The Work continues.

I didn't introduce Time to this endless Sky. It is my brother, come into existence alongside me. But, it has no dominion over me, nor over this parent Sky of mine. I stand at the center of it, the great eddies of time extending the same length before and after me and my work, extending, but never reaching toward me, the sea tamed and powerless. So I plan and focus and build, project, erect and lift, untouched by wear and tear. Until a time when Time itself will be made to disappear again and I know perfect peace and Order. Until the time when I can say these words no more. It's not that time yet, and so I spoke them again.

The Work continues.

I stand among my Monoliths, the motes shimmering gently as they revolve over my coaxing fingers. My island hums and trembles as it grows, thrusting outward. But the Sky extends so far, endlessly into the distance. It dwarfs my effort, makes a mockery of it.

I return to my work.

After settling the foundations with my three children, I now introduce more elements to this Sky, flowers and blooms growing in their garden. I build the materials to forge the chains with which I will bind the Sky to my will.

Soon.

Smiling at the thought, I drape my fingers through the humming clouds. The motes congregate, first into sand, then into a lump of unformed matter. I blow over it, washing it with my breath and my desire. The lump twists and writhes, its form fighting against itself as potential is carved away. Until one state is chosen amidst so many, one form and one desire.

The lump erupts, reaching, yearning, transforming, it settles, dancing. A flame, dancing in the air above my palm. Its golden shifts between many different hues, and its motion doesn’t cease.

Primordian Flame Primordial fire wrought out of Materia, the primordial matter. It is imbued with the Goddess’ desire for change. It wishes to dance.

A property for change. Mine.

I smile, holding the golden flame in my palm. Creation. My Core rejoices.

Pushing my hand up, I coax the flame to set flight. It does just so. It floats like a petal on the wind, seeding the still air with its loving desire for dance and change just as I put my loving desire into its creation.

Love begets love. My Core swells.

Soon, my island is alight with the soft lights of many flames. The clouds of motes shimmer and glint as the fires float between them. The motes hum excitedly when heat caresses them. My wheels deviate from their routes to chase after the floating flames.

I am not done yet.

Extending a hand, I pluck one of the flames out of the air. It crackles once as it’s washed over by my breath. It settles, forgetting its desire for dance. Turning to slowness and calm and the quelling of beating.

Primordian Crystal

Primordial ice wrought out of Materia, the primordial matter. It is imbued with the Goddess’ desire for change. It wishes to stop.

Carefully, I lay the newborn crystal on the ground. Soon, many more join it, and my island shimmers with their many-hued glints. The motes’ dance turns into a languid waltz around them, my wheels' excited running into a slow crawl.

My island glimmers like a jewel, its brilliance finally setting the Other Sky to shame. My Core swells, and I can’t contain myself. I laugh, dancing amongst my monoliths and wheels and flames and crystals. Golden sand trails from my fingers as I spin among the clouds and the motes, turning and turning as my Core pulses with joy. I step and pull my hips, jump and pirouette when my feet find the ground again.

I am happy. Happy, and I wish for this to continue forever. I wish to create and grow and take and…

A sound. Not me.

The dance is forgotten. Razor-sharp fangs erupt from my body and face as I turn sharply, my fingers curling into claws. My ferocity, my outrage!, is reflected on my body as I prowl for the source of the sound. Razor-tipped tentacles, lined with eyes and fanged mouths, sprout from my hips and legs, twisting around monoliths and digging into golden sand. A limb ending in a vitreous scythe emerges from the point where my shoulder meets my neck, flickering like an insect's proboscis. Dozens of eyes litter my torso and back, irises swimming in jelly-like protuberances roving for intruders.

With widened eyes, I look around, searching for the intrusion. My island shimmers back at me, joining in the search. I prowl and slither and snake around the clouds and behind the Monoliths’s steady forms.

Nothing. I am alone. There is only me?

Right?

I look toward the Sky. Has it come from there?

The Other doesn’t answer, seeming only to yawn larger than ever.

I retreat to my Workshop, my tentacles knocking a monolith aside and smashing a Wheel. Maybe a door would be a sensible choice after all. I work on it, rapidly.

The Golden Door A door wrought out of Materia, the primordial matter. It is imbued with the Goddess’ fears and anger. It wishes to divide and keep away, but a trembling runs across its frame.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Sub-par. Fear doesn’t make for a good defense. But I need it, and it’s the only reason I don’t rip apart this shameful work at once.

Has the time come then? Has the Sky, after being self-taught by my own inception, finally given birth? I would have felt it, I am sure of it. And yet...

I am not alone. Not all is me, and I cannot rest as long as such a state persists.

I look at myself.

- Sun Allmighty – Grows the power of your physical form, granting access to divine armaments and powers. The Glare of the Sun: Infuses your form with the Divine Light of the Unformed Sky, increasing your physical attributes and unlocking new battle skills.

When I chose this path for my growth, new choices presented themselves.

My form, liquid gold and shimmering light, has grown. It has become taller, and stronger, abandoning its original childish shape for a more mature form. My arms have grown longer, my legs thicker. I am stronger, but it’s not enough.

Unlocking The Glare of the Sun allows you to craft a divine weapon that is an extension of your soul and amplifies your power for destruction.

Wanton destruction is crass, but the ability for defense is paramount. Without wasting a moment, I make my Sign. My will flit across the many ideas my growth has planted into my mind. There are many, but I wish for the best of the best. It takes me time, but eventually, a blueprint is forged and from there, the shaping is afoot.

The work is strenuous, the most daunting so far. This is not a simple act of will upon a pre-existing matter. It’s a birthing process, my soul writhing and jolting to create a new part of itself. Even as I struggle and hurt through the process steps, I know it’s not something I can repeat indefinitely. I am just putting too much of myself into it. Quality doesn’t allow for quantity, and this is quality supreme.

By the end, I am left drained, lying in a spot of cleaved floor and scratched walls. The ambient energies of the Sky rush to replenish me, but not fast enough for me not to feel the heaviness of tiredness in my limbs and Core for the first time since my awakening.

It’s not an unpleasant feeling altogether, especially as I gaze upon my newest creation.

Au’makh, the Eye

An eye wrought out of of Materia, the primordial element. An extension of the Goddess’ soul, it grows as the Goddess grows, its power increasing as it does.

Au’makh is a Divine-Class Weapon.

Thrill shoots through my Core as I witness my newest creation.

The weapon is encapsulated in a sphere of rough-hewn Materia as large as my fist. The material is not alive, but the eye inside is. Unblinking, it watches me, the gleaming golden iris a sharp line on a black sclera. Appropriate for its use.

The eye is as much part of me as my own arms. I can see myself through it, feel the power crackling through it, and the desire to unleash it.

Au’makh was born thirsty, but not for creation and growth like me. It wishes only to unmake those which threaten. It’s the part of me that wishes for that.

Its wish will be fulfilled.

Coaxing the eye toward me, I absorb it into my frame. As it disappears beneath my skin, Au’makh sinks into sleep, its desire – my desire – for destruction lessening into a distant torpor.

It is right. Destruction must not be handed out without discrimination. It is to be used as a scalpel, to carve away impurities and eliminate threats.

My new weapon puts me at ease, but not enough to step outside my Workshop, not yet. It doesn’t matter. I have work to do here as well.

Still…

I look toward the Workshop’s wall. The materials outside are needed as well, and I don’t wish to be blind on my own island.

Maybe I’ll need a window…

I shook away the thought for another moment. I may be beset by fear and uncertainty, but that’s no excuse for laziness. Nothing is. The work is my motive, my reason, my function. My joy. Denying it means denying myself. Questioning means invalidating my existence.

The work continues.

My table shimmers with aggregating motes. They swirl, forming a vortex that ends beneath my splayed fingers. I push, exerting steady pressure. A desire is brought into being, to quash and pull together. I press it into the forming Materia, crushing it into my fist.

It fights me for a moment, but then its hatred focuses inward. It pushes against itself, endlessly collapsing upon itself in its desire for connection and bonding.

Primordian Void A point of endless pressure wrought out of Materia, the primordial matter. It wishes to pull together and collapse.

The newly-born Void appears as a pinprick into space. It hungers to be set free, but this is no simple wheel. It’s too domineering, too brash and selfish. It must be contained until the right time.

I build something that can hold it.

The Waiting Cupboard The Goddess’ Cupboard, where Her experiments and elements are held until their time has come. Wrought out of Materia, the primordial matter, it is imbued with the Goddess’ iron will for Order. There’s no element that can break through its grasp.

The Void whines as it disappears behind the shutter. I pat it. Patience, little one. Order can be attained only when performances and desires are fulfilled at the exact right moment. Otherwise, we’d slip into the abyss that is Chaos.

Here’s a thought. How thin sometimes is the difference between me and everything that opposes me. I must work to raise the walls higher.

The door puts me at ease. It’s frustrating being forced to settle a divide in my own island, but… I appreciate it. If only it wasn’t such shoddy work…

After giving it some thought, I renounced the idea of a window. The walls of my Workshop aren’t strong enough yet for me to carve them. I just hope that nothing Other settles in my island while I am not watching…

Speaking of which…

[You reached Level 4!] [You have 1 Unspent Skill Point] - All-Devourer – Refines your hunger for souls, increasing the ways you can sate it and make use of what you consume. The Land Rises: Your Creations participate in your hunger as well as in your soul. Mortal creatures touching one of your Works can be devoured as if you were present.

Maybe the choice is premature, but I wish at least to have some power over my own works. Despite them and the island being me, I am frustratingly blind to their surroundings.

For now. This is the first step toward a more acceptable outcome.

The work continues.

Summoning a lump of Materia, I grasp it with both of my hands. I sink my fingers into it, and then, with a growl, I pull it to pieces. The Materia flies apart in a shower of golden dust, the motes furious in their hatred for each other that I impressed upon them. They scatter, again and again, forming an ever-expanding halo atop my table.

Primordian Rapture A point of endless expansion, wrought out of Materia, the primordial matter. It wishes to disperse and escape.

The Rapture joins its opposite into my Cupboard’s clutches. Their time will come, but not now. For now, they are barred from my gently shimmering island.

These are all the elements I wished to bring into being. In their basic properties, they will allow for my art to soar ever higher. By creating them, I built a framework of possibilities. Wielding them, I will forge wonders.

My Core swells at the thought.

Letting myself be taken by the dreams, I step around my Workshop. I spin lightly, hum and giggle. I stop, then giggle again. Something is missing.

It’s the work of a moment.

Thinking Stool

The Goddess’ Stool, wrought out of Materia, the primordial matter. A silent companion for all kinds of thoughts.

Still giggling, I set the stool into a corner. I try it. It’s perfect!

Holding my stomach, I giggle and kick my legs. Perfection can be found even in a simple thing as a stool! How wonderful! How very wonderful!

Grinning, I look at myself.

Name: Aura Class: Elder Goddess Level: 5 Exp: 390/400 [You have 1 unspent skill points]

My growth is proceeding wonderfully. Excited, I make another choice.

- Smith of the Beginning – Increases your ability for Creation, spreading your influence through the magnitude and complexity of your works. Prima: You can refine your Materia into Prima, a golden, shining material that can be used for more advanced projects of Creation.

Again, maybe is premature, but completing the first set of possibilities please my esthetics. And the process of my growth will only speed up with more materials at my disposal.

I hum in delight as new ideas and images float up from the depths of my soul. The Prima… so many wonderful possibilities!

I sit on the stool, gathering my knees to my chest as I review all the new marvelous things I can build, all the blueprints and templates and schemes and…

A sound. Not me. Again.

I freeze. I listen. This time, it doesn’t stop. Squirming. Crawling. Squelching.

Something is on my island.

I get up. I hesitate. Part of me wishes to huddle away and cover my eyes. My angry part is stronger, and it makes tentacles and fangs and eyes sprout. This is my island. Mine.

I step toward the door, then stop again. I take a breath. When I release it, Au’makh floats beside me.

I open my eyes. Mine.

Stepping to the door, I push it open.