Once Upon a Time...

In the beginning, there was a field. Grass, grass and more grass. The sky was as blue as the grass was green. However, there were no flowers, animals or even clouds. There wasn’t even a moon for there to be a night. Just a brilliant green and blue landscape.

Unbeknownst to the sun, something resided beneath the surface. One day, it rose from the ground. It was a gardener, and it only had one goal: to plant a tree. The gardener planted this tree and left it to grow. Despite the lack of water, a little, green sprout popped up.

This signalled the beginning of a new era.

Inside the tree was a new dimension. As the centuries went by, the sprout grew taller, until eventually… it was a full-fledged tree. This new dimension had plants and animals, which made the tree grow ever taller and prouder. The language of the universe engraved itself into the tree’s bark. It told all tales, trivial or bold, the history of humankind.

The gardener hadn’t expected to birth a new world; it had only wanted to grow a tree. Regardless, it watched over this tree vigilantly, admiring its growth and reading its stories. The gardener wanted to plant another tree, to see if it would bring about a completely different world. Unfortunately, it didn’t have any more seeds. In fact, the gardener couldn’t even remember how it had even planted the tree. Undeterred by this obstacle, it decided to write a story of its own. Constrained by the rules of the tree, the gardener pondered for years, to figure out a loophole.

The tree exists outside this reality. If only I could send a piece of it to humanity.

engraved a tale directly into the trunk; one that would entertain it with its development but also bring about a new world. This was the original contract: The Prophecy.

The Prophecy went as follows:

Two men will be born, one in the sun and one in the storm.

Destined enemies, ever bound by opposition.

One fateful day, they will fight to the death.

And create a new world, with their final breath.

Years of thought had led to these three simple lines. The rest was up to the tree.

One day, a gorgeous baby was born to common, decent parents. Growing up, he excelled in his studies and was pronounced a genius by his peers. Furthermore, he was the strongest and was already beating grown men in combat before his teenage years.

Exactly five years before that, a large, ugly baby was born. The sun smiled upon the mountain that day. Despite its appearance, the baby was loved by its only guardian: its mother. However, due to her marriage out of wedlock, the baby’s mother was shunned by the mountain people and had to live on scraps. One day, a violent storm ravaged the mountainside. Lightning struck, as if targeting the mountainfolk. It killed them one by one. The storm only subsided, once all two hundred people in the village on the mountain had perished…

All except one large baby.

The baby sustained itself on the charred remains of its people until it grew into a young boy. The young boy ventured down the steep mountain, into the neighbouring village. This village had once been scared of the strange mountainfolk, who they referred to as cannibals and human sacrificers. The boy was harassed and even beaten by the villagers. He lived on the outskirts, hunting for his food and drinking from a nearby stream. He would often suffer food poisoning and illness, but he clung to life with a vengeance. The villagers rejoiced in their recounting of the birth of a boy who was born on the same day as the murderous storm that killed the boy’s beloved mother. They said it was thanks to this baby that the horrible mountain folk were wiped out. Caught up in the villagers’ fairytales, the young boy from the mountain vowed revenge against the baby.

As the years went by, he heard more about the object of his hatred. Supposedly, the boy was the smartest, the most beautiful and the strongest. The mountain boy’s jealousy rose with every missed meal, every illness and every cold night.

By the time the mountain boy reached adulthood, he towered above the villagers by a head and shoulders. Despite his malnutrition, his muscles bulged fanatically. His natural strength was so great, that he could crush wolves’ skulls and choke out grizzly bears with his bare hands.

The mountainous mountain man had given himself a name: Allister. In time, he had come to learn the name of the other boy who had murdered his family: Phocles Yates.

One fateful day, Allister sharpened his spear for one final hunt. He ravaged through the town like a hurricane, destroying houses and killing everyone in his path. They had treated him like a monster, and he was determined to show them what a monster could do.

Allister killed Phocles’ parents right in front of him. The two men fought. Despite Allister’s size and strength, Phocles was every bit as impressive as the villagers had made him out to be. He too possessed terrifying physical capabilities, which, when paired with his fighting prowess, allowed him to successfully repel the furious Allister.

The two men went their separate ways. Phocles started by burying every single deceased villager. His body hardened from the digging, but his mind softened with guilt.

Over the next decade, the fated two grew their legends.

Phocles became a valiant hero, slaying villains and saving towns. He trained like a madman, learning magic, perfecting fighting techniques and fortifying his mind.

Meanwhile, Allister grew an army of vicious criminals and outcasts and delved deep into the dark arts. Eventually, he became the most powerful wielder of black magic. Allister used this magic to turn his minions into demons. He could corrupt the average person into becoming violent lunatics.

Allister periodically sent out his minions to ransack villages, destroy cities and kill people. They kidnapped princesses and assassinated kings. However, the blame was always pinned upon neighbours. Allister’s instigations succeeded. Soon, the world went to war, as Allister watched from his hellish fortress.

Phocles had been repelling the demons for years, but now, there was nothing more he could do. He travelled to his nemesis’ castle, determined to take his head. Ever the lone traveller, he stormed the place with nothing but his legendary, black sword and shimmering, white armour.

Phocles burst into Allister’s throne room. Allister’s skin had turned grey from his use of black magic. He was clad in horrifying and bulky, purple armour. Next to him, stood a human-sized sword, fit for slaying dragons. Now known as the Demon King, Allister rose from his throne.

The two men fought a thunderous battle. However, they were evenly matched. Eventually, they found themselves facing each other, panting and sweating. One stared the other down.

“Halt!”

Someone appeared at the door. The fighters turned to look. It was a man in plain clothes that neither one recognised.

“I come from the Tree of Everything,” the man announced.

Indeed, decades ago, the Tree of Everything had bore an ingrown fruit. The fruit had fallen down centuries of history and landed inside a magical lake. Said lake had given it sentience. This fruit grew into a human being. Given its origins, it had the ability to travel between realities.

“Gentlemen,” the fruit continued. “Why do you fight?”

“I fight because this man killed my parents,” Phocles declared.

“And I fight, because this one did the same,” Allister replied. This was a lie. The man hardly remembered his mother, and he knew it didn’t justify his actions. He had done all of this, because he’d enjoyed it. The fruit from the tree knew this to be true.

The Fruit told the men about the contract they were bounded by. They didn't want to believe, but deep down, they both knew it to be true.

"You're saying one of us will die?" Phocles asked.

"It won't be me," Allister replied.

"Yeah? Why don't we find out? Who cares what some stupid prophecy says?"

"Gentlemen," interrupted the Fruit. "It is clearly stating that you shall both perish if you undertake this endeavour."

The two mortal enemies thought about it.

"Well, I don't want to die," Allister concluded. "I'm having too much fun in this world."

"And I don't want to die either," Phocles mused. "Though, I'm certainly having no fun."

"I have a proposition," the fruit said. It produced from its sleeves a rolled up sheet of paper. "We will draft up a contract from this magical sheet of Lightwood. It will make you two unable to hurt each other."

"But how will I get back the world that I love? Couldn't this man continue terrorising it?" Phocles wondered.

"Just because you cannot hurt each other, does not mean no one else can. Simply raise your armies and fight," the Fruit suggested.

"I suppose, with the world already at war, it can't possibly get any worse."

"I agree," Allister nodded.

"Alright, then," said the Fruit. It handed Allister the contract first. Allister signed his name. He gave it to Phocles. Phocles signed his name. The Fruit was the final one to sign.

"Why do you have to sign it, too?" Allister asked the Fruit.

"Because I am the contract broker," it replied.

Finally, all parties had signed. Did this mean the Prophecy could not be completed? Forget incompleteness—it had already been broken. These men were defined by their opposition to each other, and yet that had just collaborated.

When an individual failed to fulfil a contract, they were torn from this realm. But what happened when a contract between the universe and its creator failed?

As it turned out…

The realm was torn from itself. A layer of reality was torn from this world and turned into its own. Its inhabitants would eventually call it Earth.

Earth was a manufactured reality with a made-up history. It marketed itself as being billions of years old, but in truth, it was brand new.

And whatever became of the two rivals and the fruit? The realities split imperfectly. Allister’s eyesight remained in the layer of reality that became Earth. Phocles’ memories stayed in the Original World. As for the fruit, its very being was torn between the two realities. It lost its physical form and became the only connection between the Original World and Earth, existing in a reality between realities.

Centuries passed and the world moved on.

The Fruit floated in emptiness for what felt like forever.

In the Original World, a baby boy was born to loving parents. He could see just fine, yet he would constantly bump into things.

A few decades later, another baby boy was born. He wasn’t crazy, yet he kept talking to a man in his head…