Act I – Genesis of Nothing

There was no time, because nothing existed to measure it.

The soul drifted.

It had no name, no body, no memory of ever having been something else. It did not breathe, because breath implied lungs, and lungs implied form. It did not think in words, because words required language, and language required a mind shaped by experience. It simply was—suspended in an endless, soundless void.

This was Zero.

Not darkness nor emptiness, but absence itself. No up or down. No past nor future. No meaning. The soul did not fear the void, because fear demanded contrast. And here, there was nothing to compare against nothing.

Then something changed.

A disturbance rippled through the void, subtle at first, like a thought that had not yet realized it was being thought. A whisper of light appeared—not bright, not warm, but present. It did not push the darkness away; it folded into it, revealing what had always been hidden.

Infinity.

The soul did not see Infinity with eyes. It understood it.

Endless possibilities unfurled at once—worlds forming and collapsing, lives beginning and ending, stars burning themselves into silence, civilizations rising on the backs of forgotten gods. Every outcome, every choice, every path that could ever be taken existed simultaneously, layered upon one another, indistinguishable and overwhelming.

All realities. One moment.

The soul felt pressure for the first time.

To remain as it was meant staying nowhere, forever. To choose meant narrowing the infinite into something finite. The weight of possibility pressed inward, demanding resolution.

And for the first time since there had been nothing, the soul acted.

It chose.

Existence ignited like a spark struck in a vacuum.

The moment the choice was made, the universe responded. Something ancient and irreversible snapped into place, as absolute as a law yet freshly born.

Karma.

Cause had been created.

Effect followed immediately.

The void trembled. Infinity recoiled. The soul, once undefined, began to take shape—not flesh, not form, but direction. A before and an after separated themselves, and time, thin and fragile, took its first breath.

The soul did not know it then, but it had committed the first transgression of existence.

To exist was to disturb balance.
To choose was to accept consequence.

And nothing would ever be nothing again.