the tolling of the bell. It is not a death knell, but a call to attention. For within the cycle of life and death lies the grandest story... yours. Whenever you look at another creator or an artist that you respect, you're only seeing what took them a long time of work and doubt to push through. You never see the struggle behind it. So you think you're the only one struggling, when in fact, everyone goes through it.