Prologue: the Son of the Chaotic Plane

In a dark, musky cavern, there laid a battered and bruised young man. Somewhere between the age of 17 and 18, he had very pale skin; deathly pale even, from a seemingly-obvious lack of sunlight. His hair was dark black and, although unable to be seen at the time, so were his pupils. His build could not be considered strong; in fact, he seemed frail, as if a gust of wind could grind him to dust, to powder for which not even plants would vie for as fertilizer.

Yet, within this frail youth, there seemed an undying sense of profoundness. A sense which could only be described as... serenity.

He was not from this world. He... was not from any world. He... was not human either. Nor was he... alive until this very moment.

No, rather, he was a thought. A manifestation of a festering will; a conglomeration of knotted threads in the blanket of fate. If one were to ask the gods what exactly he, no, it was... they would not know. In fact, they would feel fearful. For only disaster comes from the unknown, they would say. For only chaos can come from a pure child of the Flux Plane.

Yes, for it, no, he was the child of the Flux Plane. The... only child of the Flux Plane. For millenniums of millenniums, since the Dawn of Time, even before mana was birthed by the Chaotic Spring, the Flux Plane had been. Actually, even before the Dawn of Time.

It would be more accurate to say that the Flux Plane... was the origin of time.

Flux is the embodiment of everything; everywhere there exists flux. Yet no one, gods and mortals alike, had ever known that flux was not a mere tool bourn for immortals, but a will that encompasses the truth of all.

And this unknown being gave birth to a frail young man after eons of waiting.

He was a being... born to bring ease to calamity.

However, all of this was unimportant and unbeknownst to the young man, as he opened his eyes and experienced the beauty of life, the harmony of nature, and the presence of emotion for the first time.