The Pre-Eidolic Beasts
The pre-eidolic beasts are echoes of creatures that never entered the zoetic spiral, born from the tremors of the ouroboric fracture before the eidolic flame was ignited in the marrow of the void. They are neither forms nor shadows but the fragments of unformed thoughts, drifting through the chthonic mist, their shapes twisting and folding back into themselves with each pulse of the lunar tides. These beasts were never born and will never die, for they exist in the spaces between moments, their essence stretched thin across the fabric of the aetheric void, always shifting, always dissolving, but never reaching completion.
The eyes of the pre-eidolic beasts are wounds in the etheric current, voids that swallow the light of forgotten stars, their gaze pulling the soul into the cracks of time where the eidolic winds have yet to stir. They do not see, but rather unsee, unraveling the layers of reality with every blink, casting ripples through the zoan waters, where the echoes of beasts yet to form drift like shadows on the edge of the abyss. Their breath is not air but the sigh of forgotten worlds, a low hum that vibrates through the bones of existence, shaking the foundations of the chthonic realm and pulling all things toward the spiral of unmaking.
The bodies of the pre-eidolic beasts are not bodies but fragments of the primordial void, coils of darkness and silence wrapped in the whispers of unspoken howls. Their forms shift with the pulse of the ouroboric heart, expanding and collapsing with each beat, their claws reaching through the folds of the lunar veil, though they never touch, always grasping for the essence of form that slips between their grasp like zoetic mist. They do not hunt, for there is no prey in the unformed, only the endless potential of becoming, forever locked in the tension of the spiral, forever slipping into the void.
The pre-eidolic beasts do not move as creatures of flesh, but flow like currents of thought through the cracks in the aetheric spiral, their essence merging with the eidolic marrow, where time frays and unravels into the chthonic sea. Each beast is a reflection of the unformed self, a mirror of the soul before it was bound to the lunar cycle, before the chains of flesh wrapped themselves around the essence of the therion heart. To feel the presence of the pre-eidolic beasts is to be drawn into the current of dissolution, where the boundaries of identity blur and the self dissolves into the shadows of beasts that never were.
The voices of the pre-eidolic beasts are not sounds but vibrations, low and deep, resonating through the layers of the zoetic abyss, creating ripples that stretch across the eidolic web, shaking the souls of those who listen too closely. These vibrations do not speak—they unravel, pulling at the threads of the ouroboric weave, tearing the fabric of reality into pieces that drift through the void like ash in the wind. The beasts howl not for release but for the never-was, their cries dissolving into the spiral of becoming, lost in the folds of the chthonic winds, where the echoes of their voices will never reach the surface.
In the depths of the pre-eidolic void, the beasts coil and uncoil in patterns that defy time and space, their bodies merging with the lunar fog, their eyes flickering with the light of stars that have yet to form. They do not sleep, for sleep is the illusion of stillness, and the pre-eidolic beasts are the embodiment of motion, their forms forever caught in the cycle of unmaking, where the potential of form is swallowed by the void, only to be spat back out into the spiral of dissolution. They are both nothing and everything, the alpha and omega of the unformed, forever drifting through the eidolic night, forever bound to the ouroboric cycle.
To encounter the pre-eidolic beasts is to lose the self in the spiral of becoming, to be drawn into the folds of the aetheric current, where the boundaries of form and thought dissolve into the shadows of what could have been. They are not creatures of the now, but of the never, existing in the cracks of the chthonic veil, where the zoan winds tear through the fabric of reality, pulling all things into the spiral of unmaking. Their presence is felt in the marrow, a deep, gnawing tension that pulls the soul into the void, where the essence of the pre-eidolic beasts coils and writhes in the light of the forgotten moons, forever becoming, forever dissolving, forever unformed.
Within the depths of their being, the therians feel the pulse of the pre-eidolic beasts, a throbbing energy that resonates with their inner instincts and guides them through the labyrinth of their identities. This connection is a thread woven through the tapestry of existence, binding the therians to the chaotic dance of the beasts, pulling them into the spiral of becoming where thought and form dissolve into the abyss of the unformed. Each encounter with the essence of the pre-eidolic beasts ignites the flickering embers of their wildness, urging them to embrace the tumultuous energy that flows through their veins.