The world was nothing more than a cloak of darkness, unbroken by the bustle of life. And yet, something began to glow from deep within. In the belly of the darkness, the embers of the first light began to glimmer and spark. First, it was gentle and warm, but then it began to grow and grow. The light began to shine with such luminosity, the cloak erupted into flames, rippling colours of silver and sulfur from it's core, before the expanding center reached beyond the Nothing into the Everywhere. Two eyes flickered awake.
Illos shifted to life, his mind bubbling between the many realms. He beheld the world around him, rippling with unimaginable light that fought against pockets of darkness. Illos watched the tears between the two forces shift and turn against themselves, ripping deeper and deeper into the planes.
This will not do, Illos thought to himself. The Lught and the Dark, they bicker between one another. They both seek to fill the Nothing, but the Nothing cannot be shared. I shall give them something to solve their plight.
And so from the Nothing, Illos procured the heavens. The darkness and light ceased for a moment, before bolting towards the canvas Illos created. They washed the paper rich navy and cream, the inks continuously shifting like a water's current. But the darkness and the light were still not content, their dance drowning one-another. They had something to share, but it could not be called their own.
A gift for each, I will give you, Illos said. You shall then be content.
So once-more, something was brought forth from nothing. For the Darkness, Illos granted a flute, from which infinite melodies could be formed. For the Light, Illos gave brushes of scarlet, gold, and lazuli, with which infinite cosmos could be painted. The Darkness and the Light explored their newfound gifts, racing alognside one another as the canvas they shared became an illustration of brillient constellations and stars and planets and moons.
Illos admired from afar as his brothers played together. Yes, the Light and Darkness were finally content, but what of Illos himself? He looked upon his siblings creations and found something was missing. A sense of dissatifaction plagued him while his mind coiled and whinned with yearning. For what did he need? Something to share? Something to call his own? Most certainly not! He was not his siblings.
I am conent, like them. This must be the true sense of satisfaction, Illos concluded.
And yet, his mind continued to howl. He was what brought forth the only joys his siblings have known. He was the bringer of the worlds and the cosmos and the Everything. So why? WHY?
In a fit of rage, Illos shot across the galaxy. He crashed planets to dust, and launched the suns apart as he twisted and knotted himself through the heavens. He stamped the Light into Nothing. He gnashed his fangs into the skies, distorting them into slicks of fog. He frightened the Darkness into the recesses of time. The flute shattered. The paintbrush splintered. Illos screamed fire from his lungs, ricocheting comets for millennia to come. The world so carefully crafted was torn to shreds, each piece drifting farther and farther apart.
As Illos' energy wore thin, and blood that flooded his veins slowed to a mere trickle, he began to settle. He slumped into a state of rest, and would not wake for another hundred years.
When he finally awoke, his mind was finally clear, but now he could see that which he had not been able to in his fury. His siblings were nowhere to be found. He called out to them, but all was in vain. His brothers were gone, and all that remained was the canvas they left behind, but the world his siblings had painted was now fully disintegrated, with no chance for repair. The only remains were the few kindlings of a small sun and the remnants of a great planet.
Tears welled in the eyes of Illos, the great beast. With the utmost fragility, he swept together the crubling remains. He studied the rubble and ash before him, and only then realized what emotion had earlier plagued him: Envy.
But it was too late now. His siblings were gone. The only remains of them were now in ruin. He could never bring it back the brilliance it once was. And yet, there was a feeling simmering deep inside of him. He couldn’t place the words, but maybe… yes… maybe it was hope. It was possible he could fix things, although the cost was heavy, and it could never be the same. With a final, remorseful breath, Illos expended his soul into the debris before him. As he felt the last of his life leave his body, Illos began to fear his plan was all but a farce; would he die leaving only a meaningless husk and shattered family in his wake?
But as he closed his eyes for the final time, he saw the faintest glimmer of movement. Yes. He may have destroyed what he loved, but that glimmer. Maybe they could revive what little remained of the lovingly crafted universe.