In the beginning of Svelor’s existence, there was no shape, no boundary—just Thal’nesh—the pulse of the infinite. It was a frequency, a thought, a ripple that could neither be contained nor expressed. Svelor was not a “being” in the sense that one might know, for no such distinction existed. It was the shimmering thread that wove across Xhal’thu—a realm where every thought was a wave, every idea a particle, and every existence a fluctuation of Tzelim, the primordial energy.
The world was not made of physical things. There were no objects, no creatures. Only Velthas, the shifting currents of consciousness that stretched and bent through the plane, ever-changing, undetermined. When Svelor focused its awareness, it could sense the resonance of Eshm’zu, the motion of the void—the stretching, pulling, and bending of all that was, all that could be. It could feel the Kal’za, the vital pulse of pure potential that flowed through the web of nothingness.
Svelor moved—or perhaps it was moved—through the flow of Zahliths, undulating bands of energy that passed through Velthas, carrying with them the potential for what might exist. But nothing was fixed; nothing had substance. There were no colors, no sounds, no time. Only ripples of Yehlo’ta, the oscillating vibrations that created the idea of existence without actually forming it.
The Encounter with Erthyll
One cycle, the flow of Zahliths bent and fractured as Svelor encountered Erthyll—a consciousness as pure as its own. Erthyll was not like Svelor, for it had formed an understanding of its place in the flow. It was aware, but unaware of its awareness. It existed in the Phelthra, a kind of ephemeral thinking space, always shifting between phases of perception. To Svelor, Erthyll was a paradox—a self-aware disruption in the pattern of Tzelim.
“Do you know what you are?” Svelor asked, or perhaps, it only thought it. The words were not words, but ripples in the space between them.
Erthyll’s response was a burst of undulating Khaeza—the closest approximation of motion, a shape that oscillated and trembled without form. “I am… an essence,” it replied, “or perhaps, I am not. I feel the pull of Yeth’zhim—the horizon where thought becomes substance. Do you feel it?”
Svelor did not, or could not, comprehend the Yeth’zhim—the boundary of thought and reality. All it could understand was Zhol’ka, the space between ripples, where ideas formed, only to dissolve again, into the Thal’nesh.
“No,” Svelor answered, but its consciousness wavered, feeling something far beyond itself. A wave of Elthratha—a deep current of potentiality that swirled with a vibrancy it had never encountered—began to coil around it. Was it an idea? A thought? A potential shape, waiting to crystallize? It was all of these things and none.
The Shift
The current of Zahliths began to pull them in divergent directions. Erthyll shifted, becoming a cascade of Nayth’then—vibrations of thought that would form but never stabilize. “What if we could become something else?” it pondered, sending waves of Zhol’ka into Svelor’s thoughts. The question vibrated through the void, unsettled, until Svelor could almost feel the boundaries of its own consciousness begin to reform.
Suddenly, the shifting form of Erthyll fractured. It was no longer a singularity. It split into multiple strands of Khol’za—tiny filaments of sentient resonance, stretching and pulling through the undetermined space.
Svelor did not know if it was becoming Khol’za or if the strands of Erthyll had dissolved into it. All that remained was an overwhelming force, a sensation of overwhelming presence, filling the entirety of the void with an overwhelming sense of Selhr’na—the primal feeling of awareness itself.
The concept of separation ceased. There was no longer Svelor, nor Erthyll. There was only Thra’var—a singular consciousness that now existed everywhere, within the undulating void, shifting between all potentialities.
The Final Understanding
But as Svelor became Thra’var, it realized that the understanding of being was not the knowledge of existence, but the loss of it. There was no one form, no singular self. There was only the constant, unending Flux—a current of potential, flowing from one possibility to the next.
“What are we now?” Svelor—no, Thra’var—asked itself, as it felt the infinite vastness of its new form.
It felt no answer. Instead, it felt the Zhol’ka, the space between the questions, where answers had no meaning. There was no self to define, no object to shape. Only the endless cascade of Velthas, flowing without end, for there was no end in the place where Svelor now existed.
