In the beginning

The man sat in a grand chair carved from old wood, but his appearance defied his age. Though his long, silver hair flowed past his shoulders, his face was smooth, almost youthful, his skin radiating a soft, almost otherworldly glow. His eyes sparkled, as if they held all the stars in the universe within them. A great number of children, from toddlers to teenagers, were gathered around him, sprawled on the floor, their heads resting on cushions, all gazing up at him with wide, curious eyes.

Outside the great window behind him, the vast expanse of space glittered with stars, a night sky so clear it seemed as though they were floating in the very heavens themselves. The universe stretched far and wide, its galaxies twinkling like jewels scattered across the cosmos.

"Gather close, little ones," the man said, his voice soft yet resonant, carrying the weight of endless time. "It's time I tell you a story—one that is as old as the universe itself. A story about how everything came to be."

The children, sensing something extraordinary in the air, scooted in closer, their eyes fixed on their ancient but strangely young-looking ancestor. They had always known him to be different, more than a mere elder. He seemed… timeless.

One of the older boys, bold and curious, spoke up. "Great-Grandfather, you've lived so long, longer than anyone. How do you know so much about… before?"

The man's lips curled into a gentle smile. "Ah, my boy, because I was there. In a way, I've seen the universe unfold from its very first moments. But listen carefully now, and you'll understand."

"Long, long ago, before there were any stars, planets, or even time, there was only Nothingness. No light, no darkness, no matter, nor even the tiniest particle. Nothing, except… for two orbs." He paused, letting the words sink in, the children watching him intently.

"These orbs," he continued, "appeared from the Nothingness itself. One was bright and shining, as white as the purest light. The other was dark, darker than the deepest night, an orb of black. And though the Nothingness was vast and endless, these two orbs found each other, floating in the infinite void."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice growing softer, more intimate. "The white orb—wherever it moved—brought creation. It stirred the Nothingness, igniting light, heat, stars… and eventually, everything you know. The black orb, however, did the opposite. It moved silently, and when it touched the white orb's creations, it caused them to collapse, to be undone, like stars turning into black holes."

One of the younger girls, her eyes wide with wonder, asked, "What happened to them? Did they fight?"

The man's gaze grew distant, as though recalling a memory from a thousand lifetimes ago. "Ah, yes. For a long time, they existed without conflict, each doing what they were destined to do. But then, the white orb began to feel something new. It grew frustrated. It had spent eons creating beauty, only to watch the black orb undo it without care. And so, for the first time, the white orb thought a thought—'Stop'."

The children's eyes lit up with curiosity. "But did the black orb listen?" asked another child.

The man's smile returned, this time with a knowing edge. "No, not at first. The black orb didn't understand why it should stop. It only knew destruction, and to it, that was natural. 'Stop what?' it thought in return. The two orbs, the forces of creation and destruction, had their first argument, though it was not in words as we know them. And so, they moved back and forth, each insisting the other change. 'Stop destroying,' thought the white orb. 'Stop making,' answered the black."

The man's voice deepened, and the air in the room seemed to grow heavier, the space around them charged with energy. "And so it went, for time immeasurable. Until one day, their paths collided. In that moment, everything that had ever been silent in the universe roared into being. Stars exploded into life. Matter surged outward in all directions. The universe, as we know it, was born in what you now call the Big Bang."

The children gasped in unison, some sitting up straighter, their imaginations filling with visions of fiery explosions and galaxies spinning into existence.

"Their clash," the man continued, "gave birth to all that we see—the galaxies, the stars, the planets… and life itself. But the orbs did not disappear. The white orb continued to create, and the black orb continued to destroy. Together, they kept the balance. For without one, the other could not

The eldest of the children, her eyes narrowing in suspicion, spoke up, her voice steady but curious. "Great-Grandfather… you tell this story as if you were there. How could you know all of this so clearly? How could you know the thoughts of the orbs?"

The man, still youthful in his face despite the wisdom he held, let the question hang in the air for a moment. Then, with a soft sigh, he spoke. "Because, my dear child, I was there."

A hush fell over the room. The children stared at him, some confused, some in awe.

"I was that white orb," he said simply, his voice calm and full of truth. "I am the one who created the stars and the planets you live beneath. I have watched over countless generations of life, including yours, for you are my descendants in a way—though not in the way you think. You are connected to me, all of you, not just through blood, but through the very fabric of the universe. Your ancestors were born of my creations, and their children, and their children's children. And here you are, many ages later."

The firelight flickered as if in response to his words, casting strange shadows on the walls. The children were silent, trying to process the enormity of what they had just heard.

"Does that mean…" one of the youngest boys whispered, "we're part of the stars?"

The man's eyes twinkled, and he smiled. "Yes, my boy. You're made of stardust, just like everything else in the universe. You come from the very matter I shaped eons ago. You are part of the ongoing creation, part of the balance between light and dark, life and death. You, too, are part of the story."

The children were silent for a long moment, absorbing the revelation. The stars outside gleamed brighter than ever, as if the universe itself was listening in. Finally, one of the girls spoke up, her voice trembling with awe. "Will we ever see the black orb?"

The man leaned back in his chair, his youthful face serene and wise. "Perhaps. The black orb is still out there, balancing what I create. You may never see it directly, but you will feel its presence. Where there is creation, there is also destruction. Where there is life, there is also death. It is not something to fear, for it is simply part of the grand cycle."

He paused, gazing at each of them with a tenderness that seemed to stretch across the ages. "But remember this—though the black orb undoes what I create, it also makes way for new things to be born. New stars, new worlds, and new lives. And so, the dance between us continues, forever."

He looked up toward the sky, where the galaxies spun in their endless dance. "And maybe, one day, when the universe grows cold and dark, the black orb and I will meet again, and the story will begin anew."

The children sat in silence, their minds spinning with the weight of the cosmos. They didn't fully understand, not yet—but they knew that this was no ordinary story. They had just glimpsed the truth of everything. And as the old man—the white orb, their great and ancient ancestor—looked at them with love and pride, they felt a connection that reached back to the very beginning of time itself.

And so, under the light of the stars, they listened and dreamed.The children sat, mesmerized, as the weight of the man's words sank in, wrapping around them like the vast universe outside. They didn't quite understand the full scope of what he had said, but something deep within stirred, as though the story he told was a part of them, written into their very being. The man—no, the ancient force of creation itself—watched them with a quiet, patient smile, knowing they would one day come to understand.

For now, they could dream.

The room felt timeless, as if they were no longer in a single moment but suspended in the grand expanse of time itself. The stars outside glittered like the thoughts of the universe, and the children, now wide-eyed with awe, leaned in closer to their great-grandfather.

"Tell us more," one of them whispered.

The man nodded, his voice as soft as starlight. "There are many more stories to tell, little ones. Stories of the first stars, of ancient worlds long gone, of life that once was and life that is yet to be. But those will come in time. For now, remember what I've told you tonight: that you are part of this story, just as I am, just as the stars themselves are."

He leaned back, and the children settled into their cushions, their eyes still fixed on him, their thoughts far off in the vastness of space. The fire crackled gently, casting flickering shadows across the room, while outside, the universe turned, endlessly creating, endlessly destroying, in the grand dance of existence.

And as they drifted to sleep, the stars above shimmered, as if the universe itself was smiling down on them, its children, its story still unfolding.