"A god is only truly dead when they are forgotten."

"I want to be remembered."

That was the last wish of someone who perished torn to pieces, abandoned, and erased from every memory.

Everyone had forgotten him.

But a certain god had not.

"You will be remembered… I promise," the mysterious god whispered.

Carved somewhere unseen and forsaken, in a place no one recalls, from a time long forgotten—

Thus began the first words:

"Before there was light, there was darkness."

"Before there was peace, there was war."

"Before there was Aetherus, there was Lazarak."

This entity was darkness itself pure, endless, and tranquil. Yet not long after his birth, a glow bloomed in the void, faint and trembling, until it grew brighter, burning away the serenity he once embodied.

It was blinding, alive with emotions he could never understand.

From that light came life.

And from life came war.

"Long before the First Epoch.

Before the rise of demonkind.

Before the Goddess carved laws into light—"

"Someone rebelled. And as a result, he was broken, and free magic was stripped from the world."

Stripped of his divine essence, he was cast away into a hidden realm as punishment—

before the world itself had even fully formed.

"There was a minor world god, whose name was whispered and insignificant."

"Lazarak, the god of darkness and serenity."

"He was born in silence, and walked without worshippers."

In a world that adored glory and radiance, what need was there for peace born from darkness?

Who would kneel for a god who offered calm instead of conquest?

None.

The world of Aetherus, bound to the Pillar of Conflict, rejected Lazarak.

While other gods fed on hymns of triumph and chants of war, he stood apart—

watching the faithful slaughter one another, their prayers drowned beneath the cries of the dying.

A dark figure watched from his silent domain as mortals built monuments to destruction—

their knowledge sharpened into weapons, their genius reduced to murder.

He shed tears for every soul lost. A thousand tears for every drop of blood.

"Their devotion burned on the altars of conquest."

"His fellow gods fell with each pointless war.

This world was not allowed to have peace."

Overcome by anguish, he understood, his tears could not save them.

For every life he preserved, thousands more perished.

So he rebelled.

It was a starless night when a radiant figure brought Lazarak to his knees.

"You are weak, brother," the radiant one said coldly. "That is why you rebel. You surround yourself with those like you failures."

The radiant god turned toward the heavens as a transcendent force ripped something vital from the world.

His eyes trembled with sorrow. "This is the consequence of your actions. We must all pay… but you, most of all."

The dark god only smiled, broken and resigned.

"I regret that I failed. I regret that I am weak. I curse the cruelty of our creator… and the heartlessness of our mother."

His rebellion had cost creation its true names.

Thus, he was sealed and forgotten cast into oblivion.

He was powerless.

He was nothing.

But in his nothingness, Lazarak did what no god dared.

From his tears he forged a well—

a pool clear as glass, born from sorrow itself.

His will refused to fade.

From that well, he reached beyond existence, calling into the infinite metaverse beyond.

And Lazarak failed.

In a realm of endless horror, the god of darkness was torn apart, his voice echoing endlessly into the void.

"The horrors that lurked beyond were beyond him."

Until—

The eyes of the broken god ceased weeping.

Through the infinite expanse, his mind brushed against something vast, so vast that even creation itself seemed to hold its breath.

"In that silence, he found something… a presence so immense it made eternity tremble."

The Unknown God.

No temples bore His name.

No prayers had ever reached Him.

But Lazarak reached first—

and the abyss answered.

The god of peace had done the unthinkable.

Hidden within his darkness, he built a tomb for gods.

He gathered forbidden power in secret.

And with it, he committed the ultimate sin.

He brought Aetherus to the attention of something that should never have noticed it.

In that void, Lazarak trembled, clutching his head in terror.

"I know not what this will bring… I carry this sin alone. All who suffer from my choice, I beg your forgiveness."

And in doing so,

he was marked for death.

The other gods called him heretic.

Aetherus itself branded him traitor.

They tore his divine body apart,

and buried his name beneath the world.

But Lazarak's spirit did not fade.

He burned his own soul,

became a beacon,

and cried out into the heavens—

Not for himself, but for Aetherus.

For all who lived within it.

He pleaded for the end of Conflict.

He raised his hand to the sky, his divine blood burning away as the gods descended upon him.

His cry pierced through the chaos.

And then, Lazarak was gone.

Only the echo of his suffering remained—

soaked into the soil of a world that had erased him.

In that moment, the Unknown God understood.

And He took His first step.

Aetherus rejected Him.

The world resisted His presence.

But still, His influence leaked through—

not enough to descend,

not enough to save Lazarak—

but enough to leave a scar.

"The Deep Abyss."

On an unnamed continent, a great pit spiraled into existence—

the last remains of Lazarak, dripping with divine residue.

Through it, the aura of another god seeped through.

"A flaw in Aetherus."

The world cracked once more.

War returned.

Lesser gods shattered and died; those who survived fell into sleep.

The sky bled with light as the remnants of divinity screamed, devoured by the forming tomb.

The tomb consumed them all and disappeared.

Even Aetherus itself fell into slumber, unable to contain the chaos.

And the Goddess, in her wrath, faced the invading Unknown God.

Their battle was beyond comprehension

colors ceased to exist, concepts unraveled, and stars themselves were erased.

"She erased His name from the minds of all creation."

"The God of Names despised His own, and so He cast it away."

He became The Unknown God.

Not forgotten merely by tongue,

but erased from memory itself.

He would remain only as a symbol—

a mystery.

A heresy.

A silver-haired god wearing a mask that covered half his face looked upon a formless woman draped in black, her veiled visage solemn, her presence heavy with mourning.

"Time travel is such a hassle," he said with a faint smile. "I'll see you in a few hundred thousand years, Minerva."

And the god vanished.

Yet in the shadows of Aetherus, his influence endured—

subtle, patient, and ever-spreading toward his unseen purpose.

"But what they truly destroyed," whispered the voice,

"was the only god who never wanted to be worshipped."

A god who prayed for peace.

And so the Zero Epoch ended—

not with victory,

but with a silent, forgotten beginning.

A story that would one day awaken again.

"Victory is an endless nightmare.

Defeat is the moment of wake."

"I pray your nightmares end."

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