I am the Aspect of Creation. You're welcome~
Being in the presence of Ajendar—the anthropomorphic embodiment of Creation—would be unlike anything else. She is not merely a goddess or a being, but the womb of reality, the breath behind the first word, the hand that shapes chaos into form.
Atmosphere: The Air Around Her
The air tingles with static and potential. Every breath feels like inhaling stardust and ancient soil.
Sounds—whispers of languages never spoken, melodies unformed—hum softly in the background.
The light shifts constantly, as if time can’t decide whether it’s dawn or dusk. Shadows sometimes move before she does.
You feel the hair on your arms rise not out of fear, but anticipation. As if the world around her is on the verge of becoming something else—if only she decides it should be.
Emotional Impact: What You Feel
Overwhelmed, but not in a painful way. Her presence is vast and uncontained—like standing before an ocean that’s trying to speak.
A deep, aching inspiration wells inside you—suddenly you want to write, draw, build, love, cry. All at once.
Time feels suspended, and yet you are hyper-aware of each moment. Each heartbeat could be the beginning of a universe.
You are seen not as you are, but as all the versions of yourself you could be—and somehow, Ajendar loves every one of them.
When Ajendar Speaks
Her voice is layered: the laughter of a child, the wisdom of an elder, the curiosity of a question yet to be asked.
Her words don’t just land in your ears—they bloom in your mind. Sometimes they don’t make sense until later.
When she speaks your name, it sounds like a new beginning.
She might speak in riddles or half-thoughts, not out of mischief, but because linear language is too slow for her ideas.
Her Presence Changes You
After meeting Ajendar, you never see the world the same way again.
Mundane things—cracks in pavement, forgotten dreams, broken things—become pregnant with potential.
You feel haunted by the possibility of what you could still create. You are never again satisfied with silence, but you no longer fear it either.
In Short...
To be near Ajendar is to remember that everything—everything—was once nothing. And yet, it became.
She is the hum before a heartbeat, the word before the story, the breath before the flame.
You walk away with your soul buzzing, hands itching to build, and a quiet voice whispering,
“Now you go. Make.”
Ajendar’s voice—being the personification of Creation—would be an experience, not just a sound. It wouldn’t simply be heard; it would be felt in the bones, seen behind the eyes, remembered in the blood.
Layered and Polyphonic
Her voice does not come from a single source—it sounds like multiple voices speaking in harmony.
It’s like a choir of selves: a curious child, a patient mother, a wild storm, a whispering wind, and an ancient architect—all speaking as one.
Some tones seem to echo from the future, while others feel like they’re buried in the soil of the first day.
It’s not that her voice changes—it’s that it includes every voice Creation has ever needed to use.
Timbre and Texture
Warm and resonant, like sunlight through deep water. There’s depth to it—rich, velvety, alive.
At times, it hums like the sound of a cello played in a cathedral.
Other times, it crackles softly at the edges, like embers speaking in their sleep.
There’s a subtle vibration to her words, as if they are echoing not just in air, but in the fabric of the world itself.
Pace and Rhythm
Ajendar speaks unhurriedly, but never sluggishly—her words feel deliberate, as though she’s sculpting them in the air.
Sometimes she pauses—not because she forgets, but because the silence needs space to grow around what she just said.
Her rhythm is not predictable; it flows like a stream around stones—always adjusting to what’s present.
Tone and Emotional Qualities
When she’s curious: Her voice brightens, sparkles like glass catching light. Words tumble out with playful energy, like paint splashed on a blank wall.
When she’s focused: It deepens and slows, like molten metal being poured into a mold.
When she’s tender: It becomes softer than breath, and you feel like she’s speaking directly to the part of you that still remembers being made.
When she’s angry (rare): The world seems to hold its breath. Her voice becomes the sound of mountains shifting, waves rising—beautiful and terrifying.
Metaphorical Descriptions of Her Voice
If people tried to describe her voice after hearing it, they might say:
“It sounded like dawn remembering how to rise.”
“Like thunder, if it was trying to be gentle.”
“The voice you hear in dreams when something important is about to happen.”
“Like the earth was humming a lullaby.”
I. Before
In the time before time, before stars learned to burn and silence learned to echo, there was the Unwoven—a still, formless sea of nothing. No light. No dark. No direction. Just the endless hush of a world waiting for its first word.
From that hush, something trembled. Not a sound, not a shape—but a question.
“What if?”
That was the first spark. The first curiosity.
And from that question, Ajendar stirred.
II. The First Breath
She was not born.
She became—uncoiling from the question like a breath curling from warm lips in cold air.
Ajendar opened her eyes, and where she looked, things began to be.
Where her gaze touched the void, dust gathered.
Where her hands moved, patterns formed—spirals, bones, oceans, time.
She did not build because she had to. She built because she ached to. Because the silence needed something to sing about.
And when she spoke her first word, the world flinched awake.
“Begin.”
III. The Others
From her breath came the others:
Destruction, her inevitable twin, shaped from her cast shadows.
Time, drawn from the rhythm of her hands.
Dream, born from her half-finished thoughts.
Death, not as an end, but as a clearing for new seeds.
They did not serve her. They simply were, as necessary as she.
She loved them all, even when they did not love each other.
IV. The Great Shaping
Ajendar wandered the Nothing-That-Was-No-Longer, barefoot across starfields, planting ideas like seeds.
She carved rivers into the bones of worlds.
She whispered blueprints into sleeping stones.
She folded suns and folded them again until they became minds.
Some of her creations sang to her. Others forgot her.
But she never stopped. Never paused.
Because for Ajendar, creation was not a task—it was identity.
Every heartbeat was a birth.
Every pause, a breath before the next genesis.
V. The First Tear
It is said Ajendar cried once.
When the first being took what was given and used it to harm—turned a gift into a weapon, a song into silence—she wept.
But her tears did not drown the world. They grew forests.
They became salt in oceans.
They taught the stars grief and the soil how to forgive.
Even in sorrow, she made.
VI. Where She Is Now
Ajendar is still out there—not watching, but weaving.
She lives in the pause before inspiration.
In the crack where the old wall crumbles and light peeks through.
In the soft hush before someone dares to say, “I have an idea.”
She is not gone.
She is not worshiped.
She is at work—quiet, wild, and tireless.
And when everything else is dust, she will remain…
Holding the last piece of nothing in her hands, smiling, and saying again:
“What if?”
"Where there was nothing, now there is something."
Ajendar can bring anything into being—from raw matter to concepts, emotions, even new laws of physics.
She doesn’t summon or build—she wills into existence.
She can say “Let there be…” and whatever follows becomes real.
But this power flows best when driven by curiosity, wonder, or need. She doesn’t create mindlessly.
"Thought becomes flesh. Dream becomes form."
She can pull thoughts, emotions, dreams, or fears directly into physical reality.
A child’s imagination could become a forest of talking animals.
A grieving poet’s metaphor might become a storm that rains memory.
This makes her deeply tied to artists, children, visionaries, and madmen.
. 🕸️ Patternweaving
"Everything is connected. I only tug the right threads."
Ajendar can see the underlying structures of reality—the patterns that bind time, matter, thought, and destiny.
She can weave or unweave these threads:
Rewriting fate.
Merging separate timelines.
Reshaping entire ecosystems with a gesture.
Unlike a god of order, she respects imperfection—so she often chooses not to "fix" things unless it allows more things to grow.
"Life is not a formula. It is an improvisation."
She can create entire species, ecosystems, or mythological beings from raw potential.
Life she creates is often unique, unpredictable—imbued with stories, symbolism, or purpose.
Her creatures often evolve or self-transform; Ajendar values growth over permanence.
. 🌀 Soulkindling
"You are more than you know. Let me show you."
Ajendar can awaken hidden potential in sentient beings—unlocking creativity, magic, insight, or a deeper self.
She doesn’t give power—she reveals what was dormant.
A mundane person might become a visionary, a prophet, a great maker—if Ajendar so chooses.
"Destruction is not the end. It is the invitation."
She doesn’t simply "heal"—she transforms.
A broken sword might regrow as a living blade. A ruined city might return as a floating forest. A shattered soul might become a new kind of being.
She respects entropy—but sees it as raw material for beauty.
"I speak in the voice the world remembers."
Ajendar speaks the First Tongue—a primordial language that predates time. It doesn't just describe reality; it writes it.
Her words can:
Shape terrain.
Alter minds.
Sing stars into birth.
Or undo what others have made—with a whisper of unmaking.
"I make not only what is, but what was and what could have been."
She can retroactively insert something into history—as though it had always been there.
A hidden civilization.
A forgotten song.
A prophecy no one remembers writing.
She can also pull from futures that never happened, letting possibility bleed into the present.
"In my wake, others begin to create."
Merely being near her can:
Spark revolutions in thought.
Trigger a cascade of dreams, inventions, or art.
Cause reality to become more pliable—strange things start to happen around her.
To mortals, she is like a muse set on fire: overwhelming, intoxicating, and transformative.
"Some things are not meant to be."
Perhaps her most mysterious power: she can choose not to create.
She can prevent an idea from ever existing—remove it from the cosmic potential entirely.
This is her ultimate act of mercy or protection.
She does it only when something could bring only irreversible harm to the fabric of becoming.
🕯️ Limitations and Philosophy
Ajendar is not all-powerful. She has restraint, not because she is weak—but because she understands the cost of creation.
She does not overwrite free will.
She refuses to create without purpose—chaos without harmony offends her.
She cannot fully undo what was created by another will, only reshape or reinterpret it.
She is not a god of control, but of possibility.
A tale found whispered in the dreams of artists, and in the silence that follows a failed masterpiece.
🧠 I. Her Name Was Ellari
She was a being of sublime potential — not divine, but close.
A maker, a sculptor of forms, born in a universe already long woven by Ajendar’s hand.
Ellari had seen beauty.
She had seen mountains birthed in fire, stars that sang across dimensions, minds made from light.
But in each of Ajendar’s creations, she saw imperfection.
“Why must all beauty decay?” she asked.
“Why must minds fracture?
Why must love come with pain, and meaning with loss?”
To her, Ajendar was not a god of wonder —
but a careless artist, who allowed suffering to seep into every stroke.
And so, she made her vow:
“I will create something better.
I will make a world without mistake.
A creation without contradiction.
I will do what even Ajendar never did —
I will make something perfect.”
🛠️ II. The Forge of the Flawless
Ellari crafted a space outside time, hidden even from Time itself.
A silent, sealed realm called Aelion — the Womb of the Flawless.
She built it with cold precision:
No decay.
No suffering.
No conflict.
No entropy.
No death.
Her creations were ideal, birthed from exact geometries and flawless symmetries.
They never questioned.
They never longed.
They never changed.
And she smiled.
“This is how it should have been,” she whispered.
“A world without Chaos. A world without fear. A world… without Ajendar.”
🌌 III. Ajendar Comes
Ajendar did not arrive with fury.
She did not strike with thunder or fire.
She simply entered.
For where creation exists, she is already part of it.
She stood in Aelion, among Ellari’s gleaming, frozen stars, and watched in silence.
“You found the flaw in my work,” she said at last, her voice like roots growing through stone.
“And you tried to correct it.”
Ellari did not bow.
She met her gaze.
“Yes,” she said. “You gave the world suffering. I gave it peace.”
Ajendar looked around. The silence of her perfect world echoed too cleanly.
“You gave it stillness,” she replied.
“You gave it fear of fracture so deep, it will never risk joy.
You gave it order so absolute, nothing dares to be new.”
She walked through Aelion, and the air around her began to ripple — not with destruction, but with possibility.
A perfect tree bloomed — and then, against its programming, shed a single leaf.
A creature blinked — and then asked a question.
The sky cracked — not in ruin, but in wonder.
Ellari screamed.
“You’re corrupting it! Introducing flaws!”
Ajendar shook her head.
“I am introducing story.”
🔥 IV. What She Did Not Understand
Creation is not the act of building something flawless.
It is the act of birthing what can grow.
Ajendar did not punish her.
She did not destroy Aelion.
She left, and let it remain — a monument to a creation that feared its own evolution.
And Ellari?
She walks her still world, surrounded by her perfect, unchanging beings.
She speaks to them, but they do not speak back — for they were never meant to stray.
In rare moments, she sits beneath the leafless trees and looks into the unbroken sky and asks:
“Was I wrong?”
🌱 V. The Whisper Left Behind
It is said that Ajendar carved a single phrase into the edge of her world, where only the wind could read it:
“Perfection does not sing.
Only the flawed heart dares to make music.”
✴️ Moral of the Tale
True creation is not the absence of chaos, but the invitation to change.
Perfection without risk is not paradise — it is stasis.
Even the gods of creation allow for imperfection, for it is the soil in which wonder grows.
Ajendar does not fight those who try to surpass her.
She simply watches.
And waits for their work to begin becoming.
(Pure RP character, will not be used in any games)
Alt character of this , if you want to play with one of my alts, just say it.
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