The Relic of the First God

Before the gods had names, there was a god who had no name at all.

He was not born from another god, nor from the earth or the sea. He emerged from the darkness before creation, when there was nothing to rule and no one to worship.

He was the first thing to awaken.

And because he had awakened alone, he believed the universe belonged to him.

He shaped the stars from his own body. He gave movement to the planets and planted the first seeds of life in the silent worlds. Wherever he passed, matter began to dream of becoming something more.

Then, after an eternity, he disappeared.

No one knows whether he died.

The younger gods searched for him among the stars, beneath the oceans, and inside the bones of dead worlds. They found nothing.

Only a strange relic remained.

It floated beyond the edge of creation, suspended in a place where no wind moved and no light could reach. It looked neither like a temple nor a creature, yet it carried the unmistakable presence of something that had once been alive.

The gods were afraid to touch it.

They said that if the relic were awakened, the First God might return.

But the oldest of them knew the truth.

The First God had never disappeared.

He had simply become too vast to remain inside a single body.

The relic was not his tomb.

It was his last thought.

And somewhere within it, beneath layers of ancient silence, that thought was still dreaming.

Waiting.

Remembering the moment when there was nothing.

And wondering whether creation had been a mistake.