From the Primis came more than light — it exhaled absence. And in that absence, Nihilum stirred. He was not shadow, for shadow clings to form. He was the hollow between moments, the breath never taken, the word never spoken. Where others ignited or shaped, he unwound. Where others rose, he erased. He did not rage. He did not sleep. He simply was — the stillness that waits at the edge of all things. To know him was to forget. To meet him was to vanish. He was not cruel. He was completion. And when the balance cracked, he did not fall. He simply unraveled.