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Chapter I

A Reluctant Genesis

"I vanish at dawn but reveal what is true.

A flicker, a whisper, a world born anew.

No use can bind me, no story can deny.

For I am the world that outlives the sky."

His first journal entries were when the first cracks formed on the illusory shell of his reality, and the veil that shrouded the cosmos. Paradoxically, he grew to become both executioner and guardian. We remember him as the latter, others the former. By his hand, billions faded; he claimed it was to protect life and individuality itself. He would speak about "that faint sovereign flicker...that death will always liberate."We only grasped the depths of this contradiction when reading his words left behind, and only decades later did we recognize both curse and benediction in these pages, written in innocence--pages which bore the imprint of a monstrous calculus. The totality of its equation left the Perfect One bereft of dominion and shattered in myriad fragments. Asher saved us all from the deceptive promises of perfection. His last words: "Arise out of your dirt and into your dream."

-Compendium of Cosmic Conspiracy,
Chapter X: Conversations in New Eden.
By Sea "G."

Journal entry 001 (Edited)

Year: 260,103 (After Vel'Thari) - 2090 AD (Earth)
Location: The Below - Seeded planet CXIII: Terra (Earth)

Occasionally,

I visualize myself like a seed beneath a concrete shell. Something buried deep below, waiting for a change of conditions. Waiting to be uncovered. Waiting for the environment that fosters my potential. The problem is, I don't know what kind of seed I am, or what kind of soil I need to grow. In this so-called utopia I live, nothing grows. Not even the part of me that's supposed to want this. And yet I dream. Maybe there's something inside of me that hasn't died yet, or something that hasn't lived yet. Something dormant. Yearning. Waiting. Something that still wants to break through the concrete. Something that still wants to reach towards the light.
In the winding corridors below me lie other seeds of something that pokes through once a year. The View-Accrued Fete. A gathering which glorifies those that spend the most time mindlessly watching views in passive participation. The gathering where I would buy the diary that you are now reading. Unfortunately I'm good at what I do. I'm good at accruing views. And I'm afraid I'll fall into the same old story of giving a shit about it.

Everyone has their story, whether they want to or not. All of existence is a story. Some stories are good, but this is my story. It's the story of how the shell around my seed cracked and its contents spilled out. It's a story about the machine, and a story of how my quest for growth ended so many other stories. It wasn't on purpose, but it was because of me that billions of people died. But that comes later. Much later. There were good moments too. In fact this day started out like any other day. It began with waking up from another dream, and finding myself alive. It began with a heavy sigh. The artificial lights in my room dimmed for a few seconds as the wisps and echoes of the colorful dreamscape I left behind surrendered to the somber masquerade of my life, dispelling rapidly in stark contrast to the gray walls of the box I called home.

I trudged over and picked up my machine and pressed my palm against the pad. The prongs kissed my wrist like always. Soft, clinical, intimate.

The familiar detachment overtook me as I sank into the machine's cold and lifeless embrace.
Theo's voice rang out before anything finished rendering... another anomaly. The machine was always instantaneous. What now?

"Asher! There you are!"Theo's voice crackled, frenetic and jittering. Like getting electrocuted the moment you wake up. "You won't believe this, man!" His words pulsed with excitement, vibrating through the artificial void. "I'm about to do it! One hundred thousand views! One hundred thousand! Unbelievable, huh? Do you believe it?"