I returned to the ether in silence.
The universe faded beneath Me its infant stars, its wounded guardians, its fallen traitor and the mist closed around My form as I crossed the threshold back into the plane that birthed every being like Me.
My castle stood waiting, its towers rising from vapour, its arches humming with the memory of creation. But something in it felt wrong. The echo of the silver ether's missing presence clung to the halls like dust. Her place in this realm had been small, soft, rarely loud but her absence was enormous.
I lifted my hand.
Mist gathered, swirling upward in slow spirals, forming shape by shape, detail by detail. Her likeness took form gentle, serene, eyes bright with calm purpose. A statue of the silver ether now stood in the great hall, carved not from stone, but from condensed ether. Her glow was faint, forever frozen in the moment before she was lost.
"She will not be forgotten," I murmured.
The castle answered with a low hum, as if accepting her memory into its foundation.
I stood there for a moment longer, feeling something uncomfortably close to grief.
Then I felt the pull of the universe again not distress this time, but movement.
Growth.
The children of Night had begun to stir.
I stepped again into the boundaries of creation, not fully entering, but close enough to feel its breath. Night and Time were teaching.
Night drifted over the shadows between galaxies, her movements smooth and patient, her voice a low, steady whisper. Around her clustered the first beings born from her essence Dream drifting in languid circles, Destruction-and-Creation flickering with chaotic eagerness, Destiny watching with calm interest, and Death standing quiet and composed behind them all.
She showed them how to hold the essence of a realm seed in their hands.
"To shape a realm," Night said, "you must begin by gathering the pieces of yourself."
Dream lifted their hands, forming a haze of soft light that pulsed like a heartbeat. "A world made of dreams…"
Destiny extended their palm, watching threads of possibility weave into a sphere. "A realm where all paths may unfold…"
Destruction-and-Creation formed a flickering storm. "A place where everything breaks and everything rebuilds…"
Death cupped their hands gently, shaping a silent, peaceful void. "A realm of endings… and of rest."
Time floated nearby, teaching the other gods the newborn spirits of fire and tide, stone and wind, storm and memory.
"Your realms are not meant to rival the universe's," Time instructed. "They are meant to reflect you. A place for your essence to gather strength. A place where your nature can grow without harm."
The fire god shaped a burning citadel in the folds of space. The storm god gathered thunder into a swirling globe. The mountain god formed a realm of eternal stone. The ocean god crafted a world of endless tides.
Realm after realm appeared small, fragile, but filled with potential. A constellation of private worlds, held together by the gravity of belief.
All of this, they did without ever knowing we existed beyond their sky.
The ether beings remained a secret.
A necessary one.
Neither Night nor Time spoke My name or theirs. They sealed the truth behind their lips. The universe had no need to discover the plane that birthed its shepherds. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Their silence was not a lie.
It was protection.
As the gods shaped their realms, patterns emerged. Groups of deities drifted naturally toward one another gods of similar temperament, or opposing balance, or complementary forces.
The fire god found kinship with the storm god, forging a bond of destruction and renewal. The mountain god and the ocean god circled each other warily, learning how to coexist. The gods of growth and decay formed an uneasy alliance, each needing the other to hold their realms stable.
The first pantheons took shape.
Not by decree.
By gravity.
By instinct.
By the need of the universe to order itself.
Night's children formed their own circle not a pantheon, but something older, deeper, woven into the spine of the cosmos itself.
Dream created a realm of infinite visions. Destiny built a labyrinth of paths that stretched across possibility. Destruction-and-Creation forged a world of storms and rebirth. Death shaped a quiet garden where all things eventually came to rest.
These realms pulsed like four hearts beating beneath the universe.
I watched from the ether's boundary, unseen, untouched, but ever-present.
The gods grew. The pantheons formed. Creation learned to breathe without My hand.
And yet, in the quiet, I felt a shadow lingering.
The mortal former-god still walked on his barren world.Small.Hungry.Terrified.
He would learn his place in the universe the way all mortals do step by painful step.
But the world will one day hear of him.
And his story will not end quietly.
For now, though, I returned to my castle, passing beneath the silent gaze of the silver ether's statue.
The universe was growing.
But so were its storms.