The silence returned.
After Alex emerged from the void and infused the newborn cosmos with the first pulse — the primordial rhythm of all energy — he stepped away from the First Firmament. His presence, like the echo of a forgotten drumbeat, faded slowly into the folds of space, until not even the fabric of the Firmament could sense his weight. He had vanished.
Not departed. Not dead. Just... gone.
The First Firmament, newly awakened and made conscious by his own struggle and the unexpected arrival of Alex, sat in contemplation. The vast cosmos was still expanding, still unfolding its rules and writing its laws. But now, the laws had rhythm. Flow. Balance.
Yet something lingered in the afterglow of creation — an ache. Not physical. Not even emotional. Deeper. Existential.
Loneliness.
The Firmament — the very soul of the First Cosmos — had been birthed alone. It had tried to sing creation into being, only to falter. Then, in its need, came Alex. The Answer. The Pulse. The Necessity. But now that Alex was gone, hidden behind veils no eye could pierce, the Firmament once more found itself alone in the stars.
It mourned, though it did not understand the word yet.
A billion years passed like glimmers of dust. The First Cosmos swirled and expanded, a tapestry of growing complexity. Black holes yawning in silence. Nebulae dancing like flames of forgotten thoughts. Time thickened, gravity molded galaxies, but the Firmament remained still.
And within the deepest recesses of that stillness, Alex watched.
He sat on a non-existent throne in a realm outside of causality, formed by his own energy. The tea in his hands shimmered like liquid aurora — not created from matter, but brewed from conceptual energy. Purity distilled into calm. He sipped.
Next to him sitting with him was One Above All — or perhaps, simply watched through all things.
They didn't speak often.
"He's lonely," Alex murmured, taking another sip.
OAA didn't answer with words. He merely looked ahead, through the void, where the Firmament pulsed weakly, its light still recovering from the birth of Alex.
"You helped him create me," Alex said after a while, narrowing his eyes.
The One Above All looked sideways, faintly amused. "He asked, even if he didn't know he was asking."
"I know."
Another sip. The stars in his eyes dimmed slightly.
"Do you regret it?"
"No," Alex said softly with a hint of guilt knowing in his heart still there resided a small young boy that has not vanished . "But I won't step in. Not yet. He has to walk further. The story hasn't begun he has face many things even the betrayal of his own creation first generation of celestials and be blown to pieces to create the first multiverse or the 2nd Cosmos , so even if he has to blown for it he has to do it only then will interesting things will come. "
"OAA hearing the guilt of tone in Alex's voice says to Alex you don't have to feel guilty this was supposed to happen."
"Alex nods hearing this saying I know about this but I will let him live with a fragment not like in the comic that he had to linger with his powers being divided again and again"
Five hundred million years later...
The Firmament stirred.
The quiet had grown unbearable. Despite the stars and galaxies now glittering across the canvas of existence, despite time flowing and space stretching, there remained only one voice — his own.
He missed the presence.
Alex's emergence had sparked something in him — a sense of reflection, interaction, meaning. It wasn't enough to be a god of solitude. The void had been beautiful in its silence, but now the Firmament yearned for harmony.
And so, finally strong enough again to stretch his essence, the First Firmament breathed deeply into himself.
And began to create.
Not as he had with Alex — for that had been something beyond his own making. That had been fate, necessity, and the nudge of something far greater.
This was different. This was intent.
"I shall not be alone again," the Firmament said, his voice weaving through the stars like the chime of cosmic bells.
From fragments of his own being, he molded the first children of the cosmos:
The Celestials.
Each a titanic expression of concept, not bound to biology or even singular identity. They emerged as blazing figures — tall as stars of the universe, cloaked in radiant armors forged from the bedrock of reality. Each bore colors no eye could see, and each pulsed with unique frequencies of intent.
They were not simply guardians or builders.
They were tools of creation, made by a lonely universe that feared silence more than it feared destruction.
Then came The Aspirants — lesser than the Celestials, yet still grand beyond comprehension. They were made not from thought but from echoes. Where Celestials were divine brushes painting existence, the Aspirants were their shadows, following, learning, copying but loyal to the first firmament their ownly god .
The Firmament smiled for the first time since Alex's departure.
His children danced. They sang into the stars, building worlds, arranging particles, sowing the seeds of life on a billion barren worlds.
The music of creation finally had a chorus.
Far beyond all perception, Alex watched it unfold.
He floated at the edge of the cosmos, a silhouette seated in a void of conceptual darkness, sipping from his cup. His energy tea sparkled again — but this time, with flavors of curiosity.
"You knew he'd create them once he was strong again."
"I hoped," OAA finally said. "Creation was never meant to be done alone."
Alex nodded. His starlight eyes glowed faintly.
"The Celestials will grow. The Aspirants will learn. They'll clash, too. Eventually, they'll forget their origin, rewrite their purpose, and the first generation of celestials will rebel against even their own function and The First Firmament ."
"Yes."
Alex took another sip.
"I'll still wait. I won't interfere."
"You already are," OAA said with a quiet smile.
Alex raised an eyebrow.
"You exist," the supreme being said. "That is all the interference that's needed."
Alex laughed, the sound like gravitational waves across forgotten galaxies.
"I suppose that's true."
He stood, stretching his limbs. Each movement sent out soft pulses that sparked infant stars into brighter life in distant reaches of the cosmos. He waved his hand, and the teacup vanished.
"I'll rest now. The Seventh Cosmos is still a long way away."
He turned, beginning to step into the conceptual shadows again.
Before he vanished, he looked once more at the Celestials below — glowing, noble, childlike and mighty.
And he whispered:
And then, silence reclaimed the hidden watcher.
But creation had only just begun.