The Primordial Truth of the God of Dust

The birth of the God of Dust can be traced back to the Era of Chaos, a time before the very concept of time came into being, an age devoid of history and historical records.

As one of the Ancients, her true form could utterly disregard the laws of space and time, casting her gaze across countless worlds simultaneously.

The Dustfolk were created in imitation of her primordial appearance.

Once, simply out of a fondness for “fireworks,” she glanced upon the world where the Kordylite Civilization resided.

The sheer potency of that gaze transcended eons, reaching back to the very moment of the world’s genesis, and there, it etched itself into the world’s crystalline core as a prophecy of annihilation.

Thus, it could be said that from the world’s nascent beginnings, its demise was already predestined.

She merely forewarned us of this fate.

Yet, in the end, we failed to seize the optimal opportunity.

Within the Immaculate Realm, as we engaged in increasingly frequent communion with the myriad Dustfolk, we came to comprehend her true power more profoundly.

It was a concept defying all attempts at linguistic summation.

Chief Deity? Creator God? Conceptual God?

If divine ranks were to be used, the God of Dust’s station would undeniably transcend that of all other deities.

Beings of her kind, however, bore a unified appellation: Primordial Constructs.

They originated from nothingness, preceding all existence.

As entities akin to Conceptual Gods, they approached even closer to the fundamental essence of all rules and laws than the Conceptual Gods themselves.

If the God of Death symbolized demise and wielded the authority to decree life and death, then a Primordial Construct would be the true deity who predated the concept of death and brought it into being.

To discern whether a deity was a Primordial Construct, one needed only to ascertain if they possessed the ability to forge Truths.

And Truths, within the Starfield, were concepts whose priority superseded all others.

Each Truth forged by a Primordial Construct was utterly unique.

They might bear resemblances, but they were never identical.

Mortals, moreover, could infer their patterns of behavior through these Truths.

Inconspicuous Truths drifted like ephemeral breezes, often eluding human perception entirely.

Conversely, prominent Truths eternally enveloped the entire Starfield, akin to an immense, never-dispersing tempest that filled the cosmos with ceaseless lightning and sparks.

The resounding clashes emanating from this tempest drew countless mortals to pursue them throughout their entire lives.

For instance, the Truths wielded by the creators of the Laws of Reason included Order, Eternity, Fate, Chaos, and the Void.

The collision of these five distinct Truths gave rise to the primary systems that currently govern the Starfield.

Furthermore, a multitude of other Truths, in various forms, subtly influenced everything mortals encountered.

Despite their vast disparities—some being antithetical, others complementary—these Truths shared a single commonality: they could permeate any domain of reality within the Starfield, utterly unconstrained by spatial limits.

With but a single thought from a Primordial Construct, the primordial power inherent in a Truth could destabilize the very logic and rules of all material worlds.

The magnificent God of Dust, for her part, forged a Truth that embodied the very essence of observation and record-keeping, a Truth we have named Origin.

To express it more plainly, this Truth granted one the ability to glimpse the entirety of the river of time, to comprehend the past and future of disparate worlds, to discern the causality between events, and to deduce all possible outcomes of interwoven occurrences—a state akin to omniscience.

Similarly, she who mastered the Truth of Origin could also wield “omniscience” in reverse.

By tampering with the perceptions of all observers, she could render reality unpredictable to everyone.

Alternatively, she could sever the channels of information dissemination, plunging stable material worlds into an impenetrable fog.

The Immaculate Realm itself was a consequence of this power’s interference.

At any given moment, we could witness wondrous phenomena within this place.

A diminutive imp drifting upon a river might, in its true form, be a main-sequence God of Death from the Shadow Plane.

A nascent sapling emerging from ashes could be the Tree of Life from the Prism World.

And a wild boar slumbering beneath a canopy of leaves might, in fact, be the Creator of a vast, interconnected world.

Within the Immaculate Realm, meticulously crafted by the God of Dust, deities from diverse planes and worlds maintained forms both nascent and fragile, a testament to how their divine stations had been compressed into insignificant existences by the Truth of Origin.

This alone sufficed to illustrate her formidable true power.

Simultaneously, the God of Dust’s true form was the most colossal being within this very plane.

Anyone who simply raised their gaze could glimpse a fragment of her true self.

Across the sky of the Immaculate Realm, the souls of myriad Dustfolk interlinked, forming silver-grey sky lanterns that collectively wove a colossal celestial net, meticulously analyzing the information within the ocean.

Behind this celestial tapestry, a grey-white eye coldly observed all.

The entire expanse where the Dustfolk congregated lay contained within one of her eyeballs.

Shifting one’s perspective upwards, this eyeball, along with countless others, adhered to a translucent tentacle.

It extracted information upwards, uploading the significant portions to the brain nestled within the dome.

Astonishingly, such tentacles intertwined to form an endless jungle.

As we gazed upward, all the colossal eyeballs, whether open or closed, similarly directed their gaze towards the expanse of pristine, utterly blank sky above—far beyond the celestial vault, an immense, transparent jellyfish enveloped the entirety of the Immaculate Realm, its countless eyes gazing down upon the teeming multitude of beings.

When she opened her eyes, the chaotic fluctuations from the Starfield would flow into her body, crystallizing into pure knowledge.

Subsequently, the power of Origin would dismantle and assimilate these refined crystals, recording them as meaningful history and channeling them into this nameless sea.

Anyone willing to delve deeply could uncover these histories.

Whether to repeat past errors or to forge new paths, the omniscient God of Dust had already revealed the answers to all.

Yet, the ultimate outcome would invariably be determined by mortals themselves.

Such was the truth concerning her.

She knew all, yet refrained from wantonly altering reality with this power, choosing instead to be an ordinary witness, as indifferent as dust.

She was a truly existing deity, taciturn yet fulfilling her duty in silence: to observe and record all histories of the Starfield without prejudice.

And within the Immaculate Realm, on occasion, we could discern her chanting a ballad carried on the wind: “The flames of order consumed the words upon the scrolls, while the winds of disorder shall scatter the dust towards the shores of ultimate oblivion.”

The Dustfolk had long since abandoned all that they once possessed, ascending to a higher dimensional existence, yet they still found themselves unable to fully decipher her song.

We only knew that before this profound Truth, all beings were equal, and all things would ultimately return to dust.

The Kordylite Civilization, once glorious for myriad ages, was nothing more than a handful of sand left behind in a barren desert by her inadvertent action.

Furthermore, countless other civilizations and ancient beings, far more formidable, had all bowed before the might of the Ancients.

Compared to her profound wisdom, the existence of the Dustfolk was utterly negligible.

Nevertheless, we continued to link our souls, ceaselessly striving to approach that figure in our mortal forms.

We yearned to touch upon her Truth.

In the end, we never truly comprehended the purpose behind the God of Dust taking us in.

In this exchange, we gained eternal life, yet were unable to perform any task for her.

The observation capabilities of that jellyfish utterly dwarfed those of all the Dustfolk combined.

A single eyeball, which we termed a “sub-entity,” already possessed a computational efficiency surpassing that of myriad Dustfolk combined.

What, then, was the meaning of our existence? Surely, we were not merely clay figures she fashioned for her amusement?

Perhaps she awaited an opportune moment.

She remained in a state of suppression.

Perhaps, in a future she herself could not calculate, she would take action and issue us further commands.

She was undeniably orchestrating something.

Perhaps she anticipated a resplendent feast of ultimate oblivion, a single magnificent fireworks display ignited upon the destruction of the Starfield.

When that day arrived, she would raise a new banner, leading us, her half-dead followers, to expend our final vestiges of warmth and purpose.

Should that day ever truly dawn, we would undoubtedly offer the fervent flames of our souls to our deity.

However, these were nothing more than the ravings of a group of the forsaken.

Before such a future genuinely manifested, I implore you all, listen quietly to the echoes of the wind.

To all dust, both ignorant and fearless.