[ WP ] A god is lost in a world of his own making .

# # # In the beginning, there were no worlds. 
 
 There was only us, thousands or maybe millions of us, inside a sphere of light. We had understanding of each other, without having to communicate, and we had names for each other, though our physical forms were shifting and vague. Nothing changed in the sphere, so there was no time. Time began in the moment when The Oldest left. He pushed against the boundary of the sphere –before, we did not know the sphere had a boundary– and as he slipped through, there was a terrifying noise and light. 
 
 
 His world was the first world, and he was the first god. We could not communicate with him after he had left, but we could see him as if through a piece of glass. We watched as he grew a physical form, coalescing into a man with long silver hair, and we understood why he was called The Oldest. We watched as he molded the world with his hands, stretching and moving spacetime until his world was old like him. His world was full of stars that were already beginning to go out, and planets that had watched entire civilizations bloom and die. 
 
 
 We saw the power that The Oldest held, saw him doing the work of creating and changing his world. On a nondescript planet with a temperate climate, we saw him guide his masterwork into existence, a species made to look like us, a species he called Man. And we wanted to be like him. We began to leave the sphere and create worlds of our own. The Gardener God's world grew life in every crevice. The Combatant God's world was hot and brutal. When the Sea God's world came into existence, it was not set in a black void, but in an infinite expanse of water. 
 
 
 One thing became clear to us, the uncertain gods remaining in the sphere. The gods that had created their worlds were forever isolated, unable to perceive the others they had left behind. We watched as a species on the Thunder God's world found the great cutting power and obliterated their foes, and as the Thunder God worked to save her world from itself, pushing and pulling space with all her power, we hoped the others would see her struggle. But soon, the Oldest God wept as his Men discovered the same power, and we wept with him for a tragedy we could not prevent. 
 
 
 I was one of the last ones left in the sphere. I wanted to absorb the mistakes of all the others, to understand where they had triumphed and where they had failed. I wanted to be prepared. So when I stepped through the boundary of light, I felt as if I was ready. It was dark outside the sphere, but only for a second. As soon as I passed through, I felt a great wave of pressure, and my body radiated light out into the expanse around me. The light emanated into the infinite blackness, coalescing into the galaxies and nebulas recognizable from other worlds, but also strange arrangements of elements and energy that I had never seen before. I felt powerful and weightless. 
 
 
 I stood there for a minute, watching my world as it came into shape around me. I stretched out my hands the way I had seen the other gods do in the creation-process, and saw that they were the hands of a young man. Nothing happened. I moved my hands as if to conduct an invisible orchestra and still, nothing. So I began to walk through my world, picking up stars idly, letting them fall through my hands as I went. Perhaps the secret to creation was somewhere else. Perhaps there was a bright corner where life waited for me to come across it and shape it as I wished. But as I continued to explore, I understood for the first time the meaning of my name. I am the Wanderer God. I walk on.
