HITH: Origins

In the beginning, there was the Void.

And in the Void, there was Silence.

Not the silence of peace, but the silence of unbeing —

for there was nothing yet to hear, nor any to hear it.

But even in that endless stillness, something stirred:

the Mother, she who is the Womb of All Things,

Drawn by a resonance in the dark,

she moved through the Void.

And in the farthest reaches of the abyss,

she found the Father —

a single point of blinding light, burning alone.

A star beyond stars.

She drew near.

She basked in his warmth.

She drank of his light and fell into a Dream

deeper than the ages themselves.

In that infinite Dream, she imagined.

In imagining, she conceived.

And from her dreaming were born Twelve Children —

spirits of unfathomable beauty and power,

each carrying the essence of their Mother’s life

and their Father’s fire.

And around their Mother, they danced —

singing what could be, what might be, what ought to be.

Each song a note in the great symphony of becoming.

Each movement a stroke on the canvas of creation.

Each bore a name among the stars:

• Malahdel, the Instigator, whose courage blazes as the pioneer of new dawns;
• Asmodel, the Builder, whose stability anchors the chaos of unformed worlds;
• Ambriel, the Voice, whose heralded words spark connection across the void;
• Muriel, the Guardian, whose compassion nurtures the fragile dreams of life;
• Verchiel, the Radiant, whose sovereign light commands the tides of glory;
• Hamaliel, the Seeker, whose truth unveils the hidden currents of the cosmos;
• Zuriel, the Balancer, whose regulation holds the scales of cosmic harmony;
• Barbiel, the Transformer, whose renewal reshapes endings into new beginnings;
• Advachiel, the Wanderer, whose exploration charts the untraveled expanse;
• Aniel, the Shepherd, whose ambition guides the lost to towering heights;
• Cambiel, the Vessel, whose intuition cradles the mysteries of the deep;
• Barchiel, the Healer, whose fortune weaves blessings into the fabric of fate.

Their dance wove the first patterns of thought and desire

into the black beyond.

The Mother smiled in her sleep.

And the Father burned brighter, nourished by her joy.

But from the afterbirth of her Dream,

there came another.

The Thirteenth.

Born not of harmony but of dissonance.

Born not of hope but of hunger.

Born not of the Dream — but of its edge.

He was called Kundaliel, the Master.

The shadow beneath light.

The will that would not yield.

He beheld the Dream — and sorrowed.

He saw that to dream was to long, and to long was to suffer.

He saw in the Father’s light not a gift, but a snare —

binding all that might be into endless thirst.

And so Kundaliel sought to end the Dream.

To bring Silence back to the Void, perfect and unchanging.

In the pause between songs, Kundaliel betrayed.

He reached into the Father’s heart,

and with an all consuming wound, he struck.

The Father, who could have resisted, chose instead to yield —

for having seen all ends he knew,

that only through free will, even the freedom to destroy,

could life truly be born.

And with that wound, the First Sundering came.

The light of the Father burst forth — not in death, but in scattering.

It tore across the Void,

unmaking silence into Time,

into Matter,

into Energy.

The First Breath of Creation filled the darkness.