"The Continuum of Creation" was notably written in poetic verse by Abraham Zachariah, acclaimed (by his own accord) to be the magnum opus of recorded knowledge.
In the hush before breath, when silence was whole, ere shape or shadow, a thought dared stir— adrift in dream. Not thought, as men would reckon— no tongue, no tether— nor word, nor will— but a wound of wanting, unfolding through nothing. Hoping yet, to something. They would name it the Watcher, the Wordless One, the unwaking mind that sees all things. But names are echoes of truth, and truth had not yet been spoken. It did not stir, nor speak. It simply dreamed. And in that dream, The first born of being. From the fracture of formless folly came a flicker— not fire, nor flame, but form’s first whisper, A sigh of shape unspoken. Yet still, it was broken. Eldari, they were echoed, though no throne bore their mark. Only the first embers to spark, and catch light in the dreamer’s dark. Ael, who shaped nothing into something. Prism, who traced lines where none had been. Ignis, whose warmth warmed and wounded. Gaia, the form given without function. Zephyr, the breath before voice had spoken. Kinetus, the strike that stirred the stillness. Thanatos, who echoes only of ending. Nox, whose presence is absence. And Kronus, whose memory would outlive meaning. They unraveled, as all dreams must— not with clash or cry, but in the way that tides forget the shore, and as boats wreck without proper moor. And still, the Dreamer slept, Unwept and unknowing, yet its madness... the marrow of knowing. But Ael, who smithed the first of form, and Prism, bound in orders reform, grew tired of flickers— those waning wisps that failed, and failed again, in the dreaming abyss. They conspired to weave a lie so profound, that even the dark would find itself, confound. For what is creation, if not the most delicate deception? So they gathered all meaning, bent it to thread, and upon the loom, they wove what now, can be read. As Ael struck the stars, upon the anvel of all-thing, The void would weep and be made to sing. This was the Solis Singularity— The first and only flame, That did not die. From such a wound, life poured—profane, profound. and with it, the realms would become bound. Time coiled. Matter bent. Order took hold where no root before, had been behold. Light had first shone— but it could not come alone, for darkness dances always beyond.. where its glow is known. The dark came quiet, as it always does. No waking, no sound— just shadow shifting unfound. A gaze never closed, yet slow to gleam— it stirred, as memories do in dream. As the echoes grew still, Their truth given form, A union was born. Helios, the Sun’s Breath. Deimos, the Moon’s Mourning Two halves, ever circling. Forever apart, but always whole. And the Dreamer? Drifting deeper still. Echoes heard, but their sense rendered nil. It dreamed of waking, But had no such will for taking. And that, perhaps, Was its most faithful act. The world passed by— Like a secret slipping from the lips Of a man whose time is nigh. Time turned slow, and will took seed, where dreams had once outpaced their need. At all of its axis— An hourglass that spills no sand, Nor shows the hand that turns its stand. And within its ether, a place where all forget what they might yet beget. The Continuum Crystal. From that fixed point— Arose a harmonious choir, Humming the tune of divine fire. The Pantheon of Primus. Echoes of those before, A tune that would resound.. evermore. Together, they composed the frame Built to bear what now had name. But their dominion was not yet whole, For the bell had not made its last toll. The Elementari, wild and vast, Arose from the truths thought to have passed. They cared not for order, nor bound by will, but hungered to break what dared stand still. As careless hands unmake a gift, they pulled the threads and left them adrift. From the seams where order bled, a deeper dread arose in its stead. Not thought— but memory repressed. Not wrath— but knowing long suppressed. The Eyes of Stars, Whose sleepless gaze would break the crystals bars. The Revenant came—its gaze a blade, the Stars its eyes, its path unmade. The Continuum Crystal broke in light, its echoes swallowed into the void night. So spun the wheel of fate once more, an ancient echo from before. The Infinite Continuum. Five ages. Each a verse, That ended only in scar— a thread pulled loose too far, too far. But we, the last, still mouth the lie that holds the stars in place on high. Worn and weathered, We began to weave… A lie so old, It learned to breathe. And in the seams Where silence keeps, The Dreamer sleeps. Yet when the veil grows thin, thought returns, and all, begins .. Again.