In the highest dimension far above the skies known to mortals stretches a silent expanse without walls, without time, without direction. This place is not part of the world. It is the weaving thread of existence, where gods and goddesses reside not with bodies, but with pure will.
Usually, this space is silent. Silent like an ancient stone awaiting erosion, like a blank manuscript before fate is written.
But today, that silence was fractured by a whisper.
A faint tremor, sharp enough to make every divine consciousness within turn, had slipped in. A tremor from something unwritten. Undesigned. Unwanted.
A foreign will. An existence no longer bound.
And from the edge of that divine space, a goddess's voice broke like the first crack in a sacred mirror.
