From the dreaming of the Primis, came force — and from force, Bellator. Not chaos. Not command. But the defiant will to shape. Where others obeyed the rhythm of balance, Bellator resisted — not to destroy, but to declare I am. He was the tremor in stillness, the fire that rose without permission. The cosmos knew harmony. Bellator taught it conflict — not out of hatred, but to carve meaning from silence. He was the spark in man’s chest before man had lungs to breathe. The motion behind every ascent. The rebellion before law. When the Six took form, he took purpose. When the balance cracked, he did not fracture. He became the blade that remembered why the war began. And now… across dying stars and broken thrones, Bellator walks, not as tyrant, but as the eternal defiance of fate.