The sun rose and sank. The wind blew and ceased. The earth shifted and settled. And Chaos gave life through rain, rivers, and tides.
These things were constants. To all those who would walk the earth, they knew of the God Chaos.
Chaos, meanwhile, was content. He was surrounded by Chao, the emeralds sparkled on their pedestals, and he could simmer happily in the pools of the temple made for him eons ago. He would play with the Chao, listen to them sing, and watch for danger as they played and played. And this would be how he spent his days. These things were constants.
Every decade, entire tribes of Mobians would come to the mountain his temple was on, and they would sing, dance, and pray for his mercy and his kindness to provide good weather for the coming years. Hardly any of them would venture to the temple themselves, as the powerful chaos energy kept them at bay. The ones that did would kneel for hours at the temple’s base, praying for good rain and plentiful harvest. This would happen every decade. These things were constants.
But Chaos, powerful as he is, is not the ruler of everything. And nothing is ever constant forever.
One day three bumbling, curious Chao floated down the mountain, a day after the festivals had stopped and the tribes had gone home. They laughed at silly faces painted onto old bowls, and admired the jewelry that had slipped off of someone’s unsuspecting person. They went from place to place, playing hide and seek, looking through rubbish and offerings left behind, until one of them heard a low, weak crying in a bush.
The Chao gathered around the bush in hushed tones, and gently moved aside the leaves.
Chaos felt three of his precious Chao call for help, and immediately he was down at the base of the mountain, standing over the Chao gathered around a bush. The Chao cried and pointed, and Chaos peeled back the leaves to reveal a small, dusty brown hedgehog infant. The infant was making small choking sounds, squinty eyes unable to open, tiny limbs flailing weakly.
Chaos was confused. Why had this child been left behind? It was too young to play, so it couldn’t have gotten lost. Had its caretaker forgotten it? Had they abandoned it on purpose? Chaos felt anger—He wanted to track down its parent, and demand why they had left it behind. But the child whimpered again, and Chaos looked down. The infant had opened its tiny milky eyes, and was looking blindly around with fear and uncertainty for its parent.
The child did not have a home. Even if Chaos returned it, there was no guarantee that the child would be safe or loved there. The only way that Chaos could guarantee that the child would grow up secure would be to raise it himself.
Having made his decision, Chaos shoved his anger down, picked up the infant, and cradled it in his arms. Chaos leaned down and kissed its wrinkled forehead, transferring Chaos power into the little baby. At his touch, The babe’s quills began to turn a bright baby blue. The baby squrimed as the power filled its weak lungs, strengthened its crumpled muscles, and drove all sickness away. When the baby opened his eyes again, they were a bright, shining green. The baby looked around, clearly this time, then took one of Chaos’ fingers in his paws and giggled when Chaos moved it.
Satisfied, Chaos began to walk back up the mountain, the three Chao in tow.
Because Chaos was loving, Chaos was kind, and Chaos was protective. These things were constants.