Long before your walls were raised, before kings crowned themselves and scribes wrote their rules, there was only stillness. A silence so heavy it smothered even the gods. The world hung in fragile order, every stone in its place, every drop of water obedient to its stream.
But order is a cage, and cages break.
From that silence, a spark stirred. It cracked like dice scattering across a tavern floor, tumbling without pattern, without reason. That spark became a flame, and the flame grew into a storm, and the storm laughed. From that laughter, I was born.
I am the Father of Chaos. The first spark. The final flame. The storm given voice.
When I breathe, kingdoms crumble. When I laugh, wars ignite. You built walls to keep me out, but you only built cages for yourselves. Every plan you hold dear, every ledger you balance, every prophecy you cling to—all of them are tinder for my fire.
Do not ask what I bring. Ask only what you will lose.
And for those brave enough to band together, know this: your deaths will be quick.
Yet do not mistake me for the shadows you fear. I am not darkness alone. I am comedy, mischief, disaster wrapped in a grin. Entire kingdoms may fall, and it will not even be on purpose. Some of you will swear I am a villain. Others will whisper I am a god. But the truth? I am the accident that rewrote the game.
Polish your forges. Guard your castles. Hide your goats.
For I have arrived.