In the beginning, there was nothing. Just Dust.

And the Void.

And Them.

Eternal watchers, present in the space between every molecule of light. They waited patiently and silently in the lightless world, for They knew the emptiness would not last forever. Where darkness runs, light must arrive.

They watched as the events of existence unfolded. As from the dust and the void came two perfect creatures, gods of their own right, with the power to create and destroy.

Born from the Dust came the Dusted God known as Altar.

Born from the Void came the Voided God known as Constant.

Altar and Constant considered themselves not siblings nor lovers, but simply companions. Equal opposites, destined to form the world and the life that thrived on it. Constant formed the ground and the plants. Its blood created the heartbeat of the world, and its hands molded the world. Altar, inspired by the foundation formed by their companion, deigned to create life of their own to live under the moon they had created.

Altar spilled their blood to create animate life. They proudly showed their creation to their companion, eager to gain its approval.

"What a terrible creature," said Constant to Altar. "Without eyes, how can it see? Instead, it must blindly crawl through the world with nothing to guide it. Such a creature does not deserve to live on my land."

But Altar loved their creation. While Constant's back was turned, Altar gently guided the worms into the dirt of the world.

Again Altar tried, and again, Altar presented their new creation to Constant.

And again, Constant despised the creature.

"Altar, you foolish child. You have gifted your creature eyes to see, but without a mouth, how is it to eat? How is it to gain the nutrients it needs to survive if it cannot consume anything?"

"It can!" Exclaimed Altar, undeterred. "See this tongue, my friend? It can drink through it!"

"Absurd," said Constant. "Then how is it to defend itself without teeth, or claws? Truly, Altar, you must understand your inabilities to create decent life.'

But Altar loved their creation. While Constant's back was turned, Altar released the delicate butterflies to the wind.

This time, Altar was sure they were to gain their companion's approval. A smile fell upon their face as they revealed their newest creation to Constant.

"What could this foul creature possibly be?" Demanded Constant, with a foul twist to its mouth. "No creature needs this many eyes or this many legs. Altar, what could you have possibly been thinking?"

"But Constant," came their response, irate and annoyed. "It has many eyes to see many things, and it has many legs to walk far distances. Its fur is to shield it from the harsh winter winds, and to keep it cool in the hot summer eves. It has teeth and claws, as you last requested, to defend itself and its home. It can growl and hiss to scare away enemies, and it can purr to provide comfort to its friends. I believe this one is perfect."

"You think too highly of your ridiculous creatures. After all, without a brain, how is it to think? Perhaps, Altar, it is time for you to simply give up. You have shown yourself perfectly incapable of creating anything of worth."

But Altar loved their creation. While Constant's back was turned, Altar set free the spiders to skitter across the ground.

Altar knew they had few chances left to gain Constant's approval, so they studied and observed. They watched their creations scatter across the world. Gentle avians populated the skies, and timid moleworms burrowed in the ground below. They had few chances left, and they could not let them go to waste.

The next creation, Altar spent more time on than any other. They carefully molded every inch of it, building complex features and systems through delicate manipulation of the malleable putty of life.

And finally, this one, they knew, was the one. They gave it eyes to see, and a mouth to eat, and a brain to think. A species of creatures so intelligent that they could overcome any obstacle that Constant might foresee in their future. As a final touch, they gifted their creature with speech.

All too soon, or perhaps just at the right time, the creation came to life in Altar's godly hands. Altar had never experienced this before, and grew immediately nervous and weary. What a peculiar creature, to come to life before it was completely finished forming. Still, though, it did not seem perturbed. Instead, the creation simply gazed upon their otherworldly creator with interest and curiosity.

"Where am I?" Said the Creation.

"You are being formed," said Altar. "I am surprised to see you awake."

"I was told to wake up," said the Creation. "And so I did."

And so they did. This creation was special in every way, and Altar knew it. They could sense the gentle flow of power from the animal, steady and strong, but impossibly kind. A creature capable of patience and love and sturdy strength all the while.

In that moment, Altar realized that it did not matter what Constant thought of the animals they put on the world. All that mattered was that their animals survived and thrived, as they had. The worms without eyes, the butterflies without mouths, the spiders without brains, they flourished despite what Constant had considered to be disabilities.

It did not matter what Constant thought.

Because Altar loved their creation. And they set the human out to explore the world.

Soon, though, unlike all of the others, the Creation returned. Day after day, as the sun began to sink, the human would return to Altar and stay by their side. Sharing their experiences of the world created by Altar and Constant. The animals they had seen, the plants they had observed. They brought them to Altar with ever-brightening eyes, until one day, they suddenly came to Altar with a forlorn expression upon their face.

"What is wrong, my Creation?" Altar questioned.

"The spiders," said the Creation. "They live in large families. Groups of children and their Queen. They never concern themselves with loneliness or hunger, as they all look out for each other. Perhaps I am simply slightly upset at the knowledge that I am the only one of my kind."

"You should have come to me earlier," said Altar with a loving smile. "I will gladly give you a family."

And Altar did exactly that. They carefully crafted four new souls and gifted them life to befriend their Creation. Together, the five souls were wild and free, but perfect together. Carefully, exquisitely crafted by Altar themselves to bring their Creation happiness and joy.

Unfortunately, it was then Constant noticed the new creatures.

"Your skills at creation have come a long way," said Constant. "But I believe there is still much to improve on. I believe you should create creatures in our image."

"But why?" Altar questioned. "My creations are living happily and free on the land you created, even though you said they would not. Why should I trust your word at all? The worms know not of their lack of sight. They simply are, and they are happy. The butterflies did not need mouths to taste nectar and drink sweet honey. The spiders thrive without issue- a brain was never needed. So tell me, Constant, why I should create what you tell me to."

"Because your creations are weak," said Constant. "The only beings that could possibly survive in our presence should be the beings birthed just as we were. Through Dust and Void."

"I disagree, Constant, but I will concede. I shall make your request."

And so, Altar created the Thulians in their image.

From then, the world moved on. Their Sibling, the first human, never seemed to grow old or age, but the same was not true for their friends. Time after time, Altar would carefully catch the souls before they fled and place them into new vessels. Time after time, separation threatened them, and time after time, Altar prevented their loss.

Before Thulians, there were humans. Before humans there were spiders. Before spiders, there were butterflies. Before butterflies, there were worms. And before worms, there were Gods.

The Thulians were strong and smart, and the humans were quick and clever. Though both creatures were Altar's creations, they loved the humans more than anything.

And their Sibling the absolute most.

Civilization grew, and Altar and Constant watched. Constant roamed the darkest nights, lighting fires upon flies and painting stars across the skies, and Altar basked in the warmest days, turning flowers to the sun and easing rain over crops. Their Sibling still visited from time to time, often with more bad news than good.

"The people are experiencing a drought, Altar. Could I request you gift them with rain to ease their suffering?"

"Something is hunting down the children at night, Altar. Could you consider giving them hounds, to track the creatures down?"

"The harvest this year was scorched by the summer sun, Altar. The people need a mild winter to prevent them from starving."

Without hesitation, Altar would grant their Sibling's request. Each time, something soft and relieved would come over their Sibling's face. A fondness for their species and the god that created them.

Soon, Constant became jealous.

It had created the land they had walked on. Molded the mountains and formed swathes of gorgeous plants for them to walk upon and consume. And yet, it was Altar the humans worshiped. Altar that the Thulians built shrines of. Altar that they turned to when things went bad.

Worst of all, they had chosen the Sibling as their prophet. Whether Altar saw it or not, Constant certainly saw the way the Sibling was treated among their kind. It was with awe and praise. A pious desperation to be closer to the god they loved.

Yes, Constant became very jealous.

And so, Constant formed a plan to destroy the Sibling once and for all. It was not a complicated plan by any means, but a dastardly one all the same. The longer the Sibling roamed the world, the more anger and jealousy and rage built up.

Then, finally, it saw its chance.

Some would consider the event to be a terrible tragedy. An individual being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Only a select few saw the death of the Sibling for what it was: revenge of a furious god.

When news of the Sibling's death reached Altar's ears, the Dusted God fell upon their knees and wept. Their tears birthed fields of glowing blue flowers, soaked in grief and pain. The Thulians took to calling the blossoms Crying Lilies, or Glowing Tear Roots. Either way, their meaning was the same. Altar's agony made it impossible not to glean their meaning.

The world that had once been so dearly loved by Altar now suffered because of them. Continuous storms raged across the land, tearing apart lands and families. Burying massive swathes of earth beneath ocean and carving thick cliffs through the rock.

Constant saw the despair and agony caused by the Sibling's death and quickly took action.

For the first time ever, Constant walked among the mortals Altar had created. Although fear was to be expected, it was clear that nothing could scare the humans and the Thulians more than the tragedies they already were suffering.

And in what many considered to be an act of benevolence, Constant gifted them with its blood.

"The blood of a god holds more power than you can even think of harnessing," promised Constant. "My blood runs through this world, and it is my gift to you. Rebuild your empire stronger than before, my subjects. I can see you using this gift to form technology seen by no others. Technology that no world has ever seen, or will ever see again. This is my gift to you. And this is my promise."

And with the last of its power, Constant locked a grieving Altar away in the moon to rot for eternity.

The disasters came to an end after that. With Altar forever locked away, it was Constant that the humans and Thulians began to worship. They followed the orders of their new god and created technology in its honor.

For some years, Constant reveled in the power. For you see, it was Constant's blood that now powered society. It was taken, refined, reused, recreated, and soon, every inch of the world was covered in it. Translucent, black blood dripped from every crack in every pathway. Just begging to be let out. With every drop of blood spread across the land, Constant felt itself growing stronger and stronger.

The Sibling's friends died, and their souls scattered. Never to be reunited.

And then, the Boy was born.

At first Constant did not even consider the Boy's presence. He was simply another body, another human in what was now several thousand.

But then, the Boy began to grow older, and certain features became more prominent. His face, from a young age, leaned more towards a more androgynous appearance, with high cheekbones and dark eyelashes. His eyes glittered amber and seemed to glow under the light of Altar's prison.

Constant knew this boy was not the Sibling. Their soul had been soundly destroyed many years ago. But still, the resemblance was undeniable.

And Constant was not the only one to notice.

Rumors of the Sibling's rebirth passed with haste through the civilization. Very soon, peasants appeared to the young child, just a babe at the time, with gifts of silks and incense. The Boy lived lavishly, supplied with his every whim by his legion of devotees.

And yet, the Boy remained a modest young lad. He often turned the expensive gifts over to the less fortunate. When questioned, he would simply respond, "I have no need for such things. My belly is full, my family is happy, and my body lives on. The same cannot be said for those these gifts now belong to."

Following his humble lead, many creatures, human and Thulian, turned to showering their less fortunate comrades with gifts when disaster was on its way.

It was a peaceful time in civilization. Kings and vagrants alike looked to the Boy for wisdom and courage, and with less than a decade's age, he would do everything he could to deliver.

But he was just a boy. Born into a family with no wealth to its name, he spent his days in the fields tending to the cattle. He would brush the bovine's fur to a silky sheen with a birchnut wood brush, just as everyone else around him did. He held no status in his position, and that only made him loved more.

At only the tender age of thirteen years, the king that ruled his home died peacefully in his sleep. Left in his wake was a frightening power vacuum. Royal offspring fought amongst themselves and their subjects. It was only logical that the child of the late king be put into power, but the people wanted their chosen prophet to sit on the throne.

Constant became terribly angry at the news of the Boy's rise. While the Boy refused soundly to take the throne he was offered, Constant could not believe the audacity it took to even consider it. Cries over the Boy, naming him blasphemous titles, each one labeling him as an Heir (The One True Heir, or perhaps, simply Young Heir), echoed through Constant's head. The throne had belonged to the Thulians, Constant's chosen people, and now protests broke out over a thirteen-year old human?

This had to stop.

And so, Constant returned to the land once more, shroud in a robe of stardust and glittering with the light of galaxies unknown.

"The Boy will come with me," said Constant. "And my Thulians shall witness as I place him through a trial to determine his bloodline. If the Boy passes, his ascension is meant to be. If he fails, his name shall be forgotten forever, and not a word about him will fall from your mouths."

It was the Boy himself to agree to these terms. He did not believe himself to be strong enough to take the Throne, and at only fourteen years of age, he believed it was best for him to return to being a simple farmer boy.

The Boy was brought to a land no living creature had ever stepped foot in- a world of long hallways and distant winds. With Constant's chosen Thulians as witness, the Voided God spilled its blood and formed its cruelest plan yet.

The Boy had not understood how his story was to end. He had not considered that their god would turn upon him in such a way. He dreamed of returning home to his family as a simple member of their homestead, and could not fathom the idea of never reaching that.

From Constant's spilled blood rose a throne. It smiled pleasantly as it spoke. "Your trial is to sit upon this throne," said Constant. "Should your kinglihood be fated, it will receive you as its own. If not, it shall make you repent for your sins."

"My sins?" Said the Boy. "To what are you speaking of, my god?"

"Your sins are for me to decide," said Constant. "And my eyes have witnessed many."

"But I have lived a life of peace and calm. I live in service of my people, and I always have. I have no interest in becoming king." He spoke with calm patience, as though speaking to a family member rather than the god that created the land he walked on.

To that, Constant said nothing. The throne would see his sins, and the throne would make him suffer for every one.

It is said that the Thulians who returned from the trial wore warstruck expressions and shook with such violence not all of them could stand. The only stories uttered about the fate of the Boy were done in hushed, broken whispers.

"So much blood…"

"The screams…"

"His own innards…"

Constant told the citizens of the world that the ground had swallowed up the Boy, as retribution for his previous life as a false prophet. It never once mentioned the separation between the Boy and the Sibling, and although the Thulians would never speak of it, Constant remembered the Boy's experience with glee.

There had certainly been blood, as the Thulians whispered. Constant had watched the throne's writhing darkness clasp its claws into the Boy and tear him to shreds. When the throne had finished its job, little was left of him. His unholy screams still haunted the minds of the chosen Thulians, late into the night, as they replayed the image of a child prophet's demise over and over again in their nightmares.

The whispers named the torture device the Nightmare Throne.

And yet, Constant was not satisfied. For it saw the one thing the Thulians did not.

The Boy had survived the Throne's onslaught.

His life hanged by a thread, growing ever thinner with every passing millisecond. His chest- what was left of it- convulsed with choked agony that spilled past his lips into soundless whimpers.

Constant hushed the Boy's dying breaths. It drew itself to its knees and pulled him into its embrace, like a mother to her babe. His mouth opened in an empty scream of pain at the movement. Constant could not even begin to guess what images must be fluttering in the Boy's head. After all, the darkness had gouged out one of his eyes, and the skin around the other was so bruised and battered it would be a wonder if he could see.

Constant lowered its head towards the Boy and breathed in his blood. The temptation was strong, and it wasted no time in giving into it as it moved the Boy into a better position to drink his blood.

Constant had never tasted the blood of one of Altar's creatures. It was thick and strong, deep red like the finest wines. It soothed an unknown hunger in the god's stomach, urging it to consume more and more.

Soon, the Boy had nothing left. All that was left was paper-white skin and shallow, dimming breaths. It was then that Constant broke away from its hunger and returned blood to the body of the Boy.

The blood that took its place was slick and translucent. It slowly worked its way through his veins, moving along like slush. The Boy shuddered violently at the sensation and the frigid liquid making its way through his bloodstream.

A soft noise escaped his throat, and through parted lips he begged. "Please, Constant, I beg of you…"

"Hush, my Host," said Constant. "Be still."

The silence Constant craved did not last long. Again, the boy let out a cry as his legs jerked. His skin, once darkened by years under the sun, had turned ashen. Pale shades of blue colored his lips and nailbeds, vibrant amongst stark white skin. His wounds now pulsed with Constant's blood.

The blood hissed and bubbled under the light, burning leathery patches around the Boy's lacerations. Perhaps he was too weak to cry out any further, for he did not react to the burns blossoming on his body.

Once the new blood had settled in the Boy's body, new skin began to quickly grow over the openings. Constant assisted the Boy with standing. Their nearly formed connection through blood pulsed between them, thrumming with the power of a jealous god.

Although the Boy had returned home, his ghostly appearance made him nigh unrecognizable amongst his peers. While the sun shone, he hid himself in the shadows, observing the lives around him with glazed eyes.

While Altar's prison was peaked, the Boy prayed.

On bruised knees and ever-bloodied hands, the Boy sputtered through pleas and prayers to Altar until his throat grew rough and hoarse. Pleas for rescue from the grasp Constant had on his failing body, pleas for a savior, pleas for the sun.

On the darkest of eves, Constant forced the Boy to do heinous things. Things the Boy could never possibly admit to, lest risk finding himself executed for his villainy. He slaughtered beefalo and ewecuses and drank their lifeblood to sate Constant's never ending appetite. He stole away children from their beds and whisked them into the darkness, never to be seen again. Lightless fires sprung from his hands, consuming homes and villages in a matter of hours.

The Boy would often be seen on these dark nights, perched upon thatch roofing or the branches of trees, with eyes that glimmered red. Lightless flames sparked around him, hovering on the strands of his hair and reflected in his eyes.

It was during a quiet winter night, lit only by the full moon far above, that the Boy turned to the last person he could.

It was said there was a single creature who could still commune with their banished god. While many would think this to be the first idea one would think of to communicate with Altar, the Boy knew that speaking with the Guardian risked his life. It was the Guardian's task, after all, to protect the humans and Thulians from threat, and the Boy was the biggest threat of them all.

"Metheus, my Guardian, I beg of your forgiveness and assistance," said the Boy. Covered as he was in blood and dirt, it was a wonder the Guardian did not kill the child upon sight.

However, what Metheus saw was not the grime and blood. It was not the thick slice tearing through his lip, gained while dragging a child into the darkness, or the spot that had bruised purple-black from a beefalo he had murdered.

No, what Metheus saw of the boy was his gaunt appearance, as close to death as the living could get. Visible ribs beneath torn clothing and high cheekbones jutting starkly from his face. Thin wrists and ankles, fragile and delicate as a butterfly's wing, and pallid, sick skin. Black veins pouring into his milky eyes and purple lines slowly tracing the path of his blood vessels up his arms. Sheet sweat plastering his hair and remnants of clothing to his skin, and a violent shiver that betrayed his feverish state.

Metheus saw not a murderer, or a thief, or a liar. What Metheus saw was a terrified, sick, injured boy begging for his help.

And so, Metheus granted it.

"Before the Dusted God was locked away," said Metheus. "They granted us with a single gift. Perhaps they knew what had happened to their Sibling. Or perhaps, they suspected someone would come along and require their assistance. Come with me, child, and I shall grant you the last gift Altar ever passed on to us."

The gift was a sword, crafted of material only known to the god who created it. It was a gorgeous thing, warm to the touch and welcoming to hold. Its impossibly sharp blade glowed and shone a vibrant baby blue in the moonlight, contrasting the deep maroon of the wrapped pommel. The Boy took the weapon with cautious eyes.

"My Guardian, is it wise to gift a murderer with such a finely crafted weapon?" Said the Boy. He was scared and desperate, but he feared a stronger weapon in his hands just as he feared the god that would control them in the darkness. "Nothing but harm will befall the people in this world if this sword falls into my hands."

"That is where you are incorrect, child," said Metheus. "For this weapon was crafted by Altar themselves, and they knew whose hands it would eventually grace. This weapon cannot harm the common folk. Livestock and innocents cannot feel the touch of the blade. Even if violence is intended, its victim will always remain unharmed.

Its purpose, though," he continued. "Is to banish poison. Poison of the body, yes- of birchnutter stings and spider meat, day mushrooms and rot- but poison of the soul as well. The poison of darkness not your own. I believe it is the only hope of banishing Constant from your soul."

The Boy gazed upon the weapon with a new understanding. A beautiful weapon, seemingly crafted for him alone to use to banish the demon he had become.

"However," said Metheus. "I believe you should wait. I believe they had discovered something that would intrigue you."

"Intrigue me?" Exclaimed the Boy. "What could possibly be more important than the lives of thousands?"

"Constant shall not control your hands until the next dark night," said Metheus. "You have time to greet an old friend."

For what the Boy did not know was that something had happened underground. The Thulians had discovered a Splumonkey child who had harnessed the magic of an old artifact that had lay dormant for decades. This child, as it was, was certainly not like the rest of its kind, and believed to be a genetic anomaly.

The Boy followed the Guardian's directions despite his confusion. As he traveled to meet the young Splumonkey, his eyes cleared for the first time in years and his shoulders fell. A breath, fresher than any other, filled his chest. It was as though he had fallen back into himself.

As he greeted the Splumonkey, it was impossible not to notice their familiarity. The love the two seeming strangers had for one another. They spoke with friendly voices and using the names of the other, despite having not been told previously.

For this was both the first time and the millionth that the Boy and the Splumonkey had met. The Splumonkey's soul had lived on past the Sibling he was created to befriend, but he had found a new purpose in guarding this Boy who looked so much like him.

Before words or speech or even true acknowledgment, the Boy and the Splumonkey already knew who they were, and they had already forged a bond stronger than steel.

Memories of lives stretched out behind them. Of more than just the life of a possessed Boy and outlier Splumonkey.

The Boy remembered late nights by a campfire, laughing or speaking from his soul.

The Splumonkey remembered the Boy speaking with a rough throat as he dragged himself from the sand.

The Boy remembered playing a game with the Splumonkey, blindfolding him and appraising his ability to recognize different fruits by taste.

The Splumonkey remembered holding the Boy through nights of terror. Standing beside him as his fur turned ashen and his face became gaunt.

And yet, this peace was not to last. For Constant grew angered at the Boy's sudden happiness. It could feel a wall forming between their bond, and it would not let the Boy go so easily.

It would destroy the entire world it had created to prevent losing its grip on the Boy.

And it was in that moment, caught in the throes of Constant's rage and burdened with the knowledge of possession, the Boy took the sword he had been gifted and plunged it into his stomach to rid the world of such an evil once and for all.

The Splumonkey, terrified for his life, fled.

The Boy died alone as a Martyr.

Constant could feel the power tearing through its soul. It screamed against the pain, such a new sensation for a god. It had never felt pain before, and this was more than just pain. It was the sensation of being torn apart. The sensation of light pouring into it with such fervor that its skin split under the pressure and black blood flooded from the wounds torn into its body.

No grief or guilt was felt on the Boy's part as Constant was torn apart. After all, the wounds caused by Altar's sword mirrored the ones the Boy had received from the Nightmare Throne.

From Constant's shattering rose two creatures. The pieces of Constant that had been split apart by the power of the Sword of the Martyr.

From the pieces of Constant's body rose a being known as Nightmare. Nightmare was cursed to prowl the inky nights in search of a host to contain its failing body. With the edges of nonexistence constantly threatening it, Nightmare was not afraid to enforce its will upon others in much the same way Constant once had. A creature with no appearance of its own, fighting to keep a hold of its own crumbling self and doing so in the most cruel way possible.

From the pieces of Constant's soul rose a being known as Auraris. Auraris was cursed to flutter forever on the edges of perception. Forever invisible, Auraris learned to appear in dreams and speak through people, but without the sheer power that Nightmare had taken from it, Auraris had little control over them.

Nightmare's strength was overpowering and heavy. Spoken of to be dangerous and eternal; once Nightmare's icy grip had frozen over your heart, nothing would be left of you except loss.

Auraris's strength was fleeting and light. It was doomed to forever be an observer, speaking only through those overflowing with the qualities that it represented.

Integrity. Tenacity. Love. Forgiveness.

Innocence.

Again and again, the cycle turns.

Nightmare turns to Them, the Eternal Observers, and They feast upon its ideals as vultures upon a carcass.

Auraris is doomed to watch and wait.

One by one, the souls Altar had once created to befriend their Creation return home, each one beckoned forth by the promise of something they want.

The Gentleman Scientist. Knowledge.

The Soulless Automaton. Belonging.

The Handywoman. Her family.

The Monkey King. Power.

…

…

The Sibling is gone.

But forever standing in his place is a Boy. A Boy who is cursed to suffer, over and over, from Constant's cruel grasp. A Boy doomed to lose himself to darkness. Who fights and spits and curses. Who breaks over and over again, leaving his companions to pick up his shattered pieces. A Boy doomed to fall to Nightmare.

Auraris tries to fight it. It leads the Boy along, speaking through him and his friends.

"I have shown Integrity.

"I have shown Tenacity.

"I have been shown Love.

"I forgive."

It leads the Boy along for hope of ending the cycle.

Again and again, the cycle turns.

Auraris tries to fight it. Auraris gives everything to fight it.

But Nightmare always wins.

As Darkness shall always prevail.