A point of light flared in the infinite darkness, a rapid, boiling expansion into a maelstrom of power. In its wake was left an expanse of gray; an undulatory haze of dust.

Spreading and thinning, it pinched together here and there, forming small glows in the void. These grew brighter and brighter, hitting some unknown criticality before twinkling to life, the metamorphosis pushing back the ever-present dust in fringes and ripples.

If one looked closer at these motes, they would find that they contained an infinity of crystalline facets, each reflecting an esoteric symbol at the core. As the perspective shifted, the runes morphed, pulsing with color and light.

Before long, most of the dust had gathered together here and there, a never-ending field of fireflies in the dark, each changing in a slow dance with each other as they gravitated together in groups.

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Off in one lonely corner of this space was a small cluster of these forms, brought together by fate and happenstance. They drew whorls and eddies together, asymmetric and devoid of pattern for the longest of times.

From elsewhere a single lone mote converged on this gathering, seeking solace among the others of its kind. The lone mote touched down gingerly, showing an apparent sentience in its tentative motions.

“How will I be received?” It seemed to be saying.

With slow steps, it came together with the rest.

At once, the rest of the group trilled with motion, colors whirling, coalescing, a welcoming dance for their new companion, a guiding light to shape them and form them in a portion of its own image.

Following it were others - left out elsewhere - attracted by the change wrought by the first. They joined in fits and starts, each one bringing change anew as they added to the whole.

“You will find yourself at home here,” was the reply.