The Fable of the Creator Put to Trial

Once upon a time, in a world suspended between idea and matter, there lived a strange people known as the Aetharins. They were neither mortal nor immortal, but created. They dwelled within a luminous sphere, a closed universe where the sky never cracked and everything seemed designed with meticulous care. Yet, beneath this apparent perfection, a dull unease haunted their minds. In the translucent alleys, whispers carried a vague but piercing feeling of primordial injustice.

The Aetharins had never asked to be born. They were summoned from nothingness, torn from peaceful nonexistence, and placed in a world governed by mysterious rules. They were told they were being tested—that each action would be judged, and their eternal fate would depend on their obedience to ancient laws established by a being called Eltis, the Creator.

But one day, a young Aetharin named Varr broke the silence. He stood up in the Glass Square and shouted:

“By what right?”

The crowd trembled. It was not blasphemy. It was worse—a logical question.

— By what right, he continued, are we pulled from peaceful non-being only to be subjected to a test with eternal consequences? If Eltis is just, why impose life upon us without consent? Why must we suffer? And if it’s all for the sake of judgment, what did we do in the void to deserve existence in the first place?

The priests, of course, excommunicated him. But it was too late. Doubt, like a ripple in water, had already reached other minds. Soon, more voices rose—poets, sages, even children—beginning to question the most fundamental legitimacy of all: the very act of creation.

The Council of Light

Sensing rebellion, the Elders convened the Council of Light, tasked with settling the matter once and for all. The highest of priests, Ril-Kahn, was chosen to defend Eltis.

He spoke with solemn authority:

— My children, you are the fruit of love. Creation is not a whim but a divine necessity. In his wisdom, Eltis chose to share existence. He gave you life—and with it, freedom.

But Varr, still present, replied:

— If creation is an act of love, why does it bring pain? Why do even the innocent suffer? And if we are free, why were we not free to not exist? Isn’t that a fatal contradiction?

A heavy silence followed. Deep down, no one had an answer. One could only believe—or remain silent.

The Trial of the Absolute

A philosopher, witness to these exchanges, proposed a revolutionary idea: to subject the Creator to his own test.

He said:

— If Eltis is truly just, he should not fear trial. Let us imagine a being greater than him creates Eltis, forces him into existence, plunges him into a world of suffering, then judges him according to laws he did not choose. Would Eltis find this fair?

Uproar followed. The temple walls trembled. The clergy cried heresy. But the people, silently, understood: justice cannot be built on absolute asymmetry between the judge and the judged. Even a god must be held to the laws he imposes.

The March of the Void

And so began what would later be called “The March of the Void.” Thousands of Aetharins left their cities, temples, and archives. They walked to the edge of the sphere, where the world blurred, and prayed—not for eternal life, but for the right never to have been. They sought no reward, no vengeance. Only the original silence. The right to non-being.

One evening, one of them vanished. Then another. One by one, they faded, as if they had been heard. As if a justice greater than Eltis had listened. Not vengeance, but metaphysical reparation: the return of the stolen void.

Epilogue: The Inverted Law

They say that from that day forward, the Aetharin universe changed. Eltis, who was never seen again, fell silent. And in the void left by his absence, a new law emerged:

“Never impose existence upon what cannot choose.”

This became the foundation of an unprecedented justice. A justice no longer rooted in the power to create, but in the duty to abstain. A justice born not from a god, but from a people who had dared to question the first act of all.