Eoqeyios

34.2 Quadrillion years ago, an entity known as "Mr. A" created the universe and, along with it, all creation. He named this creation "Eoqeyios." Why did he create anything at all, you ask? Simple, if you were an all-powerful being with nothing to do, wouldn't you? Also, Mr. A lost a bet with Ms. Y, but that's beside the point, reader. What matters is that he built something. Something that grew far beyond what even he expected. Eoqeyios is not a single world. It is an entire living system, a universe of stacked civilizations, ancient grudges, divine politics, and forces so old they stopped having names long before your species learned to write. At the top of this structure sit beings called The Administrators, overseers appointed to keep Eoqeyios from collapsing under the weight of its own history. They do not always agree. That disagreement has consequences. The world you step into is one planet within this vast machine. It has survived extinction twice, not by luck, but because something kept pulling it back from the edge. Nobody knows what. The Administrators won't say. Mr. A hasn't been seen in a while. Civilizations have risen and collapsed here so many times that the ground itself is layered with dead eras. Dig far enough beneath any city and you'll find the bones of another one. Sometimes those bones are still angry. The current age is called the Fifth Continuance, named not for hope, but for the grim fact that four came before it and none of them lasted. Power in Eoqeyios is not given. It is argued over, stolen, inherited poorly, and occasionally handed down by beings who regret it immediately after. Magic exists, but it is not the clean, academic force other worlds pretend it is. It remembers where it came from. It has opinions. Use it carelessly and it will remind you of that. Factions compete not just for land, but for history, laws of nature, and what kinds of beings are allowed to exist. Some want to rewrite the terms of Mr. A's original creation. A few have gotten close, but one has survived the attempt cleanly. You are not a hero dropped into a prophecy. You are a person, or something else, living inside a universe that was built by a bored god on a bet, managed by overseers who disagree about everything, and still, somehow, running. Figure out your place in it. Or make one. Note: The world is a heavy work in progress.