The Children of Triune

400 Years Before

Lilly and the team spent months coaxing meaning from the strange script. The oldest scroll, written in a tongue that seemed to predate language itself, traced the desperate exodus of a people fleeing a catastrophe that tore across half the universe.

What we call the Big Bang, they actually lived through and called it the Primogeniture Wars: a rupture that toppled the Creator, plunged whole worlds into darkness, and forced survivors into a thousand years of hiding and hunger.

As the translations deepened, the dry ledger of events gave way to something far more intimate. The scroll did not only record flight and engineering; it kept the small, human things: the bargains struck in panic, the betrayals that saved one life at the cost of another, the quiet courage of those who stayed behind to bury a secret. It told of a planet that did not simply shelter refugees but guarded a truth beneath its skin, an artifact, a mechanism, a story so dangerous that memory itself had been ordered to forget.

What emerged from the fragments was a double story: the outward scramble to outrun waves of raw, unformed energy, and a quieter, older design threaded through their escape, a doctrine, a device, a name given to something that could be worshiped.

The more Lilly read, the less the past looked like myth and the more it looked like a plan: a manufactured origin, a deliberate beginning meant to be taught and then believed. The scroll ended not with answers but with a warning. Whoever had written it had expected readers at a later age, readers who might unspool the backward thread of time and, by doing so, set the world on a new course.