Creation is a dangerous power to wield. And power corrupts. Cara, the Ancient One of Love, knew corruption intimately, for they were corruption. Bleeding and rushing, power incarnate. As the oldest of the Ancient Ones, they learned to wield this gift early, manipulating their siblings and fellow Ancients to win their favour and trust.

Cara’s first escapade, of sorts, was not long after their own birth. The Great Four were talking, planning for Cara’s future, and the future of the universe. Cara was just a babe, suckling from Tisyn’s breast, listening to what laid in store for them.

“Will they stay this small forever?” Zora asked, looking at the child curiously.

“No,” Tisyn answered. “They will grow.”

“And do great things, do you predict?” Alina pressed.

Anos interrupted before Tisyn could answer. “It matters naught. They are the incarnation of love, a fickle thing. What, shall we have them simply create to no end?”

Tisyn did not respond, for they knew what was to come, and this was only one of Anos’ many mistakes. Anos did not consider consequences as often as the others. This was to be their doom, they foresaw.

Cara, however, was angered by this assumption. Simply the incarnation of love? Oh, how wrong they were. They unlatched from Tisyn, hungry for something new. Anos’ essence.

They reached into the webbing of the universe, searching for Anos’ divine power. When Cara found it, they ripped. With their hands, their teeth, they tore, burrowing into the very essence of space itself.

That is how Anos found themselves with a hole amidst their chest, pulsing, pulling, searching and seeking. Out of it tumbled Cara, eyes wild with desire. For power, for madness, for more.

And thus, the first black hole was created. It is said that it sits in Anos’ chest to this day, pulsing pulling, seeking, searching, waiting.