In the age of the ancients, in the primordial void before time was born, a massive being swam through the empty nothing of existence, separated from reality itself.
Soon, the being rested, taking hold and forcing a space of reality to be born, just like a bird building their nest in a tree.
Ages passed, and time was born, flowing forward like a great river, forcing reality to move with it toward an unknown future, just as dark and cold as before time.
The being had made its nest, flushed it with life, and was even going around decorating its work of art. Granted, it was a little bit ugly, even he knew that, but it didn't prevent him from working on it.
Eons were born and passed, even time gazed at their magnificent length, unable to understand how its father even imagined such things, long stretches of the river of time.
