Eons passed in silence.

  The stars burned in solitude. The void drifted without end. The rivers of Time and Density carved their unseen paths across the forming cosmos, slow and eternal. From the Creator’s sacrifice—flesh, soul, and sacred treasure—the world had taken root: three thousand great States, each bound to its own World Tree, each steeped in its own emerging Dao.

  And from those Daos, the first beings were born.

  They had no name. No gender. No race. They were not mortals, nor gods. They were Law given form—wills manifested in silence, shaped not by blood but by concept. Some flickered like fire, others whispered like wind, and many simply stood, unmoving and vast, silent as the stars. Their forms changed as their Daos evolved. Their thoughts were alien, older than speech. They existed only to anchor the Law, to become its guardian and its shield.

  Among the countless Daos that awakened in the newly formed States, ten stood above all others. These ten were not merely powerful—they were absolute. Supreme. Present in all things. Their breath moved the stars. Their roots lay in every World Tree. Their rhythm pulsed in every river and mountain.

  Time. Space. Creation. Destruction. Chaos. Yin. Yang. The Five Elements—Fire, Water, Earth, Metal, and Wood. Power. And the Void.

  These were the Supreme Laws.

  Where there was movement, there was Time. Where there was distance, there was Space. Where something was made, there was Creation. Where it ended, there was Destruction. Chaos was the womb, the breath of wild possibility. Yin and Yang, twin forces, danced through every clash and stillness. The Five Elements spun through nature and matter. Power was the force behind action. And Void—unseen, unknowable—waited behind all things.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  From each of these Daos, a Guardian rose. The Guardian of Time flowed across the edges of memory and future, a being that saw all yet chose none. The Guardian of Chaos never wore the same form twice, a flicker, a storm, a laugh across the void. The Guardian of Void did not speak, did not move—but all things passed through its gaze. Creation’s Guardian built, while Destruction’s tore down in equal measure. Yin and Yang circled each other, never touching, never parting.

  They stood watch across the Three Thousand States, drifting between realms, merging with the subspaces where their Laws held sway. The people of the future would call them gods, spirits, or myths. But they were none of these. They simply were.

  Beyond the Supreme Laws, countless lesser Daos were born—fragile, fleeting, strange. The Dao of Emotion, of Dreams, of Regret, of Echo, of Ice, of Memory, of Sound. Some bloomed only in one or two States, barely noticed. Others grew quietly, hidden in subspaces, nourished by belief or coincidence. Each too birthed a Guardian, beings quieter than the Supremes, but no less true.

  Some of these Guardians accepted their quiet fate. Others gazed toward the thrones of the Supreme Ten and longed for more. A few simply vanished, their Daos left rudderless, drifting and dangerous.

  Balance was not peace. It was only stillness before the storm.

  The world was shaped. The roots of the World Tree anchored every State. The Laws pulsed through stars, oceans, and realms unseen. The Guardians watched, each tied to the breath of reality.

  But none had yet spoken.

  No mortals had walked the land. No beasts had dreamed. No spirits had questioned the world’s shape. The rivers of fate remained untouched. The Daos existed in harmony, but not yet in motion.

  And somewhere, within the heart of the World, a spark began to stir.

  A will not born of law, but born of Chaos.

  A first step.

  A first breath.

  A change that even the Guardians could not predict.

  Would you like to move into the next chapter now—perhaps beginning the story of that spark, the first soul to awaken? Or explore a myth among the Guardians, such as a rebellion, a merging, or a loss?