Author's Note:
Well, I won't say much.
This is my second book; the first one was a failure, but as my writing improves, I plan to rewrite it since the idea is excellent.
I recommend reading the prologue. It may seem like it was written by AI, and to some extent, it was. I struggled to write in that ancient, formal language with sophisticated words like those in the Bible, so an AI helped me transform my text into a semi-Biblical style. However, this is only in the prologue because afterward, I took over and wrote it myself without using AI as my editor. That's why there might be small errors.
Also, just a reminder that English is my fourth language, and I still only understand the basics, so I'll use a competent AI to translate it into English.
I wish you a pleasant reading!
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The Invisible Genesis
No one knows how it all began. Perhaps this is the greatest scar of existence—a question etched into the abyss of mystery that has never found an answer.
Some say that, in a moment lost beyond time itself, an explosion of energy spread through the shadows, or whatever was there, giving rise to everything that breathes, burns, and dreams. Others speak of a faint egg, suspended in the void, cracked by the silent will to be.
Before the beginning, however, there was something. Something older than creation itself. Something that was never born and will never die—the first breath before the first light and the first breath.
In the beginning, there was no beginning. Time was a memory that did not yet dare to dream. Space, a nameless void, without limits, without hope.
And they asked—"Who was the first?" But there was no one to answer. Only the eternal and incorruptible silence.
Some may still say that a breath as vast as eternity broke the immobility of nothingness, and light, for the first time, became present. Others speak of an eternal egg, suspended in a starless sea, which broke by its own will without the interference of others, spreading the seed of existence. And others… many have told their versions, but the truth is only one. Before everything, there was he. The one who was not created. The one whom no one has seen and no one will comprehend. The one who was not born.
To him were given many names: "God of the Cosmos," "The Unborn," "The Lord of Secrets," "The Supreme." But no name suited him. For how can one title that which precedes all words?
His essence shaped time, but was never shaped. He created the ages, but never aged. And thus, from the formless shadows, emerged the first murmur of creation.
Even before light, he was. He did not hover over the waters, for waters did not exist. He did not walk upon fire, for it did not exist. He did not dwell in the heavens, for the heavens had not yet been stretched out. He was Being and Non-being, Everything and Nothing.
And then, the first desire sprang forth. Not as humans know it, made of fragile wills and brittle dreams. It was a desire without words, so pure that it was power. And the desire became a gesture.
From the gesture was born the rift. And from the rift, time poured forth. Time fell like formless rain, shaping what did not exist and framing what would come to be.
And the invisible said: "Be." He did not speak with voice. He spoke with existence.
And the void trembled. And space emerged, expanding, not from a specific point and not towards anywhere. And from it, particles moved in ways that no ear would hear. And creation took its first breath, still without name, still without law.
And creation took its first breath, still without name, still without law.
But even as light was born and space spilled without limits, a trace of what was before—the ancient, silent, and hungry void—remained. Not as an active force, but as a memory buried in the roots of everything that would come to exist. An invisible crack in the foundations of existence. Something forgotten, but not dead. Something that one day would whisper to the created hearts: — "Remember me."
And thus, in the instant that everything began, the first omen of the end was also sown.
And even though creation took its first breath, still without name, still without law.
From the silence that preceded being, something remained. It was not life, nor death. It was absence. It was hunger. Rooted in the core of what had been woven, the void did not die—it slept. It slept in the foundations of time, hidden beneath every atom, breathing in the crevices of space.
And in the moment that the Invisible dreamed of light, unknowingly, he also dreamed of Shadow. For everything that is shaped carries the scar of what could not be.
And thus it was written in the beginning: that where there is being, there will also be the longing for non-being. That where there is birth, there will be the subtle call of ruin. And the first gesture, though pure, carried within it the seal of the fall.
But before the gesture of the invisible could proceed, He Who Is turned back. He who turned back. And there, where time was crawling, two small murmurs echoed. Asleep.
They were not shaped like the rest of creation. They did not arise from the gesture of the word. They were born from Him, sprouted from His essence even before the idea of birth existed. They were pure, without name and without destiny. He Who Is contemplated them.
For an instant, a timeless sigh hesitated. But the desire had already been pronounced first, and what had begun could not be undone. Then He turned back to the still formless void. After contemplating them, for a moment that would never be counted. From the void, He Who Is shaped Darkness.
He spoke. Not with words or gestures, but as… "From the Voiceless Void, the body without light was made. From absence, the presence of Shadow was born."
And soon He created Light, not as the end of Darkness, but as its eternal companion. And thus it was fulfilled: "Where there is darkness, there light will dance; where there is light, there darkness will breathe."
And thus He created life, but sowed death. Not as punishment, but as the inevitable consequence of the act of life.
And it was said: "Every song will be silenced. Every star, one day, will fall."
Proceeding, turning, He Who Is, organizing creation like a craftsman separates his tools before starting the real work. He divided what would be water from what would be fire. He raised the Heavens upon invisible pillars.
And then He Who Is took in His hands a book. The Book that was neither written nor learned, but that will always exist.
And thus spoke He Who Is: "From what is prior to being, I will bring forth the word. And the word will become the world." And the book poured forth the Word. And the Word raised the Heavens.
And as the Word shaped space, and light rose without extinguishing the shadow, He Who Is looked at the space between existences. And said: "Here I will establish my invisible house. Here will rest the Throne from which all wills emanate."
And thus the Heavens were stretched out like endless veils upon pillars that the mortal mind would never comprehend. It was in the first firmament that the Thrones emerged, the firstborn of Creation. They did not sing, nor move, but were the foundation and the support.
And it was written: "Established without the need for a firmament, they sustain being without weight, support time without end."
Soon after the desire for movement and the harmony of the immutable creation, the Virtues were born. These were the forces that guided the expansion of the worlds, the invisible means that aligned creation like silent gardeners.
(And from the necessity of Order and Dominion, the Powers emerged.) These were the guardians of the limits, those who knew the name of every star and the destiny of every soul.
And He Who Is said: "To them I will give the seal of power, to them I will entrust the mysteries that not even the oldest memories will know."
And then He created the Dominions—beings of vast understanding, tasked with watching over the ages and the balance between the Heavens and the new realities that would emerge—And it was written: "They would rule not with tyranny, but with the weight of eternal wisdom."
Thus also emerged the Principalities, the first lords of nations that had not yet been formed, those who would determine the destiny of worlds before the myriads flourished.
And finally, He Who Is shaped the Angels—messengers of the Will, faithful bearers of the commands that linked the firmament to what would later be called Earth.
Then the order was established:
The Thrones – Eternal Foundations.
The Virtues – Architects of Creation.
The Powers – Guardians of the Limits.
The Dominions – Sovereigns of Order.
The Principalities – Regents of Destinies.
The Angels – Messengers of the Will.
And it was written, and it was good.
But then, He Who Is looked again at His two sleeping children, and then a new decree was born, the most terrible and most beautiful of all that had been done. And He said: "Before the light shines and before the shadow extends, two were born from Me whom not even time could erase."
But when He looked again at the sleeping boys, a silent lament crossed eternity. And He Who Is said: "They were born from Me, in them I will make a mark that not even time will ever erase."
He Who Is took them and sealed them, not out of fear, but—who would question the actions of the Most High, and who could understand them? He sealed them not as they were—vast, whole, powerful—but in the smallest, weakest form they could be found, adjusted to Creation.
And thus it was done: "From those born of the essence, I will make servants of the Order. Reduced, yet Eternal!" And from them were shaped the Archangels, the warriors of the Lord. They were beautiful, but terrifying. Each Archangel was unique in its form, perhaps the most favored of the Creator.
But as He Who Is created the Archangels, taking as form His children, He made them Archangels, the youngest and most favored of His.
The first and youngest of the two. Mikha'El, or more known as Mikael, the first swordsman, The Blade of Judgment, The incarnation of War and Victory; the bearer of the sword of divine will. He was very beautiful and divine, with his celestial blue eyes and golden hair like the rays of the sun or the most beautiful molten divine gold; With a strong and muscular body, made for war and victory, he had never lost a fight and never would.
And there was the second, the eldest, rebellious in his essence, even though He Who Is had made him an Archangel, he chose to be a Power, he was the Dawn. Many knew him as Samael, the personification of perfection and Light. The morning star. Guardian of Mysteries and Knowledge. Supreme Power, although he wore the form of an Archangel.
He was equal to his brother (or we can say that his brother was equal to him) since he was the eldest. He was… no one could say beautiful, at the very least it would be an insult, he was perfect in body and soul. With golden hair as if it were the most beautiful and divine molten gold and celestial blue eyes that seemed to hold the mystery of existence, he guarded knowledge, the most beautiful and admired by all, no word could define him, he was perfect inside and out.
And yet, He Who Is turned and looked back. And it was written: "What begins cannot be undone. And every deep love carries the seed of downfall." And still, He loved them. And still, He continued to create. For time had begun. And the story continued, even knowing.