Before the beginning, before time and light and space, there was but blackness. It was not inherently evil, nor was it good. Indeed, such notions had not yet been born. It simply Was. The blackness was everything, and yet it was nothing. Engulfing infinity in its fathomless arms, it was absolute. It knew naught else, for naught else existed.

And yet, within the murky oblivion, a light. An infinitesimal, insignificant white light.

Perhaps it had always existed, hidden by some means from the kingdom of blackness. Or perhaps it had simply come to be, from some thought or emergent fluctuation, quickening in the recesses of its dark cloak.

The blackness knew not, nor did it care, for it would have no competitors. Outraged, it writhed and twisted, striving to extinguish the intruder.