In the boundless void, where time tangled and space rippled like an untamed tide, three divine patrons convened. They were Red, Blue, and Black—the celestial embodiments of strength, intellect, and harmony. Their forms shimmered with unrestrained power, their egos burning brighter than the stars they had scattered like playthings.

  "Strength is the foundation," Red declared, their flames roaring in defiance of the emptiness. "Without it, nothing endures."

  Blue raised their glowing hand, their voice crisp and calculated. "Strength, unchecked, creates chaos. Only intellect brings structure to the storm."

  Black grinned, their shadows coiling like smoke in the corners of creation. "Order, strength—such fragile things. Harmony is what binds them, what gives them purpose. Without it, the strongest crumble, and the clever falter."

  Red’s fiery form flared as they snarled. "Harmony is for the weak."

  "And yelling at shadows is a hallmark of strength, I take it?" Black quipped, their grin stretching wider.

  Blue sighed, their voice cutting through the brewing tension with clinical precision. "Enough. Let us settle this with action—a wager."

  Intrigue rippled through the air, the first sign of agreement among the divine trio.

  "A wager?" Red’s flames crackled with eager anticipation. "Now you're speaking my language."

  Blue nodded, their glow pulsing softly. "We choose a mortal—not for their current state, but for their potential. A blank slate."

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  "Not entirely blank," Black interjected, their grin twisting into something almost predatory. "Let’s split them—mind, body, and memory. Three fragments, each left to fend for itself. Let them rise and stumble and struggle, and see which piece proves the strongest—or the smartest—or the most harmonious."

  Far below, in a barren field under an infinite, indifferent sky, lay Topher—or rather, the remnants of him. His **mind**, unburdened by hormones and emotions, drifted in the void. His **body** remained still, a blank vessel awaiting animation. His **memories**, fragmented across fragile scrolls, shimmered faintly in the distance, like echoes of a story half-forgotten.

  From the void, a voice emerged—sharp, dry, and utterly unimpressed.

  "Three gods and this is the best you could come up with? Bold strategy," Past Topher’s voice quipped. "What’s next, a three-legged race to determine the winner?"

  Red bristled, their flames snapping irritably. "You’ll need our guidance."

  "Guidance? Oh, fantastic. Nothing screams 'trustworthy life coach' like a sentient bonfire," Past Topher replied.

  Blue’s glow brightened, their tone cutting. "This is a test. A chance to shape what you will become."

  "A test?" Past Topher’s voice turned mock-thoughtful. "I’ve always done well under pressure. Except, you know, every other time in my life."

  Black chuckled, their shadows pressing closer. "You’re amusing. Let’s see if you’re still laughing when the cracks begin to show."

  Far below, Present Topher stirred—his body slowly coming to life, though unaware of the mind and memories that lingered in separate planes. In the distance, Memory Topher flickered faintly, the scrolls bearing the weight of experiences that neither mind nor body could yet recall.

  The stakes of the wager loomed large. The patrons played for power—the right to establish the first ten rules of their next world, the privilege of designing not one but two intelligent life forms, and, most enticing of all, eternal gloating rights over their rivals.

  For Topher, the stakes were far more personal. In the fragments of his existence lay a journey he could not yet comprehend—a search for identity, purpose, and something greater than the fractured pieces of himself.

  The scrolls shimmered faintly, waiting to tell their tales. The wager began.