Entropy (3) is a vampire diaries fan fantic. Final

homecoming part 3.

Cassandra began telling her family about her lineag, the child of fathers. In the primordial dawn, there existed a singular infinitude, an undivided essence that wove through the fabric of all universes. These cosmic architects held dominion over existence itself, orchestrating the symphony of creation.

Yet, on that fateful day, they sundered. The once-unified force fragmented into seven distinct aspects:

Chaos: The tempest, wild and untamed. It danced with unpredictability, birthing stars and quasars, tearing through dimensions
like a celestial wildfire.

Order: The weaver of cosmic tapestries. It wove threads of causality, stitching together fate and destiny, imposing structure upon chaos.

Creation: The gentle sculptor, hands dusted with stardust. It shaped galaxies, breathed life into planets, and whispered secrets to nascent civilizations .

Death, the silent reaper, awaited its cue. It was not a harbinger of doom but rather a necessary companion, weaving the fabric of existence. For without death, life's dance would lack rhythm, its steps eternal and monotonous.

Destruction, the cosmic sculptor, emerged from the void. Its chisel carved galaxies, stars, and nebulae. It shattered old forms, birthing new ones. In its wake, celestial cataclysms birthed novae and black holes, etching cosmic poetry across the expanse.

Time, the weaver of moments, wove threads of causality. It stitched together epochs, from the fiery birth of stars to their eventual demise. Time danced with gravity, orchestrating cosmic ballets where planets pirouetted and galaxies twirled.

Darkness, the cosmic cloak, enveloped all. It was not mere absence but a canvas for possibility. Within its ebony folds, stars ignited, birthing light that painted the night sky. Darkness cradled secrets-the whispers of quasars, the echoes of ancient supernovae.

And then there was Void, the silent observer. It witnessed it all the birth and death, creation, and annihilation. Void held the paradox: emptiness pregnant with potential, silence pregnant with symphonies.

And so, Cassandra tale echoed across the cosmos a whispered truth veiled in myth. The Child of the Fathers, bearing the legacy of that primal unity, stood at the crossroads of existence, her heart a constellation of paradoxes.

Across another town, Entropy was reminisce about their shared past two how it was before everything.

As I was about to continue with the rest of the story, a sound of crunchness was heard. I turn to the sound to find chaos eating toast and jelly. I raise my brows at them.

" Sorry child, continue." They apologize while smirking.

I turn to the gang to see them with mouth wide open.

As they are still shocked that suck things exist . So, I decided to give them a visional aide.

I eyes glow as I project how the universe looks in the living room.

They all glamor and are in awe of what they were seeing.

After the Infinitude Split, when the cosmic fabric tore asunder, the Still-those ancient beings who had witnessed the birth and death of countless universes-found themselves in a peculiar predicament Their existence was one of equilibrium, a delicate balance between creation and destruction, order, and chaos. But eternity had dulled their senses, and the monotony of cosmic governance weighed heavily upon them.

In their celestial reverie, they conceived a novel idea: children. Not in the mortal sense, but as cosmic archetypes, embodiments of fundamental forces. These celestial offspring would inherit the mantle of existence, weaving destinies, shaping galaxies, and dancing across the tapestry of reality.