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   First, under the swept Star-Blood of the First Rift, where endless Few Shape and Reshape, was Void, terminal in its woe and benevolence;
   The End, The Un-End,
      Hollowness.
   Sparks in Darkness, from Beyond, flickered splashes of Star-Streaks of the First Rift.
Some reached to its Warmth, whose Glow never stretched Its grasp back.
   Among them, the Few,
      Mother and Brother,
      Twisted and Curled,
 in a Half-Life.
   Here, They saw one another.
They Thought.
They Dreamed.
They Were.
   Here, a faint Perception was hatched, the Abstraction, in a mind-egg.
Here, Change was conceived.

————❖————

Mother, to Lýr; Brother, to Kál.
Lýr was bearer to the Idea, Kál steadfast at Her side.
   Kál became bearer to the Early Eyes,
      Only He Saw, the Is-Was-Will Be,
      Of the wakes to come.
         And He writhed in it,
         And He obsessed,
         And It became Him.
And It Was. Blinded by Infinite Sight, Kál’s gaze lingered Elsewhere,
Whilst Another cracked the bones of Lýr.
   And so a New Rift was scrawled onto the walls of ephemera.


   Lýr, eyes now burned and hands mangled, whose Soul listens,
      She whispers in the Rife,
      She whispers in the Hollow.
The other was lynched by Kál, tormented by guilt.
Lýr became bearer to a New Idea,
   The Ever-Shifting Tides,
      The Inception.
Kál became slave to the First Idea.
   In It, He is the Keeper.
           He is, the Knight.
   Without It, he is the All-Without-All.
The New Idea coagulated, safe in the cocoon of Lýr.
   All was Night.
   Chaos was rampant,
Light, of distant Here-Nowhere, now penetrating across the All-In-Nothing,
   It fought the Dark,
      endlessly.