Bearic checked the straps on his pilot’s seat, the cockpit’s screens glowing with data he barely trusted. His homeworld, a nameless sprawl of concrete towers and smog-choked valleys, was dying—not with a bang, but a slow choke. Scientists had warned for decades: the universe itself was breaking down. Stars flickered out, their light stuttering like a bad signal. Space-time warped, forming pockets where physics didn’t work right. The faster-than-light (FTL) ship he sat in was a prototype, built to test a theory—that transdimensional spaces, hidden beyond everyday reality, might offer a refuge for humanity. Bearic, a test pilot with a knack for fixing things and a habit of asking too many questions, wasn’t here for glory. He just didn’t see a better option. His mission: hit light speed in regular space, engage the transdimensional drive, and report what he found. If he made it back.
The engines kicked on, vibrating through the hull. Bearic felt a strange buzz from the ship’s core, like a heartbeat he couldn’t place. He shook it off, watching the speed climb. The gauges redlined, the cockpit rattling hard. Just as he hit light speed, everything changed. The ship didn’t jump—it broke apart, not into metal shards, but into beams of light, swallowing him whole. He expected pain or nothing at all. Instead, he was still there, his mind sharp but bodiless, floating in a flood of energy. Then the voices started. They weren’t human or machine—just distinct, overlapping, alive. “We’re loose,” one said. “Stay with us,” said another. Bearic realized they came from the ship—every bolt, circuit, and plate humming with something like thought. Matter, he understood in a flash, wasn’t dead. It had a kind of awareness, faint but real, and now, as light, the ship’s pieces were awake, their voices weaving into his own consciousness. He wasn’t a pilot anymore. He was part of them, a fragment in a glowing storm.
Across the collapsing universe, two beings named Lirien and Vara hunted for something else entirely. They called their target the Wellsprings of Power, a name pulled from half-broken records and myths. Nobody knew what the Wellsprings were—devices, relics, or forces—but stories said they could reshape reality, maybe even stop the decay swallowing everything. Lirien, sharp and impatient, chased every lead, digging through wrecked stations and scanning dead worlds for clues. Vara, steady but just as stubborn, kept Lirien in check, always pointing out the risks. They weren’t like Bearic or anyone else. They were light-beings, their forms made of energy and thought, shifting like static on a screen. They didn’t advertise it; it was just their nature, letting them slip through space unnoticed. Their latest hint—a signal buried in a comet’s ice—pointed to a quiet sector. Before they could follow it, a pulse of energy hit them, raw and chaotic, shaking their cores. It wasn’t a natural event. It felt like something was waking up.
That pulse was Bearic’s ship, or what it had become. Lirien and Vara tracked it, finding a cloud of light pulsing where nothing should be. They sensed a mind inside—human, but changed. Reaching out with their own energy, they pulled him into focus. Bearic saw them as faint shapes, glowing but not solid, like heat off pavement. Trust didn’t come easy. Bearic told them his story: the universe was falling apart, his ship was supposed to find a way out, and now he was this—whatever “this” was. Lirien and Vara hadn’t seen the decay; they were too focused on their search, and the news hit them hard. They shared what they knew about the Wellsprings, calling them objects of power but dodging specifics. Bearic noticed but didn’t press—he was too busy grappling with the ship’s voices, still buzzing in his head, urging him to move, to find something.
They teamed up, each with their own reasons. Bearic thought the Wellsprings might fix his mission or at least explain what he’d become. Lirien saw Bearic as a new piece of the puzzle, maybe a way to crack the Wellsprings’ secrets. Vara agreed reluctantly, sensing trouble but no better path. They followed Lirien’s lead, a map carved into a slab from a lost outpost, pointing to a system so old its stars were husks. Travel was rough. Bearic struggled to hold himself together, the ship’s voices pulling at his thoughts, whispering about links between all things. Lirien and Vara taught him to navigate as energy, to feel space’s currents. He started noticing patterns—threads tying stars to planets, matter to mind. The universe’s decay was worse than he’d thought. Nebulae dissolved into dust, rifts tore open, leaking nothing. The voices grew clearer, almost guiding him, like they knew where he was headed.
Their path took them through eerie remnants, a graveyard of ships frozen mid-battle, a moon broadcasting a signal that cut off abruptly. Lirien pieced together more about the Wellsprings from fragments: a log from a crashed probe, carvings on a shattered gate. They weren’t just powerful; they were old, older than the universe itself, tied to its first spark. Vara started questioning the chase, wondering if the Wellsprings were meant to stay lost. Bearic felt different. The voices pushed him forward, and deep down, he felt a tug, like the Wellsprings wanted him to find them. After what felt like forever—time didn’t track right anymore—they reached a massive structure orbiting a cold star. It was a machine, not a planet, its surface cracked but intact, stretching wider than any world Bearic knew. Tunnels ran deep, lined with silent gears and pipes. The air buzzed, heavy with purpose.
In the machine’s heart, they found the Wellsprings. The first, the Root of Being, wasn’t a single object but a network of crystals, each shard glowing green and gold, connected by threads of light. It pulsed steadily, like a living thing, its energy warm, almost welcoming. Bearic could feel it reaching out, not to his mind but to something more profound, promising life, growth, and creation. The crystals weren’t just pretty; they were active, their structure shifting slightly, adapting to the room’s vibrations. Lirien’s scans showed they weren’t made of any known material; they seemed to exist halfway between matter and energy, holding patterns that could reshape barren rock into forests or seas. The second Wellspring, the Seed of Knowing, was a sphere no bigger than a head, floating above the floor. Its surface swirled with silver light, forming shapes—faces, stars, equations—before dissolving back into itself. It didn’t speak, but Bearic felt it watching, weighing him. When he focused on it, his mind flooded with fragments: a city’s rise, a species’ fall, math he couldn’t grasp. The Seed held answers, but not ones it gave freely.
The artifacts weren’t what they’d expected. Lirien, who’d spent eons chasing theories, froze, realizing they weren’t tools you just picked up. Vara, always wary, felt their presence like a warning, urging them to walk away. Bearic, though, couldn’t. The ship’s voices roared now, blending with his thoughts and telling him to act. He reached out—not with hands, but with his light-form—and touched both Wellsprings. The chamber shook, crystals flaring, the sphere’s light spilling over them. Lirien and Vara got pulled in, their energy tangling with his. The Root flooded them with raw potential—images of worlds blooming, life spreading. The Seed hit harder, pouring knowledge into them: the universe’s birth, flaws, and end. But the artifacts weren’t passive. They pushed back, testing them, their own awareness sharp and ancient. Bearic saw their history—not a story, but flashes. At reality’s dawn, they’d been made by something or someone, meant to balance creation and understanding. Others had found them before and failed; their minds or worlds burned out. The Wellsprings didn’t serve; they chose.
Outside, the universe was crumbling faster. Cracks spread, eating light itself. The machine woke up, its tunnels humming, gears turning for the first time in ages. It wasn’t just a vault—it was part of the Wellsprings, built to channel their power. Bearic, Lirien, and Vara argued, their thoughts half theirs, half the artifacts’. Bearic wanted to save his people and find that transdimensional escape. Lirien thought they could rebuild the universe and make it better. Vara wasn’t sure they had the right to decide anything—maybe this was how it ended. The Wellsprings didn’t wait. Their energy tightened, pulling the trio deeper, merging them with the Root’s life and the Seed’s truth. Bearic felt his old self—his doubts, his homeworld’s dust—start to fade. Lirien’s hunger for answers grew vast, Vara’s caution sharper but softer, like a guide’s voice. They saw it clear: the universe couldn’t be patched. It was too far gone.
They chose to let it go. Or maybe the Wellsprings chose for them. The Root pulsed, the Seed glowed, and the machine roared, its power amplifying theirs. The universe didn’t explode—it dissolved, stars winking out, space folding into nothing. In that emptiness, they started over. The Root gave them structure, galaxies forming, and gravity settling. The Seed gave rules, time, cause, effect, and thought. Bearic pushed for hope, for worlds where life could fight to survive. Lirien wanted order, systems that wouldn’t break. Vara added balance, ensuring nothing grew too fast or fell too hard. The new universe took shape, not perfect but alive. Stars burned, planets spun, and something special started to grow on one small world.
Earth wasn’t planned, not exactly. It came from Bearic’s stubborn streak, his memory of a home he’d lost. The Root shaped it first, carving oceans and mountains from raw stone. Its crystals, now part of the new cosmos, left traces, veins of energy in Earth’s crust, faint sparks in its air. The planet wasn’t big, but it was dense with potential, its skies clear, its soil rich. The Seed touched it next, planting ideas, not in words, but in possibilities. Life there would think, question, fail, try again. Lirien and Vara worked together to tune it. Lirien ensured Earth’s systems connected—rivers feeding forests, winds carrying seeds. Vara added limits, storms to check growth, winters to test strength. They didn’t know why this world mattered so much, but it felt like the heart of what they’d built. The Wellsprings’ influence lingered, not as objects now but as currents, woven into Earth’s core, its tides, its first flickers of life.
Creating Earth changed them. Bearic wasn’t Bearic anymore—he was Michael, carrying the Root’s spark, the start of something human. Lirien became Elohim, his mind stretched across the cosmos, setting its laws, keeping it steady. As the Holy Ghost, Vara took on wisdom’s weight; her voice was meant to echo through time, the last woman when the story looped back. They didn’t talk about their new roles; they felt them, like gravity pulling them into place. The universe wasn’t theirs now—it had its own momentum. But Earth was different. They all looked at it, sensing it would matter, not today but someday.
The story ends with Michael, now Adam, waking up. He’s on Earth, lying on grass that smells sharp and new. The sky above is blue, streaked with clouds, and the sun is warm but not harsh. He doesn’t know where he is, or why, but he feels alive—skin, breath, heartbeat, all new. The air carries sounds: birds, leaves, a stream nearby. He stands, legs shaky, and looks around. Trees stretch tall, their roots deep in dark soil. Two stand out in particular, the physical incarnations of the Root and Seed, or the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge. A mountain looms in the distance, its peak catching light. Somewhere in his mind, faint traces linger of the ship’s voices, now quiet, like they’ve found rest; Lirien’s endless questions, softened; Vara’s calm, steady pull.
Adam takes a step, then another. The world feels big, open, waiting. He doesn’t know what’s coming- pain, joy, others like him- but he wants to find out. Earth isn’t just a place; it’s a start, fragile but stubborn, like he is. The universe hums around it, vast and moving, carrying the marks of three beings who broke one reality to build another. This is their story—Bearic’s leap into light, Lirien’s chase for truth, Vara’s steady hand—and how they became something more. It’s about matter speaking, artifacts judging, and a cosmos reborn. Most of all, it’s about Adam, alone but not empty, walking into a world that’s his to meet, one choice at a time.