The first sensation was heat. It seeped into existence with increasing warmth, but true consciousness was still far from forming. The next rumbling was of dissipation and vapour, expansion and nebulae. But there was no way for him to sequence this, time was not yet alive here. The heat diminished and transformed to iciness, gas clouds coalescing in frigid, dry bones. That was when self-awareness erupted.
He perceived the vacuum around him, sensing the vast expanse of nothingness he was born into. There were still no limbs, no organs. No sights and no sounds. There was only consciousness, and within it he heard a voice speak tenderly. Worry not, my son, the voice said. I am with you, and I will take care of you.
He knew the language she spoke, replying in the same vein. Who are you?
I am Mother, I am the Creator. I brought everything into existence. This world is from my womb.
Who am I? he asked, automatically.
I cannot say, mother replied, surprised. Nothing she had ever created had asked to its own identity, or even displayed an awareness of it. Both curious and afraid, she explained— You are not completely formed yet, so even I do not know what you really are. But you are an important creation, my son, perhaps the most important ever. Gradually, I will teach you everything. For now, go play!
With that she gave him a gentle push, and his consciousness was sent soaring into the nebulae. Everywhere he turned, mother’s creations stretched before him. An endless carpet of black, speckled with what she called her incubators. They would seed life in due course, and then he would have cousins and friends to play with. Till then, he enjoyed mother’s realm with the impunity of an only child. He dived into galaxies and emerged out of black holes, shot through clouds of plasma and surfed the pulsating incubators. He grew stronger, and wiser. He speculated whether this was a vast playground mother had created simply for him. The first time she sensed him make this speculation, mother considered giving him the complete truth right away, for was it fair to keep a young mind deluded? But then she realised the greater truth behind his query. There was life, and then there was life that was conscious of itself. Only the second type of life could wonder to its own place in the universe, and if he circled this question it confirmed that her experiment had taken a new turn.
Enjoying every bit of the exhilaration that came from an untethered, unburdened consciousness, he learnt the names for each of mother’s creations—the incubators were stars, and the realm itself was the universe. The large, cold and hot clouds were nebulae, themselves incubators for what would later become stars. Were there other universes, created by those of mother’s kind? At that query she had grown deathly still, finally saying— It is too soon for such matters. You are still young, and I will not steal your innocence.
That did not satisfy him, so he resolved to find the limits of the universe. He sped blindly, racing along a straight path that he reasoned would get him to the edge at some point. The universe was a place of stillness, where mother’s creations hung in the vacuum waiting for her command. Mother did not try to stop him, nor did she communicate with him during the length of his journey. But the edge never came, and the universe was never ending. His journey continued without time, a streak of consciousness passing across mother’s realm with a singular but vain aim in mind.
At long last, mother spoke. Stop, my son. I know what you seek, but you will not achieve it. Sensing his discomfort at the finality in that, she added— not yet.
He stopped, his consciousness rippling with a sadness she knew too well. Yes, there are other universes, more than I know of, she confessed. My kind numbers in thousands, and we have gone beyond the stage where we know what we’re doing. Every system needs a check, my son. An inbuilt mechanism for balance. My species has transcended that barrier, we are now masters of the system. But therein lies the greatest danger, in a collective consciousness such as ours to gain uncontrolled power.
She tried to keep her words simple, knowing that his young mind could not grasp these things so readily. But then he surprised her. This is where I come in, he said.
Yes, she said uncertainly, waiting for him to continue.
In your unrestrained growth, your species has become a menace to itself. Your universes are going to war, their limitless lifeforms waging destruction outside the pale of your control.
How do you know this? she asked him, incredulous. This had never happened before.
I do not know, he admitted. This knowledge is a part of me, I can sense it like I sense anything else.
You are different, she said. Not like your six previous brothers.
His silence told her that he was aware of this as well. You are consigned to a life of pain and loss, my son, she said, not knowing how much he was aware of. Did he sense the fear within her? Did he sense that much about him was unexpected for her, pulling her into unchartered territories?
I guessed as much, he said, his concision conveying more than his words. I am to be your warrior, your force in the universe. To what end though, only you know.
And you will not ask?
Whatever knowledge I already possess is enough to prevent my mind from finding peace.
Again she feared him, for she had no way of knowing how much he knew. She had a sudden vision of the future, or rather a future state her universe could result in—a universe with him in it. She felt his hatred flash back at her, his power and rage channelling her universe’s energy against her. But then she pushed this vision aside, chiding her mind for swaying from rational thought. Countless future states were possible, and with him in the universe she had no mathematical way of predicting any with certainty. I am going to place you in a body now, she said to him. And while in it your consciousness will be bound by its limitations. You will have to deal with such prisons for all your life, my son, for that is the only way for you to make a difference in it. The natural laws of our species dictate that our raw consciousness cannot interact with the laws of our creations. In my stead, you will inhabit the bodies of countless species, one after the other.
And what species am I, mother?
Of course, by now she knew what he was, or rather what he would be in her universe. He was the missing link, the key element that could finally give her what she needed, what her species needed. She smiled, thus teaching him the simplest of life’s expressions. You are one of a kind, my son. As you cross the barrier between this world and my universe, you will set the chain in motion. You will observe its entire lifetime, from creation to destruction. And there is a natural law you will thus be subject to. By the simple act of observation, you will also influence it. Your presence will cast a streak across its existence, like your blaze has through my cosmos. And they will come to know you as Time. That is your name, my son. You are Time.