Chapter 1: The Creation Dream

UNIVERSE: THE CREATION DREAM

SERIES: MYSTICAL DREAM OF CREATION — DREAM OF THE PRIMAL GOD

SAGA: CULTIVATION WORLD

PART 1: HEAVENLY FATE LIFE

Chapter 1: The Creation Dream

In a certain space, a place devoid of light.

And also devoid of darkness.

There was no void there, nor was there existence. No concept, no thought, not a single "thing" that could be called a "thing"—a place where absolutely nothing existed—suddenly felt a strange vibration.

Before the first breath, before time could be measured, nothing had ever "been" anything.

If it could be named, it would not be "the void," but rather the state before the void could exist—an absolute silence, neither deep nor shallow, neither wide nor narrow. No direction, no boundary, not even the potential for a boundary.

Then, amidst that "never-before-was," a vibration without cause trembled. It emitted no light, no heat, no sound. Just a beat... as faint as a vague breath in the dream of "nothingness" itself.

That beat came from nowhere, and headed nowhere. It simply existed in this strange place.

And when the second beat arose, the concept of "existence" began to emerge.

Not an entity, but a possibility—a whisper within the non-existence itself.

That possibility spiraled into its own center, coalescing into a womb of light. That light did not shine outward; it shone only upon itself—a light invisible, for there were no eyes yet to witness it.

That womb was "The Creator."

He was not born into a world; rather, when He manifested, the world began to have the concept of birth.

He had no specific form—only a shape coiled up, as if embracing the unformed dreams of all things.

No head, no hands, no body, no eyes. But everything that would follow—every idea, every life, every soul, every consciousness—were all faint shadows reflected from the curves of that sleeping form.

Space began to tremble around Him.

Not because there was movement, but because "stillness" for the first time carried a clear meaning.

Time began to drip like slow-drifting mist.

Not because there was a flow, but because "stoppage" for the first time could be felt.

He lay there—not inside, not outside, not above, not below—He was the center of that which had no center.

A beat echoed softly.

No sound, no noise, no echo.

That beat did not originate from a heart, for a heart had never existed. It was the rhythm of "everything," the first and also the last, and simultaneously the only one.

Each beat spread out like a shapeless ripple, permeating the unprecedented, causing the emptiness to begin expanding and contracting.

From that, "inside" and "outside" were born.

There was no boundary between reality and dream, but within that invisibility, "limit" was recognized for the first time.

He did not breathe, but from His very silence, the concept of "breath" was born.

He did not dream, but the entire void began to fluctuate as if dreaming.

He did not speak, but every subsequent vibration—every sound, call, prayer, moan, song—were all fragmented echoes of that first silence.

No one witnessed that formation, for "someone" had never existed.

There were no witnesses, no storytellers, no memory to record it.

Only He remained—in absolute solitude, curled between the non-existent and the soon-to-be, both as the seed and the fruit.

Time did not know how long had passed, for "passing" had never been defined.

Then, a slight movement appeared.

The womb contracted slightly, like a gentle twitch in the belly of eternity.

At that moment, all possibilities of the universe—light, darkness, existence, void, consciousness, laws, language, sound, shape—rippled.

They were not yet formed, not yet separated, only floating in His heart, like invisible seeds waiting to be named.

The Creator did not create anything.

He simply existed, and that existence was enough to birth everything.

He did not need to act, for action is the consequence of will, and will had not existed before Him.

He did not think, for the concept of thought is a shadow born from His existence.

And because of that, He was the absolute source. The origin of all things.

Not only the father of the universe, but also the matrix of the concept of "having a universe."

Not the creator, but the cause that made creation possible as a possibility.

He was neither good nor bad, neither righteous nor evil, for all such opposites only arose after the first gaze touched the darkness.

He lay there, silent, motionless.

Surrounding Him was an ocean without color, without direction, without sound, without boundaries.

A drop of light hung suspended in an indefinable void.

Worlds, laws, lives, consciousness—all were still sleeping in His breath.

No one knew when He would open His eyes, because "when" is a product of time, and time was the unborn child of that very sleep.

One only knew that as long as The Creator slept, all possibilities were dreaming.

And as long as He dreamt, the entire universe had not yet truly existed.

In silence, He breathes.

In invisibility, He shines.

In ignorance, He dreams.

And from that dream, everything that could be began to wait to be born.

From a certain perspective, there was an eye witnessing it all. That gaze seemed to be listening to the words being told.

He bore no name, for a name is a limitation.

But from that first breath, all eternity to come would call Him—

  The Creator.

The Creator – When Two Eyes That Were Similar Yet Different Opened

Time unknown had passed.

In the place without time, without space, without even the concept of "before" and "after," The Creator remained silently existing in the form of an unborn infant.

He did not stir, did not breathe, did not dream—but that presence was enough to give meaning to a void that previously had none.

A moment that belonged to no count of beats.

The Creator began to open His eyes.

Two eyelids slowly parted, and the entire "nothing" trembled as if born for the first time.

Neither light nor darkness, only the first concept of awareness—existence knowing itself to exist.

Those eyes...

They could not be named.

They possessed a mystical blue hue, intertwined with a crimson deep as primordial blood—not opposing, but blending like two currents originating from the same source.

But despite their similarity in color,

they were not entirely identical.

The left eye—a tranquil blue-red glow, slowly spiraling deep into stillness, like the death of a thousand worlds not yet born.

The right eye—a brilliant red-blue glow, flickering like the first dawn, containing the seeds of unformed life.

Both looked toward a single point in the void, and at that very moment—a tiny glowing crack appeared on His forehead, dividing "nothing" into two poles: static and dynamic, light and dark, creation and destruction.

There was no war, no conflict.

Only division—a necessity for all things to exist.

In those two eyes, countless universes drifted.

But within each universe, it was empty—no time, no space, no rules, no light.

They were merely empty shells, waiting to be filled by the concept of creation.

A vibration spread from His gaze,

passing through those empty shells, stirring the first chime of reality—what would later be called the Primal Sound.

The sound emitted no noise, but each of its vibrations formed a point of conceptual light, and when the two poles of the gaze intersected, the first eight points of light appeared—the seeds of the Void Layer: The Ultimate Source.

From that moment on, the eyes of The Creator were no longer two separate entities.

They became two sides of the same being, reflecting each other eternally, like a question and an answer existing simultaneously.

One side was the origin, the other was the end, and between them was the path that all existence would have to traverse.

  Rank: Infinitum

  Power: Create – Destroy – Merge – Divide, beyond all definitions of "power."

No one gave birth to Him, for "birth" was a concept that began the moment He opened His eyes.

No one saw Him, for only when touched by that gaze did "seeing" come into existence.

And thus, when those two eyes, similar yet different, opened, division was born, and at that same moment—the universe began to breathe for the first time.

Thus, Existence was born.

The Daily Life of a Student

The faint light of early morning slipped through the window glass, covering the large study room filled with books.

On the large walnut desk, piles of twelfth-grade textbooks lay in disarray: Math, Physics, Chemistry, Biology, Literature... crowded between hasty scrap papers and scattered ballpoint pens.

In the middle of that room, an eighteen-year-old boy was slumped over an open book, his breathing steady but his forehead drenched in sweat.

In his dream, he saw two currents of red and blue-black light twisting together in the empty void. In the intersection of that region was a nameless, formless "entity," knowing only that it was.

A vague voice echoed in the young man's head—not sound, but awareness.

 "I... am Existence..."

The moment he intended to reach out and touch the glowing region, a knock on the door rang out, clear and familiar.

 Knock! Knock! Knock!

"Minh, wake up, dear. It's almost eight o'clock!"

The voice of Mrs. Mong Huyen Ngan, his mother, came from outside the room.

At that moment, he startled awake, blinked several times, and tiredly lifted his head from the notebook. The white ceiling, the morning light, the chirping of birds in the garden—all merged into a very real world, completely different from the infinite space he had just left.

"That... dream again," he muttered softly.

Hu Minh rubbed his face, sat up, and walked to the bathroom. The freezing cold water made him fully awake. Hu Minh looked into the mirror; he saw his familiar face reflected, but in his eyes, there seemed to be a lingering glimmer... faint red and blue-black—so fast that he thought his eyes had played tricks on him.

Mong Thien Hu Minh walked down the stairs; the smell of toasted bread and coffee wafted throughout the living room.

Mong Ngoc Thanh, his younger sister five years his junior, was sitting at the dining table, eating while fiddling with her phone. Next to her, Mrs. Mong Huyen Ngan—a woman in her thirties who still retained the gentleness of her youth—was setting more breakfast on the table.

"Brother Minh is down, Mom!" – Ngoc Thanh exclaimed, her eyes bright.

"Yes, let Mom pour him some milk." – Mrs. Huyen Ngan smiled.

Hu Minh sat down, scratching his head.

"I just woke up a bit late, I was studying until late last night."

"You always say that. Mom keeps telling you, study is important, but sleep is necessary. Even if you're a genius, rest is still paramount." – she gently scolded, but her eyes were full of worry.

Ngoc Thanh glanced at her brother, smiling squinty-eyed.

"You must have dreamt of failing the exam, right? Your face is so tense."

Hu Minh laughed, replying in a half-serious, half-joking tone.

"That's not it. If I failed, who in this school would pass? I dreamt of... well, it's hard to describe, something like... The Creator and Existence, something like that."

Ngọc immediately put down her spoon, rested her chin on her hand, and pretended to be serious.

"Sounds very philosophical. So, was there a hero saving the world in the dream?"

"No, there was only something... knowing that it existed, that's all. Like it was the beginning."

"You talk just like you're reading from a book. You must read too many stories." – she laughed, then pushed the glass of milk toward him – "Drink up, or Uncle Lý will be here soon."

Just then, a light car horn sounded outside the gate.

Mrs. Huyen Ngan looked out, then said.

"Eat quickly, both of you. Uncle Lý is already waiting."

Both replied in unison.

"Yes, Mom!"

Stepping out of the house, the cool morning breeze hit their faces.

The shiny black car was parked right in front of the gate. A man in his fifties, tall and thin, was standing and waiting with a kind smile.

"Hello, you two. Waking up late today, huh?" – Uncle Lý, the long-time driver for the Mong family, laughed.

"I stayed up late studying, Uncle." – Hu Minh replied while opening the door for his sister.

"Studying a lot and still having the energy to smile, that's good." – Uncle Lý said while starting the engine.

On the way to school, the morning light reflected through the foliage, flickering on the siblings' faces.

Ngoc Thanh put on her headphones to listen to music, while Hu Minh opened his Literature book, his eyes looking at the text but his mind drifting back to the recent dream.

"Thanh," he spoke softly, "have you ever thought... that dreams could also be real?"

"Real? You mean like prophetic dreams?" – she took off one earphone and tilted her head to ask.

"Not exactly. I just feel... it's too vivid. Like I am existing in someone else's dream."

Ngoc Thanh looked at her brother for a few seconds, then smiled gently.

"You really do like to imagine things. But... that's interesting too. If someone really dreamt up this world, I hope it's you."

"I hope not. Because if it were me, this world would have too many bugs." – he laughed lightly.

"Not at all, you just like to think far ahead."

The two siblings laughed, and the atmosphere in the car became warmer.

Uncle Lý looked in the rearview mirror and smiled slightly—the image of those two made him feel a bit younger.

The car glided through the sun-drenched streets and stopped in front of the school gate.

The sound of students, the broadcasting system... all felt familiar.

The car stopped in front of the school gate amidst the busy flow of people. The large signboard with the school's name reflected the April morning sun, sparkling on the ivory-white wall.

Mong Ngoc Thanh unbuckled her seatbelt, turned to her brother, and grinned.

"I'll go first, brother."

"Yeah, take care." — Mong Thien Hu Minh replied, his voice still tinged with the fatigue of a late night of studying.

His younger sister bowed slightly to greet Uncle Lý, then ran quickly through the school gate, her long hair fluttering in the sunlight. Watching her small figure disappear into the courtyard, Hu Minh involuntarily wore a slight smile—both warm and carrying a hint of inexplicable loneliness.

"Uncle Lý, let's go." — He said softly, his eyes still fixed on the courtyard ahead.

"Yes, Master Minh."

The car rolled again, following the inner road shaded by old flamboyant trees, young leaves falling in the breeze.

A moment later, the car stopped at the study area for the 12th grade. Hu Minh stepped out, straightened his tie, and put his backpack on his shoulders. A few other students passed by; some greeted, some just nodded. He responded with a faint, familiar, and measured smile.

The morning breeze carried the scent of chalk, printed paper, and somewhere the echoing laughter of a group of girls in the yard. He opened his phone to check the time—7:26 AM. Only a few minutes until exam time.

"Must be Math today," — he muttered, his voice so low that only he could hear.

At that moment, the light on the phone screen flickered—not because of the sun, but like a strange pulse of light that slid past his eyes and immediately vanished. Hu Minh froze. The image from last night's dream rushed back: the glowing womb, the red and blue-black eyes opening, and then that nameless entity looking straight at him.

A chill ran down his spine.

But just for a moment, he shook his head and smiled slightly.

"Probably just lack of sleep."

He put his phone in his pocket and strode toward the exam building. The school speaker sounded—"12th-grade students, prepare to enter the room, 90 minutes for the exam."

Everything around was normal—voices, laughter, footsteps, the wind blowing through the flamboyant trees. Only one thing was not normal—the moment Hu Minh passed through the gate, the sunlight shining on him refracted slightly, as if a thin layer of space trembled and dissolved.

No one noticed.

Only one person—he himself—felt an invisible gaze somewhere in the air, cold, silent, and so ancient that it was beyond human comprehension.

He paused for a moment, then walked on.

The April sky was clear blue, but deep within it, something was awakening.

The exam room was silent enough to hear the sound of pens touching paper. Morning light shone obliquely through the window, reflecting warm yellow streaks onto the desk. The ceiling fan rotated slowly, spreading a cool breeze amidst the scent of new paper.

Mong Thien Hu Minh sat at the third desk in the middle row, back straight, eyes fixed on the exam paper that had just been handed out. The proctor walked along each row, their voice steady.

"You may begin."

The sound of rustling papers rose simultaneously. He flipped the paper, read slowly, then nodded slightly. The initial tension dissolved, replaced by calm focus. His right hand held the pen, his left hand held the corner of the paper; each character appeared clearly and steadily.

Time passed. The clock on the wall ticked on, occasionally punctuated by someone shifting or the proctor walking lightly by. He lowered his head, writing continuously—line connecting to line, formulas, numbers, and words merging like a steady rhythm of breath.

A while later, Hu Minh looked up. His forehead was beaded with sweat, his fingertips stained with ink. He looked around—some were still writing hastily, others had put down their pens, hands clasped, thinking.

He double-checked each question, corrected a few smeared characters, then sat up straight, taking a long breath. Outside the window, the sun was high; the sound of birds mingled with the distant traffic.

"Five minutes left," the proctor reminded.

He lowered his head, signed his name, and placed his pen neatly on the edge of the table. When the bell rang, the sound of chairs pulling back and footsteps rose in unison, all bursting forth after a long silence.

Hu Minh gathered his things and stepped out of the exam room with the crowd. He said nothing, just squinted at the blinding sky—as if he had just shed a small part of the burden in his heart.

Noon sun wove through the rows of trees in front of the school, shining down on the brick floor shimmering with light. The cicadas of the early season had begun to chirp amidst the heat of April.

Hu Minh stood in front of the school gate, bag in hand, his eyes absent-mindedly looking out at the sun-drenched road. Traffic thinned out; students after the final exam dispersed into small groups, chatting merrily as they walked.

A moment later, the familiar black car stopped in front of him. Uncle Lý lowered the window and gave a kind smile.

"Master, get in, it's very hot."

Hu Minh nodded, pulled the door open, and stepped in. The cool air conditioning and the light scent of perfume from the leather seats made him feel much better.

In the back seat, Mong Ngoc Thanh was already sitting there, her hair tied neatly, her uniform still crisp. Seeing her brother enter, she turned and grinned.

"Brother, how was the exam?"

Hu Minh leaned back into the seat, exhaling softly. "Fine, not too difficult. And you?"

"Okay I guess, the questions were a bit harder than I thought." – Ngoc Thanh replied, her voice tinged with a mix of confidence and a sigh.

Uncle Lý looked at the siblings through the rearview mirror and smiled slightly.

"That's good. I'm glad you two did well. Back in my day, if I saw a hard exam, I just wanted to run away."

Both laughed. Hu Minh shook his head, while Ngoc Thanh rested her chin on her hand, looking out the window.

After a short chat, the atmosphere in the car gradually became quiet. Only the steady hum of the engine and light music from the radio remained.

Hu Minh took out his phone, scrolled through some news, while Ngoc Thanh opened her review book for the next exam. No one said another word, but the atmosphere in the car was strangely peaceful—as if everything was proceeding along its destined path.

The car slowly turned through the familiar street, running along the old crocodile trees before stopping in front of the Mong family gate. A long morning had passed, as gently as the dream Hu Minh could not fully remember.

The afternoon passed in silence. After returning home, Mong Thien Hu Minh did not rest for long but sat down at his desk. The late-day sunlight shone obliquely through the window, dyeing his tidy room gold. On the desk, textbooks, question papers, and scrap papers were arranged neatly—all bearing the traces of someone diligent to the point of stubbornness.

The sound of pages turning echoed softly in the quiet space. Outside, the chirping of cicadas had faded, leaving only the distant echo of traffic. Hu Minh was still hunched over writing, his eyes fixed on every line of text as if everything around him no longer existed.

Time drifted slowly. When the afternoon gave way to darkness, the room was illuminated only by a small desk lamp. Hư Minh's shadow cast onto the wall, lonely and silent.

Downstairs, his mother's voice called up.

"Minh, Ngoc Thanh! Come down for dinner, kids!"

He lifted his head, rubbing his eyes.

"Coming, Mom!"

Dinner was as cozy as any other day. His mother, Mong Huyen Ngan, chatted about the exams while serving food. Ngoc Thanh recounted stories from school in a cheerful voice, while Hu Minh just smiled, answering in short sentences, occasionally chiming in to tease his younger sister.

After dinner, he returned to his room, and the door closed softly. The desk lamp turned on again, the notebook opened again. Outside, night had fallen; a light breeze slipped through the window, carrying the chill of a summer night.

Hu Minh wrote, read, and continued writing—each character connected like a thin thread. His eyes grew heavy, the lines on the page blurring. The desk lamp swayed slightly, casting his shadow onto the unfinished notebook.

Then, he did not know when his head drooped. The pen remained in his hand, the paper still holding lines not yet completed.

Outside the window, the moon had risen high, shining through the glass. Pale light covered his face—peaceful, but somewhere in that deep sleep, something else was stirring, like a call from a distant place, beyond the reach of reality.

Once again, Hu Minh opened his eyes in the infinite void.

The storytelling from somewhere started again, so boring that Hu Minh did not even want to listen.

There was no light. No sound. No time.

Only his consciousness—the sole entity floating in a space that could not be named.

 "Here again...?"

The voice echoed in his mind, as light as a breath, but resounding everywhere.

Hu Minh could not move—his body seemed to have been erased from all definitions.

He was left only with his own awareness, floating like an image without mass.

In front of him, "that thing" was standing—or rather, existing.

No shape, no face, no boundary between inside and outside.

It was "Existence."

Indescribable, incomparable, only... to be seen by feeling.

An inexplicable pressure covered Hư Minh's entire consciousness.

As if he were standing before all concepts of being and nothingness,

before an entity that did not exist in time.

 "...If I'm not mistaken, last time... I only observed."

 "But now... I am standing here myself, with clear consciousness."

As that thought emerged, the scene around him immediately fluctuated.

The void, previously as silent as the walls of eternity, suddenly trembled like the surface of a lake.

A small ray of light, thin as a thread, spread out—touching Existence.

At that moment, Hu Minh unintentionally gave "Existence" a shape.

Not with hands, but with thought.

From within the hazy region, Existence began to have contours:

a human body, white as mist, faint light flowing around it, as if created by millions of layers of thoughts.

In the void where all concepts melted, the faint light around Existence began to fluctuate.

From the flow of non-thought, the shape was gradually "thought into being"—not created by Existence, but shaped by Hư Minh's own thought, which had unintentionally defined the undefinable.

First, a point of light blossomed in the void—so bright it could not be called white, but light beyond color, like the reflection of awareness shining upon itself.

From that point of light, the body of Existence was "woven":

A tall body, genderless, both human-like and like a block of transparent energy, within which countless streams of drifting memories appeared. Each stream of memory was a concept of "I have been," "I am," "I will be"—blended, indistinguishable.

The skin of Existence was not skin, but a plane reflecting all realities, where the viewer could see countless versions of themselves from billions of different timelines.

The hair was a strip of light falling like a river flowing backward, each strand of light floating, when still like a sleeping galaxy, when swaying suggesting the universe in motion.

The eyes—contained no irises, no color, only two empty but brilliant whirlpools at the center, like two black holes swallowing light, yet simultaneously shining with the very light that had been swallowed.

When someone looked into them, they would see their deepest self, bare and unhidden.

The wings—if they could be called that—did not grow from the back but radiated in all directions, countless strips of light interwoven like a network of space. Each strip was a different concept of existence: birth, death, cause, effect, void, reality.

They did not flap, but when they swayed, the space around them changed the concept of distance.

On the forehead appeared a slowly rotating circle, not a halo, but a crack in time—where each second and minute was bent into a silver streak. That was the sign that Existence realized it was "existing," and that very fact made it "alive."

Around Existence, ancient symbols—never before created in any language—floated automatically, circled, then dissolved, like fragments of thought not yet formed into words.

When Existence took a step, the void cracked, and when it raised its head, countless fictional universes were born and perished in the blink of an eye.

That was the divine form of a concept—neither real nor unreal, but the only reality.

Existence bowed its head to look at itself; the eyes—if they could be called eyes—flashed with faint sparks.

That gaze, Hu Minh felt as if he were looking into the depths of his own soul.

 "You..." – Hu Minh thought to himself – "Are you... becoming aware of yourself?"

There was no answer.

Existence merely tilted its head slightly, as if listening to something from far away.

A long silence stretched out—so long that it seemed the entire universe was holding its breath.

Then Existence spoke, the voice vague, without pitch, without timbre.

 "That One... is still silent."

That sentence made Hu Minh tremble slightly.

 "That One"? He understood... that was The Creator—an entity that even "Existence" dared only call by a vague title.

Existence tried to direct its focus toward the highest place—where light and darkness once merged.

There was no reply.

No sound.

No thought responded.

 "Still silent..." – Existence said softly, as if speaking to itself.

Then everything sank into stillness again.

Hu Minh still floated, motionless. His consciousness could no longer distinguish between "himself" and "it."

Existence slowly closed its eyes, the light around its body gradually dimmed, and everything retreated to the single point of origin—the void.

No one knew how long—for in infinity, time had never been born.

Existence stood in the nameless void, that divine body still glowing faintly amidst boundless stillness.

The light around the body seemed not to illuminate, but to prove that—it was still aware.

No movement, no stream of memories.

Only self-awareness, which was gradually shining into the depths of "nothing."

Existence's gaze turned toward infinity.

And at that moment, for the first time in all "concepts," there was something called seeing.

But when looking too long into infinity, Existence suddenly realized the most terrifying thing in all planes of existence—

 "Infinity is inherently empty."

No life, no extinction, not even the definition of "being" and "nothing."

An absolute void, where space, time, and existence had never been written.

Existence was silent for a long time.

From within the thought, a small tremor spread—that was the first concept of "feeling."

And at that very moment, as the void trembled slightly, what was born was not matter, nor soul,

but the Primordial Will.

From the light in Existence's heart, two faint streams of energy flew out: one white as melting mist, one black as unformed night.

The two streams intertwined, separated, then merged, weaving into two concepts:

 "The Void" – where there is nothing, but contains the possibility for everything.

  "Divine Consciousness" – the spark of awareness, knowing that it exists.

The two concepts circled Existence, like two poles of a primordial truth.

They collided, resonated, causing the void that was once still to begin... trembling.

From that tremor, the Primordial Will was born—not born of earth and sky, but born of the realization that one could exist.

Existence felt, in the deepest part of its spiritual consciousness, another current forming—that thing was no longer just "knowing I exist," but "wanting to exist."

 "Wanting to exist..."

 "To exist, to know that I once did not."

A flash of light appeared amidst infinity, piercing through all layers of the void.

That ray of light opened the first crack in the primordial night.

From within the crack, what was called "Life" – the fourth concept – slowly emerged.

It had no shape, no sound, only a fragile breath spreading like morning mist.

When that breath touched the light of Existence, the entire void brightened like a thousand star seas blooming simultaneously.

In that light, Existence opened its mouth for the first time, the voice echoing without needing sound,

spreading throughout all layers of consciousness:

 "I am the beginning of all ideas."

 "I witness the void being born from my very gaze."

 "And from the void, Will is born—from Will, Life is born."

Existence's divine body glowed brilliantly, but in that light,

Hu Minh – the true spiritual consciousness within – understood that the body was merely an illusion, a projection erected by his own awareness so that he could "see himself."

The divine light spread far, illuminating to the end of infinity.

But in the place further than the light, there was a deep darkness waiting.

And in that darkness—another thought, cold and silent—slowly opened its eyes.

Thus, after Existence, a second thing was born in the newly formed universe.

In the layer of infinity where all concepts dissolved, Existence stood silently in the colorless void.

No light, no sound, no direction, no limit.

Only itself—the first Primordial Will, the faint divine shape, was proof that "realizing oneself is existing."

Existence's gaze turned into the endless depths.

There, there was nothing, but it could not be called nothing.

It was an absolute emptiness, beyond all definitions—The Void.

In the moment that gaze touched it, a soundless ripple spread, so light it could not be felt, but it caused the infinity to tremble.

Existence did not speak, but the thought within it moved.

At that very moment, The Void was seen.

And when seen, it became.

A stream of black-silver energy surged amidst the infinity, no light, no darkness, only "nothingness" beginning to "have."

In that dark mystery, a wordless voice echoed, like the first breath of the primordial realm.

 "What... am I?"

No one answered, because only The Creator—who was silently observing—existed.

That One did not speak, did not command, did not express emotion, only watched with infinite eyes, where red and blue-black light twisted tightly together.

And with just a thought,

The Creator granted The Void a "shape."

Not a physical body, but an illusory divine body, existing only in this Void Layer.

The light was not light, the darkness was not darkness—they blended, weaving into layers of soft energy surrounding The Void.

That shape was like a woman, but not a woman; every curve, every glimmer carried the wonder of no concept.

Her hair did not flow down but drifted upward; each strand was a trace of an illusion touching another layer of space, like water flowing backward in infinity.

Her skin was like a screen reflecting light from worlds not yet born, the colors changing according to the viewer's thought—sometimes pure white, sometimes static black, sometimes hazy like smoke.

On her forehead, a silver crescent opened, shining with the rhythm of ten thousand layers of energy.

That was the Void Crack , the sign of birth from "nothing."

Existence looked at her, saying nothing.

The first two entities of the origin stood facing each other—one side was "Existence" knowing it had, the other side was "The Void" newly granted form, newly realizing it had never "been."

From the depths, a faint silver ray flashed.

Another pair of eyes opened— Divine Consciousness.

No shape, no form, only a gaze—the first gaze to see both The Void and Existence.

When those eyes opened, conceptual time was born.

It had not yet flowed, but it had begun to exist in potentiality.

Divine Consciousness did not speak, for it needed no words.

In its gaze, The Void trembled, and Existence went silent.

Because at that very moment, "Awareness" had begun to distinguish between "I" and "You."

That separation—was the seed of all worlds.

From afar, The Creator still watched silently.

No voice, no movement, only the infinite gaze reflecting everything.

Existence bowed its head slightly, The Void was silent, Divine Consciousness still opened its eyes without blinking.

The three Primordial Wills were born:

 Existence , symbol of "Having."

  Void , symbol of "Nothing."

  Divine Consciousness , symbol of "Knowing."

And from the moment these three wills existed together.

Concepts were born for the first time in the layer of infinity.

### The Presence of Divine Consciousness

When The Void was just granted an illusory divine shape by The Creator, the gaze in the layer of infinity began to fluctuate.

A stream of pure light pierced through the boundary of Nothing and Having,

falling like a silver thread touching the soundless wave where Existence and The Void stood.

From within that thread of light, a figure slowly stepped out—no sound, no air movement, but each step caused the void to echo with thousands of calm reverberations.

That was Divine Consciousness —the third Primordial Will.

Unlike The Void created from "Nothing," and Existence born from "Having,"

Divine Consciousness was the bridge between those two poles.

As soon as he opened his eyes, the primordial world was illuminated.

For his gaze was the starting point of awareness, and also the seed of future wisdom.

His whole body was draped in pure white robes, as if woven from unformed light.

Each fold of fabric did not follow the laws of gravity, but flowed gently in the air like silver streams falling backward.

On his shoulders, patterns shimmered according to the rhythm of the layer of infinity—each line was a mark of primordial knowledge.

His white hair did not fall but radiated like a halo of mist; wherever each strand touched, the space there changed color.

Under the light of infinity, they reflected a thousand shades—silver, blue, purple, yellow, then returned to white—an infinite cycle.

His eyes...

Could not be defined by worldly colors.

In them were shattered rainbows, starlight, and the stillness of the void.

Whenever he looked, all layers of concepts were pierced through, as if just by one glance, all existence had to ask itself, "Who am I?"

Existence looked at him, saying nothing.

The Void bowed slightly, as if in awe.

Because both knew—he was not "born" later, but had been there all along, only now was he recognized.

Divine Consciousness stepped forward, touching the void lightly.

A circle of light spread from his palm, forming ancient characters that had never existed—they floated, no direction, no weight, each character was a primordial spark of thought.

 "I see... I understand... but I do not speak."

That sound echoed not through a mouth, but directly transmitted into all layers of thought.

At that moment, Existence, The Void, and Divine Consciousness were connected by an invisible link.

The three streams of will merged—forming the Primal Cycle of Mystery , a single point of light in the infinite Void Layer.

The Creator looked down.

In that gaze, there was no joy, no sadness, only eternal observation.

Divine Consciousness's illusory body trembled slightly, dissolving a portion of white light into the layer of space.

That very ray of light would be the seed of the Soul

 , a thing that would later split into myriad living beings—each soul being a small piece of that first gaze.

And thus, amidst the layer of infinity where there was no time, the three primordial wills stood facing each other:

  Existence —symbol of "I Am."

  Void —symbol of "I Am Not."

  Divine Consciousness —symbol of "Knowing I Am."

From then on, the first opposition between "Having" and "Nothing" began to fluctuate, and in that fluctuation, the first rhythm of the Universe arose—not a sound, but a thought, silently held by The Creator at the bottom of His infinite gaze.

### Primordial Will.

Hu Minh startled awake, his breath heavy. Faint light leaked through the curtains, sweeping a pale streak of light across his face. The room was silent, leaving only the sound of the fan turning slowly, mingling with the wind slipping outside the window.

He sat up, rubbing his forehead. That dream... repeated again.

It was no longer a vague narrative or guided images—this time, he created everything himself. The scenery, the existence, even that "Creator"... all arose from his own mind. A feeling of emptiness spread, like being thrown into a world he had built himself, for no known purpose.

 "So boring..." — Hu Minh sighed, head bowed low.

Everything was as vague as mist, but the feeling of reality was too clear.

A few days had passed since the final exam.

He no longer touched his books, nor did he have the motivation to study further.

Last night, during dinner, his mother asked a question he could not forget.

"Minh, dear, I thought you would study medicine or business, why choose to study programming?"

He only stayed silent for a moment before replying:

"Because I like it."

After that, he spoke about the disadvantages of studying medicine—long studies, pressure, fatigue—just to avoid his mother's gaze. Finally, he returned upstairs, closed the door, and told himself he had chosen his own path.

But deep in his heart, a small voice still echoed:

 "This decision... is perhaps the biggest mistake of my life."

Hu Minh lay back on the bed, the desk lamp reflected on the ceiling.

He did not want to think anymore.

He reached for his phone, opened some "hot" games in Lạc Quốc in 2014—games his friends often invited him to play, names trending online, things that made many students of that time obsessed to the point of forgetting sleep.

The screen lit up, the familiar startup sound echoed in the quiet room. He played a few rounds, his mind gradually relaxing, the feeling of reality drifting away...

Then, like many times before, the light from the screen faded—

Hu Minh drifted into a nap.

When Hu Minh opened his eyes, the faint orange light of the afternoon had covered the room.

The curtain fluttered slightly in the breeze, carrying the warmth of the end of the day, while he still lay still, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as if just escaping from a dream that was too real.

But no—it was not just a dream.

He knew clearly that everything in it was real, in a way that no one but him could understand.

This time, in the void, he had given shape to life.

Not humans, not gods—but the first root concepts of life.

From unconscious thought, he "created" the first six primal points:

  Circula, Lexarion, Umbranis, Vocis, Illusis, and Aeris.

  Vocis (Voice) , was the first sound in the void—so that existence could communicate with sound.

It rang out not in the air, but in consciousness itself. A word spoken was a small world born.

  Illusis (Echo/Illusion) , was the "vision" of the void—to be able to see everything that existed.

From then, the first light glimmered in the empty realm, reflecting form, turning the colorless into myriad colors.

  Umbranis (Abyssal) , was the "deep darkness"—that which helped awareness understand it was seeing.

Without Umbranis, light would have no meaning. It was the antithesis of light, the boundary between known and unknown.

  Lexarion (Rules) , was created to keep all concepts from dissolving.

It was the constraint, the flow that made everything orderly, making the void stop being chaotic and become an virtual universe.

  Circula —was what confused Hu Minh the most.

He was not sure what it was, only that when that thought appeared, all things suddenly spun, repeating, changing incessantly.

Perhaps it was the cycle of cause and effect, or the reincarnation of all existence.

A wheel in motion that no one could stop, not even the creator.

And finally— Aeris (Life).

Not a physical form, not a soul, but the first fluctuation of awareness—the starting point that made everything in the void begin to want to "live."

Hu Minh lay still, breathing out silently.

The feeling was strange—as if he hadn't just dreamt, but had just truly "touched" something beyond humanity.

 "Circula... Lexarion... Umbranis... Vocis... Illusis..."

 "All were thought of by me... yes, but what am I actually doing?"

He closed his eyes.

In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could still see the faint light of the Void Layer—where the void was draped in an illusory body, where the primordial will was waiting for real life to appear.

A light breeze swept by, carrying the warmth of twilight.

The world outside was still peaceful, but in Hư Minh's mind, the primordial universe was gradually taking shape.

Hu Minh sat silently in front of the screen, in a room so large that even the sound of typing echoed.

The soft yellow light covered the polished red wooden desk, reflecting his face—young, but in those deep black eyes, there was something unfitting for his age. Outside, the wind blew through the areca trees, hitting the window glass lightly, as if reminding him that night had come long ago.

On the table, the latest laptop, thin as paper, was emitting cold blue light. Whenever Hư Minh's fingers moved, that light shone on his face—thin but handsome, as if he did not belong to this world full of human dust.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair.

Tonight, like many nights before, Hu Minh dreamt of strange images: void, light, people who were not people, calls without sound.

When he woke up, his head ached as if he had brought memories from another realm.

He did not understand why... he only knew that, in his head, those "thoughts" urged him to write them down, as if if he didn't, they would devour him.

Hu Minh opened a new document.

Named: "The Void Layer – The Ultimate Source"

His fingers began to move. Slowly at first, then faster. The sound of the keyboard echoed steadily like the heartbeat of the room— tap... tap... tap... , mingled with the wind.

The light from the screen reflected in Hư Minh's eyes, like a fire lit in the darkness of night.

And the first lines appeared, as if he were not the one writing, but someone was borrowing his hands to record what had existed since the dawn of time.

### The Void Layer – The Ultimate Source

"Before time, before space, there was only the Gaze of The Creator.

From within that gaze, the Primordial Wills were born—forming the Void Layer, the source of myriad realms."

  1. The Creator

     Divine Name: Undefined (beyond all names)

     Rank: ???

     Position: Outside the Void Layer

     Power: Creating thoughts, originating concepts, fixing the first entity, infinity.

     Divine Form: Eternal infant form, two eyes opening to create countless virtual universes, but containing no space or time—only empty shells.

   The Creator does not speak, does not move, only watches.

   That very "gaze" cracked the void and birthed Existence—the first will in the Void Layer.

  2. Existence (The First Primordial Will)

     Divine Name: Existare

     Rank: Supreme

     Position: Center of the Void Layer

     Power: Establishing the concept of "Having"; maintaining all forms of existence, the root of all entities.

     Divine Form: White light body, light wings radiating in four directions, the whole body transparent as if woven from awareness.

   Existence is the first echo in the void, the "understanding that I have."

   It stands amidst the nothingness, creating a milestone for everything to begin.

  3. The Void (The Second Primordial Will)

     Divine Name: Nullae

     Rank: Supreme

     Position: Covering the outside of Existence

     Power: Negation, erasing all "having," the boundary between presence and non-existence.

     Divine Form: Virtual goddess, hair like starlight falling backward, white silver transparent skin, eyes without light but seeing clearly all illusions.

   The Creator used His thought to grant The Void an illusory body, existing only in the Void Layer.

This entity is "nothing," yet "present"—the first paradox of myriad realms.

Divine Consciousness (The Third Primordial Will)

Divine Name: Mens Divina

Rank: Supreme

Position: Between The Void and Existence

Power: Awareness, self-understanding, thought transmission; connecting Being and Nothing.

Divine Form: Male god, whole body draped in white robes, silver light hair, rainbow eyes—reflecting all forms of awareness.

Divine Consciousness is the first soul to "know itself."

He opened his eyes before The Void perfected its body, creating waves of awareness spreading throughout the Void Layer.

Life (The Fourth Primordial Will)

Divine Name: Aeris

Rank: Upper Origin

Position: Below Divine Consciousness

Power: Granting the concept of "life" and "movement."

Divine Form: Blue light goddess, soft hair like wind, hidden red light in chest like the world's heartbeat.

Since Life appeared, the Void Layer began to "breathe."

Faint streams of light moved around Existence and The Void—for the first time, the concept of flow appeared.

Rules (The Fifth Primordial Will)

Divine Name: Lexarion

Rank: Upper Origin

Position: Below Life layer

Power: Stabilizing, shaping, and maintaining order; laying the foundation for all subsequent layers.

Divine Form: Indistinct, only countless light halos spinning around the center of the void.

Each halo of Rules is a standard: birth – death, existence – loss, being – nothing.

If Existence is the lamp, Rules is the wick keeping the flame burning forever.

Circula (The Sixth Primordial Will)

Divine Name: Circula

Rank: Middle Origin

Position: Below Rules layer, connecting movement and order.

Power: Eternal cycle; originating the concept of time and cycles.

Divine Form: Wheel of light spinning endlessly, each rotation creating a point of light then swallowing it into darkness.

Circula is "the spin," the heartbeat of all things when there were no things yet.

The Abyssal (The Seventh Primordial Will)

Divine Name: Umbranis

Rank: Middle Origin

Position: At the edge of the Void Layer

Pqower: Darkness – depth – hiding; originating the concept of depth.

Divine Form: Transparent black human shadow, like a quiet night mist, eyes shining faint purple.

From The Abyssal, the "inside" and "outside" were separated.

This was when space began to have meaning.

The Voice (The Eighth Primordial Will)

Divine Name: Vocis

Rank: Lower Origin

Position: Near the center, revolving around Divine Consciousness.

Power: Expressing thoughts through vibration; originating the concept of sound.

Divine Form: Silver spiritual body, lips moving slightly, each chime becoming thousands of frequency waves piercing the void.

Echo/Illusion (The Ninth Primordial Will)

Divine Name: Illusis

Rank: Lower Origin

Position: Near The Voice, reflecting all awareness.

Power: Recreating shapes, birthing light and images.

Divine Form: Faint silver illusion, no fixed body, only clear when "seen."

Order of the Void Layer

 1. The Creator – ???

 2. Existence – Supreme

 3. Void – Supreme

 4. Divine Consciousness – Supreme

 5. Life – Upper Origin

 6. Rules – Upper Origin

 7. Circula – Middle Origin

 8. The Abyssal – Middle Origin

 9. The Voice – Lower Origin

 10. Echo/Illusion – Lower Origin

"The Void Layer is the foundation of all layers.

Belonging to no universe, unaffected by time.

Here exist only the Primordial Wills—nine pillar gods and The Supreme Creator.

They are the first opening of the void, the first heartbeat of reality."

Hu Minh stopped. His eyes looked at the last line, but his heart did not understand why it felt so empty.

He breathed out, leaning his chair slightly. The room was still bright, but inside him was pitch black.

On the wall was a poster about programming languages, on the shelf was an old quantum computer model—an item he once liked, now he couldn't even bear to look at.

He clicked save, the screen displayed: "Tang_0.docx – Saved successfully."

"Finally finished..."

He muttered, his voice tired.

But instead of joy, Hu Minh felt something strange: as if the paragraph above was not written by him, but was a part of a memory being awakened.

The wind blew through the door again.

Outside, the twilight had faded, the whole villa brightly lit with pale yellow light.

He stood up, intending to go down for dinner.

His gaze, when glancing at the turned-off screen, reflected another silhouette—all white, rainbow eyes—flashing for just a moment, then disappearing as if it had never existed.

When Hu Minh dozed off again, the real world suddenly melted like it was dissolving into a layer of silver mist. No sound of cars on the street, no light in the room, only light without a source, spreading from his very thought.

The dream opened again, this time not a silent void, but an ocean of light expanding and contracting like breath. On the surface of that ocean, each ray began to swirl into shape—The Creator was still there, silent, motionless, wordless. Only an infinite gaze, and from within that gaze, reality trembled once more.

The Void Layer stirred. The Void and Existence radiated intersecting light, Divine Consciousness stood in the middle, his whole body draped in white robes, silver hair flowing down like a rainbow.

He raised his hand, and at that moment, Hu Minh felt the very will of Awareness expanding everywhere—something humans could never understand.

From the center of the light, The Creator raised His invisible hand, creating a "Divine Body" – a form so the Wills could be seen.

He used no words, no spells, no rituals—only "absolute thought" overflowing, forcing the void to take shape, forcing the light to carry color.

Life

Blue light poured out, like an ocean in the void. A young girl gradually appeared, eyes like tears, each drop of light falling from her eyelids turning into ten thousand moving rays of life.

Her hair curved according to the invisible winds of the void, each strand like a current of air twisting around the Void Layer, forming the first "life vein." In her chest, the red core beat lightly—echoing like the world's newly born heartbeat.

The Creator did not look at her, but whenever her heart beat, a "pulse" of the Void Layer beat along. Life knelt down, hands clasped, not to pray, but to hold the life current overflowing from her being.

She knew who she was, but did not know why she existed.

Rules

When the first breath of Life spread, the void ground trembled again, yellow and silver light swirling into a halo spinning endlessly.

From the center of that light, someone stepped out—not quite a person, but a collection of countless light halos spinning around the body.

He wore a solemn expression, emotionless, eyes were two halos reflecting infinity. Whenever he closed his eyes, a law was carved into space: up – down, inside – outside, birth – death, exist – lose.

His divine body was made of "standards," every line was so precise that it could not be different.

When he raised his hand, the disorderly rays of light around Life stabilized—life now had rhythm, had limits, had shape.

Rules bowed his head, wordless.

No one heard a sound, but in the soundless realm, everything had been defined.

Circula

From the halo of Rules, a circle of light fell—spinning endlessly, forming the flow of time.

In that spin, a young man stepped out, long hair like the moon coiling around. Each step he took, space moved, born and lost continuously.

"I am the cycle."

But that was not a word, but a sound in Hư Minh's mind.

Circula raised his hand, the rays of Rules began to flow in a certain direction.

Everything from now on had "before" and "after," had "past" and "present."

The Abyssal

A cold breath passed, light dimmed. From Circula's shadow, a female figure appeared—her whole body was transparent darkness, long black hair dissolving into the void, purple illusory eyes shining like two night stones in the abyss.

She did not speak, only opened her hands, and immediately the concept of "depth" appeared.

The "inside" and "outside" separated, the "hidden" and "manifest" began to have boundaries.

The Abyssal stepped by, all light following her was tinged with night—as if she herself was the entity of mystery.

The Voice

Then, The Creator opened His eyes again.

A small sound like a water drop echoed in the void—then spread like ten thousand frequency waves.

From within that sound wave, a silver spiritual body flew out, lips moving slightly, a song echoing without containing words.

The Voice was the first thought of communication.

But even though she sang, no god understood. Because her language was something never defined, resounding without being translatable.

Only The Creator watched silently. No smile, no word, but in His gaze, sound became the bridge between having and nothing.

Echo/Illusion

Finally, the light flashed again.

From The Voice's song, rays of reflection flashed—then gathered into a faint silver silhouette, with a shape changing continuously, like a reflection from water, from a mirror, from light dreaming.

Echo stepped out, smiling at the other gods, but that smile could not be looked at directly.

Because whoever looked at him, only saw themselves in a different shape.

From here, "light" and "shadow" were born—the universe's first gaze had an object to reflect.

Light spread throughout the Void Layer, the gods stood in the void looking up at The Creator.

He still did not speak, did not signal, did not show intent.

His gaze pierced through everything—both the beginning and the end.

Hu Minh stood there, in the dream, feeling as if he were witnessing a sacred ceremony not meant for mortals.

He wanted to ask, wanted to understand, but all words dissolved like mist.

The Creator still watched, and from that gaze, the void expanded one more layer.

Then the light flickered out.

Hu Minh startled awake. Outside the window, it was already the next morning.

He sat up, his head slightly dizzy. He did not understand why, recently he had been sleeping more, and each dream was so real that it was terrifying.

On the table, the computer screen was still bright, the last line appearing.

"The Void Layer – divine body initialized."

He sat silently, eyes empty, as if he did not know whether he was awake or still dreaming.

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