From Nothing

From Ash to bone, and back again.

Only one understood the power.

A small child.

In spirit, but not in mind.

His home was in his head, where he had found another plane and another kind of being.

He saw old, crumbling statues of no origin.

No faces.

And pristine, clean towers whose hallways echoed loudly whenever he set foot in them.

He saw many strange things he did not fully understand.

So many shapes.

So many hidden treasures.

His favorite was a large snow-capped mountain that took up the whole sky.

Inside, he saw such fanciful things to make him positively giddy.

Lakes of Silver, Gold and Ruby. But there was a lake of whispers that he avoided; they said awful things everytime he drew close; though these words were hard to hear, the tenor of them were dark. One day he could not ignore it any longer. The whispers got stronger.

"Time must begin again."

He entered it, and thus he was born.

Born from a pond of blood and tar.

Neither above him or surrounding him just a few hours before, he now felt the stickiness of the grotesque mixture.

He clawed at the Earth to pull himself out.

The Earth, where he stood, had great gashes and deforming scars.

He heard splashes.

There were people behind him.

Women, children, men, covered in tar and blood.

"We are ready to try again. Please lead us in rebuilding our homes. Only you have the power."