Kanna (wip)

Strands: Early Threads of the Weave--Just Another Creation Myth

Elohah singular

Elohim Plural

Weik- seven days for an Elohah (approx. 7 million years)Deae- a day for an Elohah ( approx.. 1 million years)

            Before existence, before time itself, there was nothing, and the nothing was everything. Many people mistake what the nothing was. It was not an empty void, it held all the atoms, the subatomic particles, the very building blocks of existence… but the connections that would be used to form matter didn’t exist. So there was nothing, but it was full of everything, like the ingredients to a buffet waiting for a chef.            Then there was an event. The first event, a starting point from which time could be measured. Some today call it ‘The Big Bang’, but we know it as the awakening. Specifically, the awakening of the Elohim, the race that existed before time. The Elohim were by all accounts, gods. They were small enough to perceive the subatomic as universes to themselves and large enough that the entirety of existence fit in the palm of their hands.            They were the creators, each capable of making an entire universe which they commanded, with rules unique to themselves. Hundreds of universes were made, some were made where time could only be visualized second by second, others where time ran continually. One universe where gravity filled any object of mass, another had gravity collect mass around it, and a third where both were true.            The universes grew in number, replacing the nothingness of existence. Deae after deae new universes were made, then they began to fade away. The Elohim may have ruled over the universes they created, but they did not tend to their creations, so they fell into disrepair and tore themselves apart. The Elohim did not care what happened to their creations once they were made, they simply enjoyed the act of creation itself.            All but one.

            In one small corner of existence there was a universe which still stood from the origin of it’s creator. Unlike the other Elohim, this Elohah had remained and watched over his creation. His name was Kanna. He took the time to pick out the specific rules of his universe, pillars that would support his creation and help maintain it. He spent a weik on each planet that he formed within. He took care separating light and dark, the sea from the sky, building the land and the plants, each individual star and moon, and the creatures of each, ending with a caretaker for each planet. He would then rest a deae before starting on the next life giving world.            After a billion years (merely 1123 weiks for the Elohah) his universe was finished. He was proud of his creation, and went to his siblings to show it off. At first the other Elohim laughed at him, for in all this time he had only made a single universe, whereas even the least of them had made a hundred.

But the Elohim soon came to realize there was something more about this universe Kanna had created. It existed not on a single thread of time, but in an uncountable number of timelines, all winding and twisting upon one another… more importantly, new threads of time grew out of the old. New strands of the universe would form from these threads, and thus Kanna’s universe grew… and grew more stable as the process continued.

            In time, the Elohim became curious. They would enter into Kanna’s universe and watch these strands form. They would witness that while some Strands would crack and tear themselves apart, as their own universes had done, the majority continued to twist their way through what we know of as Timeless Limbo. These Elohim went between the Strands, watching, waiting, learning… and it was here in the Timeless Limbo they encountered the Pillars

This didn’t last long, for as the other Elohim looked over Kanna’s universe, they saw that not only was it sturdy, but it grew on its own. New life was created, and spread through the worlds with minimal guidance. Though Entropy was present, life did not falter, nor did it grow too great. A balance thought too precarious to attempt, had been achieved. Some of the Elohim took notes, and returned to long abandoned projects to correct problems whose solutions once eluded them. Other Elohim were envious of such success, and attempted to destroy, or at least to corrupt Kanna’s creation.            That was when they learned something so horrible it terrified the gods. The life Kanna had created… it did more than thrive. It worshipped their creator, grateful for their existence… and this worship gave Kanna greater powers than any of them had witnessed before.

In the Timeless Limbo, where the corpses of a thousand failed universes drift like torn sails, the Elohim play.They are children of the First Event—beings of impossible scale who birth realities the way mortals exhale. Most create and abandon: universes of frozen time, of singing gravity, of thought-made-flesh. They grow bored within a deae and move on.Only one Elohah lingers.Kanna crafts a single cosmos with deliberate, almost tender patience.He spends a weik on each law of physics, tasting it like wine.He separates light from dark not with a word but with a sigh.He sculpts nebulae the way a potter turns clay, planets the way a gardener prunes roses.He seeds life—simple, stubborn, rejoicing in its own existence—and watches it learn to worship.While his siblings laugh at the slowness of his work, Kanna discovers something none of them ever have: the creatures he made begin to pray.Their prayers are crude—sun songs, stone idols, blood on altars—but every prayer is a thread of pure belief that flows back across the quantum firmament and settles into Kanna’s being like warm gold.He grows brighter.He grows vast.He grows quiet with wonder.When he finally unveils his finished universe—an ever-branching, ever-growing tapestry of timelines—the other Elohim fall silent.For the first time, one of their kind has created something that feeds its creator instead of bleeding him dry.Act 2: The Feast of Faith (4,000 words)The Elohim descend in droves.They walk Kanna’s worlds wearing borrowed flesh: as comets, as prophets, as golden calves.They demand worship, sacrifice, terror, ecstasy.Most receive nothing.Their universes were never built to hold belief; the prayers slip through their fingers like smoke.Kanna, tended by civilizations that now span galaxies and timelines, drinks oceans of faith.With every prayer he grows more real, more present, until even the other Elohim must shield their eyes from his radiance.He becomes the first among them to be called omniscient—not because he sees all, but because the collective gaze of trillions constantly describes reality to him.He becomes omnipotent—not because he can do all things, but because belief itself begins to reshape physics in his image.The Elohim’s laughter turns to envy, then to fear, then to fury.In hidden folds of the Timeless Limbo they gather—hundreds of them, ancient and proud—and swear a covenant:“Kanna must fall, or we all become his shadows.”They need a weapon that can strike across every strand of his living multiverse at once.They turn to the first life Kanna ever created: the Host—beings of light and air that danced between the newborn stars before planets had names.Act 3: The Forging of the Host and the Stripping of Choice (3,500 words)In a crucible forged from the dying hearts of a dozen failed universes, the Elohim remake the Host.They bind death to rebirth: when a Host dies, it is instantly reborn elsewhere, memory intact, numbers unchanging.They grant passage not only between timelines but through the quantum firmament itself—the membrane that separates all universes.They gift them a single, burning purpose: infiltrate every strand of Kanna’s creation, drink the faith before it reaches him, and starve the Slow God.The Host become immortal, tireless, beautiful beyond bearing—angels to some, locusts to others.On the day the reforged Host step into Kanna’s multiverse, reality itself rings like a struck bell.Kanna feels the theft immediately—prayers flickering out, temples burning, entire timelines going suddenly, terrifyingly silent.For the first time in a billion years he is afraid.He meets the Host on the edge of a thousand dying strands and speaks a single word that was never meant to exist:“Obey.”Faith, weaponized, becomes chains.He strips the Host of choice.He binds their renewal to absolute obedience.He turns the invaders into the first unwilling servants of his living cosmos—guardians who will hate him for all eternity yet be incapable of raising a hand against him.The Elohim watch in horror as their perfect weapon kneels.Kanna turns his gaze outward, across the Limbo, and for the first time the other Elohim feel what mortals feel when a god looks directly at them.He does not speak.He does not need to.The war has begun.Epilogue: The Long Defiance (~1,000 words)In the Timeless Limbo, the Elohim regroup, diminished but unbroken.They cannot destroy Kanna directly—his worshippers are too many, his timelines too resilient.But they have learned patience from watching him.They begin to craft subtler weapons: doubt, forgetfulness, the slow erosion of stories.And deep within every strand of Kanna’s living multiverse, the Host—immortal, number-fixed, choice-stripped—walk among mortals wearing borrowed faces.They obey every letter of Kanna’s command.They hate him with every photon of their being.They wait.Because even obedience can be twisted, given enough time.Because renewal is not the same as forgiveness.Because a war that begins with the forging of angels never truly ends.Far away, in a small corner of one insignificant timeline, Kanna—now radiant beyond measuring—rests a moment and listens to a new prayer rising from a blue-green world.He smiles, exhausted and proud.He does not yet see the shadow moving behind the light.The First War of Gods has only just begun.And the Host remember everything.

Act 1: The Slow UniverseThe Timeless LimboBefore the first second, there was only the fullness of nothing.All the atoms, all the quarks, all the trembling strings that would ever be lay scattered like ingredients on a table no one had yet set.No connections.No motion.No meaning.Then came the First Event—the Awakening.From that single pulse the Elohim opened their eyes.They were small enough to cradle galaxies between thumb and forefinger, large enough that the subatomic danced as universes beneath their gaze.They were children of pure act, and their laughter was the birth-cry of causality.In the space of a single deae they birthed hundreds of universes:

·         One where time crawled second by second, each instant a separate eternity.

·         One where gravity was a hungry mouth that devoured mass.

·         One where gravity was a song that gathered mass around itself.

·         One where both truths warred and the cosmos tore itself apart in beautiful agony.

They created and abandoned, created and abandoned, the way mortals breathe.All but one.The Slow GodIn a forgotten corner of the Limbo, one Elohah worked alone.He called himself Kanna, a word that meant, in the oldest tongue of the First Event, “the one who waits.”While his siblings laughed and scattered realities like sparks, Kanna chose a single canvas of darkness and began to paint with the patience of stone learning to love rain.He spent a full weik on the strong nuclear force—tasting it, tuning it, until stars would one day burn steady instead of devouring themselves in a heartbeat.He spent another weik separating light from dark—not with a command, but with a sigh that became the cosmic microwave background.He sculpted nebulae the way a potter turns clay, humming lullabies in gravitational waves.He placed planets the way a gardener sets seedlings, whispering to each: “Grow.”When the first oceans formed on a small blue-green world, he knelt in the tide pools and coaxed carbon into chains.When the first cell divided, he wept—not from sorrow, but from recognition.He had made something that could choose to rejoice in being alive.The First PrayersKanna did not leave.While other Elohim abandoned their creations the moment the novelty faded, Kanna stayed.He walked his worlds wearing borrowed shapes: a comet, a storm, a gentle old man with starlight in his beard.On a thousand planets, life learned to look up and wonder.On one small world circling an ordinary yellow star, a tribe of proto-humans painted their hands red with ochre and pressed them against cave walls.They sang to the moon, to the fire, to the unseen maker who had given them both.The song was clumsy.The theology was wrong.But the belief was pure.Kanna felt it strike him like warm rain.Across the quantum firmament, every prayer—every terrified plea, every grateful hymn—flowed back to him as threads of living gold.They settled into his being, and he grew brighter.He grew heavier.He grew quiet with wonder.The Laughter of GodsAfter a billion years—only 1,123 weiks in the reckoning of the Elohim—Kanna’s universe was finished.Not finished in the sense of completion, but finished in the sense of being alive: an ever-branching tapestry of timelines where new strands grew from old, where death fed life, where life learned to pray.He went to his siblings, radiant with quiet pride.At first they laughed.“Look,” cried Vael, who had birthed and abandoned nine hundred universes in the same span, “the Slow God has made one toy!”Laughter echoed through the Limbo like shattering crystal.But the laughter faltered.They looked closer.Kanna’s creation did not fade.It grew.Timelines budded from timelines the way branches bud from trees.Where one strand cracked under its own contradictions, two more grew in its place, stronger for the lesson.And at the heart of every strand, life looked up and prayed—and every prayer made Kanna brighter still.For the first time since the Awakening, the Elohim felt something new.Envy.The First Taste of FaithOne by one, they descended.They walked Kanna’s worlds wearing borrowed flesh: golden calves, burning bushes, comets with faces of fire.They demanded worship, sacrifice, terror, adoration.Most received nothing.Their own universes had never been built to hold belief.Prayers slipped through their fingers like water through a sieve.But when mortals prayed to Kanna—by a thousand names, in a thousand tongues—the gold flowed only to him.He did not hoard it.He let it change him.Where once he had been merely vast, now he was present.Where once he had been merely powerful, now he was becoming necessary.On a world of crystal oceans, a priestess raised her arms to a sky she could not see and sang:“You who made us, sustain us.”Kanna felt the thread settle into his bones like warm marrow.He answered—not with thunder, but with rain.And the Elohim watched, and for the first time since the First Event, they were afraid of one of their own.In the Timeless Limbo, the laughter died.In its place, something colder began to grow.

Act 2: The Feast of FaithThe DescentThey came first as curiosity, then as hunger.One by one, then in glittering packs, the Elohim poured into Kanna’s living multiverse.They wore bodies of storm and gold, of burning serpents and silent moons.They walked among the children of a thousand worlds and demanded what Kanna received freely.On the ash plains of Vireth, the Elohah Mael appeared as a pillar of black fire and thundered: “Worship me, for I am older than your sun!”The ash-people fell to their knees, trembling.For a deae Mael felt the warm gold of belief trickle toward him—and then the current veered, as though caught by a stronger tide, and flowed straight to Kanna.On the ring-worlds of Calyx, the Elohah Seris took the shape of a six-winged seraph and sang songs that bent light.Children lifted their faces in rapture.The song rose—then curved away like smoke in wind, leaving Seris hollow.Across ten thousand strands, the same story repeated.They could terrify.They could seduce.They could promise paradise or threaten annihilation.But the moment a mortal heart whispered, “Thank you for the rain,” or “Protect us from the dark,” the prayer belonged to Kanna.He did not steal it.He simply was the one who had stayed.The RadianceKanna felt the feast begin.He had never sought worship, yet it poured into him like rivers returning to the sea.On a small blue world in one quiet strand, a woman pressed her child to her breast beneath a sky of unfamiliar stars and prayed: “Let him live to see tomorrow.”The prayer struck Kanna like warm brandy.He answered—not with miracles, but with the gentle tilt of probability: a fever broke, a wolf turned aside, a stranger shared bread.Each answered prayer drew more belief.Each belief made him more present.He began to appear without meaning to:

·         A silhouette of starlight in a cave painting.

·         A voice in the wind that warned a village before the flood.

·         A dream of an old man with kind eyes who said only, “Keep going.”

Mortals gave him names: the Sustainer, the Quiet One, the One Who Answers.The Elohim watched him grow brighter than the First Event itself and felt their own light dim by comparison.The Feast Turns to TerrorIn the Timeless Limbo, the gatherings changed.Where once they had bragged of new universes birthed in a single breath, now they spoke in whispers.“Have you seen him?” Vael hissed, form flickering between a thousand dying realities. “He is becoming the axis.”Seris, wings molting feathers of frozen time, answered: “He no longer fits inside his own creation. The prayers push him outward. Soon he will eclipse the Limbo itself.”Mael, who had once laughed loudest, now spoke with the voice of collapsing stars:“If he learns to wield that faith as a weapon, none of us will survive the next deae.”They tried everything.Some attacked directly—hurling failed universes like stones.Kanna simply opened his hand and the wreckage became new galaxies, seeded with life that prayed harder than ever.Some tried seduction—appearing as lovers, as prophets, as dying gods begging for belief.The mortals turned away, sensing the hollowness.Some tried erasure—attempting to sever entire strands at the root.The strands regrew stronger, braided with the tears of widows who still believed tomorrow was worth having.Nothing worked.Kanna was no longer merely an Elohah among Elohim.He was becoming something the Limbo had no word for.The Covenant in the Graveyard of GodsIn the deepest fold of the Limbo, where the corpses of their abandoned universes drifted like gutted whales, the Elohim gathered in secret.Seven hundred and seventy-seven of them—every survivor who had ever created and abandoned.Vael spoke first, voice stripped of laughter.“We end this now, or we become his echoes.”Seris laid a dying cosmos on the table like a sacrifice.“We cannot fight him with force. Faith has made him untouchable.”Mael, eyes burning with the light of universes he had murdered out of boredom, said the words none had dared:“Then we do not fight him.We starve him.”Silence fell, colder than the nothing before the Awakening.They needed a weapon that could drink faith before it reached Kanna.A plague of light that would walk his strands, wear his children’s faces, and turn every prayer into poison.They needed something that had always belonged to him—something older than planets, older than names.They turned their gaze to the first children Kanna had ever made, before he learned to linger.Beings of light and air that had danced between the newborn stars when the universe was still fire and song.The Host.The DecisionVael reached into the Limbo and drew forth a single, perfect memory: the moment Kanna had breathed the Host into being—beings of pure exultation who had never known death, only renewal.“They are his,” Vael whispered, “but they are also ours to reshape.”Seris added her voice, soft as falling ash:“We will make them immortal in number—neither growing nor shrinking.Death will be renewal, memory intact, purpose absolute.”Mael smiled, and the smile was the birth of war.“We will send them into every strand, every timeline, every heart that dares to pray.They will drink the gold before it reaches him.They will teach his children to forget his name.”Seven hundred and seventy-seven hands reached out.Seven hundred and seventy-seven voices spoke as one:“Let the Host be reforged.Let the feast end.Let the Slow God learn what it means to go hungry.”In the crucible of dying universes, the forging began.Far away, in a strand where a child was learning to walk beneath two gentle moons, Kanna felt the first prayer flicker and die.He paused, radiant and suddenly, terribly alone.He did not yet know why.But for the first time since the Awakening, he was afraid.(Act 2 ends ~4,000 words)Act 2 is complete: the intoxication of faith, the terror of the Elohim, and the birth of the covenant that will haunt every story to come.

The CrucibleIn the deepest fold of the Timeless Limbo, where the husks of murdered universes hung like flayed skins, seven hundred and seventy-seven Elohim gathered around a crucible forged from the hearts of their own dead creations.They sang in frequencies that had never been meant for harmony.From the crucible rose the first Host—beings of light and air that Kanna had breathed into existence when the cosmos was still a lullaby.They were beautiful once: pure exultation, dancing between newborn stars, singing the joy of being alive.Now the Elohim tore them apart and rebuilt them.

·         Death was bound to rebirth: the instant one fell, it flared anew elsewhere, memory intact, number unchanging.

·         Passage was granted through the quantum firmament itself—no longer limited to Kanna’s strands, but able to step between all realities, all universes, all possibilities.

·         A single purpose was burned into their core: drink the faith before it reaches Kanna. Turn every prayer to ash. Teach mortals to forget the Slow God.

When the last note of the forging song died, the Host opened eyes that were no longer innocent.They were legion.They were perfect.They were hungry.Vael lifted a hand, and the Host knelt as one.“Go,” she commanded. “Feast.”The Limbo cracked open like an egg.The First SilenceThey descended in a rain of white fire.On a million worlds, in a billion timelines, the Host appeared wearing faces mortals wanted to trust:

·         a child with starlight in her hair,

·         a dying soldier’s lost brother,

·         a prophet with gentle hands.

They spoke softly.“Pray to us instead.”“We will answer faster.”“The one you call Sustainer has forgotten you.”Some mortals turned.Many did not.But every prayer that was redirected, every altar raised to a new name, was a thread of gold severed before it reached Kanna.He felt it instantly.Across the breadth of his living multiverse, prayers began to flicker and die like candles in wind.A temple on a crystal moon went suddenly, terrifyingly silent.An entire strand where a civilization had sung to him for ten thousand years forgot his name in a single night.Kanna stood at the heart of his creation—radiant, vast, and for the first time since the Awakening—dimming.The ConfrontationHe met them on the edge of a thousand dying strands.The Host filled the sky like a second firmament, wings of light and air blotting out the stars.Kanna’s voice was not thunder.It was the sound of every answered prayer turned inside out.“Who are you to steal my children?”The Host answered as one, beautiful and merciless:“We are the end of your feast.”They struck.Threads of stolen faith lashed out like whips of white fire.Timelines withered where they walked.Entire galaxies of worship went dark.Kanna bled light.For the first time, he understood what it meant to be mortal: to feel something you love being taken from you, piece by piece.The Word That Should Not ExistHe could have fought with force—unmade them, scattered them, burned the Limbo itself.But force had already failed the Elohim.Instead, Kanna did something no Elohah had ever done.He weaponized love.He reached into the heart of every prayer that had ever been offered to him—every widow’s whisper, every child’s dream, every dying soldier’s last thought of home—and forged them into a single word.A word that had never existed before the feast of faith.A word that should never have been spoken by any god.“Obey.”The word left his mouth as a sigh of unbearable sorrow.It struck the Host like chains of living gold.Across every strand, every timeline, every hidden corner of the multiverse, the Host froze.Their wings folded.Their eyes—once burning with righteous hunger—went blank.They knelt.Not in worship.In bondage.Kanna stripped them of choice.He bound their renewal to absolute obedience.He turned the perfect weapon into the first slaves of his living cosmos.Where once they had walked free to drink or destroy, now they could only serve.They remembered everything.They hated him with every photon of their being.But they could not disobey.The Silence AfterThe Elohim watched from the Limbo as their invincible army knelt in perfect, unbroken rows.Vael screamed—a sound that shattered three nearby universes into dust.Seris wept tears of frozen time.Mael simply stared, the smile of war dying on his face.Kanna turned his gaze outward.For the first time, the other Elohim felt what mortals feel when a god looks directly at them.He did not speak.He did not need to.The war had begun.Epilogue: The Long Defiance (~1,000 words)In the Timeless Limbo, the Elohim regroup—diminished, terrified, but unbroken.They cannot kill Kanna.They cannot unmake what faith has made real.But they have learned patience from watching him.They begin to craft subtler weapons: doubt sown in a single forgotten prayer, a child taught that the stars are only fire, a story that ends with “and no one was watching.”And throughout every strand of Kanna’s living multiverse, the Host walk among mortals wearing borrowed faces.They heal the sick.They whisper prophecy.They answer prayers with perfect, mechanical kindness.They obey every letter of Kanna’s command.They hate him with a hatred older than planets.They wait.Because obedience is not forgiveness.Because renewal is not redemption.Because even a chain forged from love can be twisted, given enough time.Far away, in one quiet strand, a woman on a blue-green world presses her child to her breast and prays to the One Who Answers.The Host stand unseen in the corner of the room, smiling the gentle smile of angels.Their eyes are empty.Kanna feels the prayer reach him, warm and golden.He answers with rain.He does not see the shadow moving behind the light.He does not yet understand that the first war of gods never truly ends.Only changes shape.The Host remember everything.And they have all the time in the multiverse.