What drives you to such pursuit of knowledge, human? Does your meager understanding of the forces of creation give you solace in your puny life? Perhaps you seek to comprehend the mana that pulses throughout the land, each waking breath growing stronger than the last?

Do you want to know what that entails, human? What that growing sensation of potential means for your pitiful species?

You lack the foundations to understand my answer, but I will give it anyway.

Supercriticality.

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I touched the world-waters after close to a hundred summers. Truthfully, life in the sands of the Lifeless Lands was merely challenging, not impossible. More and more did I see the ingenious nature of the world’s other inhabitants, be they moving or unmoving. The multicolored prickleplants carried no water for the living - myself an exception, as the water from them only hurt greatly - there was still water, though it was rare. My home sat in a valley of rock, the browned soils surrounding the teal spring of water a reminder of the forest long ago. I had become accustomed to life alone, though the ‘visitors’ to my abode helped keep me social.

Many strange forms of life dwelled across the sands, each making their way to visit me and my spring of life. They were hardy, one and all, raised by a land less forgiving than that of the woods. Despite that, the pools were places of odd harmony. From the feathered to the scaled, all sorts of life sat and drank among the rocks, their lack of combat clueing me in to the rules here.

Water was sacred in the Lifeless lands, so none attacked one another over fear of ‘spoiling’ it.

It was a humbling reminder of the folly of us humans. We would have fought and killed over such a thing easily, warring tribes having fought for less even during plentiful seasons, let alone during the long dark.

That same odd unity led me to the sensation I felt tickling my senses. The animals felt it too, which may have helped the peace remain. This spring, this landmark of life, was important somehow. It was a natural meeting place in the harsh desert, but there was something more behind that, something that spoke to a deeper, stranger part of myself.

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Time became a haze after that. I spent long seasons building my home from the trees, the size of the spring granting me the tools needed to make one. I lacked the tools and the skills to work stone, so I sought refuge through the trees instead, few as they were. I then taught myself the ways of the plants, learning to grow them rather than wither them. I learned of the patterns that plants liked to grow in, which liked which others and improved one another’s growth. In many ways, plants were akin to people - the proper touch needed to make the best of their abilities.

That took many summers. I settled in after that, trying my hand at all sorts of casual crafts to kill time. My ability to work warstone became exquisite, my axes and knives the smoothest and sharpest of any I had seen. With those tools, I learned to cut wood into small shapes, the imitation of larger beings soothing my mind. I made lizards and birds, shelled creatures and tail-hunters, anything I came across. I learned to care for the denizens of the oasis that were friendly enough to do so. I learned to meditate, letting my mind drift as the worries of life faded from me like bad dreams.

That was when I felt it.

It was subtle at first, like a whisper in the dark of night. The faintest sensation of movement brushed against my mind, yet no wind moved, no hair of mine even minutely disturbed. I slowly focused on it, my meditation turning towards it as I did so.

It reminded me of water, truth be told. It was a current of movement, the flow carrying the sensation straight past me, then deep downward into the sands below, presumably where the water came from.

I made a few connections, then.

Water was the anchor of all life. Lifewater was the anchor of human life. Then was this... soul-water the anchor for the world’s life? It made sense to me. All things relied on something to live, so why couldn’t the lands themselves rely on something to make them how they are? My understanding of ‘the world’ was limited, but I had come to terms with the nature of the land below my feet over time. I had moved across a mere touch of it, the true breadth of it escaping me. The lands I knew even now disappeared into the distance, meaning they continued onward, much like the dunes I had fled into. What was once a point in the distance was now my home, which meant the same could be true of all other places I see.

The size was astonishing to comprehend, leaving me in awe of the back I stood upon.

Did this soulwater enable this size? Was it why things fell? Did it encourage the flowing of waters, as to produce lifewater beings like me?

My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, losing my grip on the flow as my senses turned inward, not outward.

Inward, hmm?

I had a theory.