Chapter 1: Me?

The void was everything. Infinite, silent, motionless. There was no time, no form, no direction. Only nothingness—eternal, immutable.

Until something changed.

A spark. A presence. Inar.

There were no words to describe what she felt, for words did not exist yet. There was only a faint perception: she was. She didn't know what, or why. But she knew she existed.

She tried to move. There was no ground. She tried to speak. There was no sound. The void stretched endlessly, yet somehow it felt tight. Inar felt a faint stirring, a new and unknown restlessness.

Then, without understanding how, she thought:

"Who am I?"

The thought echoed through the nothingness. A simple question, but as it was formed, something cracked in the invisible fabric of nonexistence. The void trembled, hesitated, as if it didn't know how to respond.

And the thought… existed.

Inar laughed, startled and fascinated. The sound was soft, ethereal, without direction—but so new and strange that she laughed again, louder this time. The void returned her voice, an odd, curious echo dancing around her.

— "Me?" — she repeated. — "I am… me?"

She liked saying that. The sound vibrated, soft and strange, filling the emptiness with something other than its endless absence. She laughed again, like a child playing with a newfound toy.

Then she tried to move. The nothingness resisted.

— "Why can't I move?" — she asked the void. But the void did not answer.

Inar furrowed what should have been her brow, despite having no defined face. It was unfair not to be able to move. She wanted more. She wanted to chase the sound, follow the thought. She wanted to play.

And the want was strong.

She pushed against the void with a will she didn't know she possessed. The nothingness bent, resisted… and then gave way. Space, once nonexistent, emerged. It expanded like a soft breath, unfolding into a vastness beyond her.

Inar launched herself forward and realized, with delight, that she could move. She ran. Or at least, she thought she did—for there was no ground beneath her. It didn't matter. Space stretched before her like an endless field of possibility. She ran, turned, danced, playing with the newborn fabric of reality.

And as she ran, she felt something new: a strange sensation, like running wasn't infinite. Something measured her movement, her thoughts.

Time.

Inar didn't know what time was, but she felt it passing. She sensed a before, a now, and a later. The notion intrigued her. How long had she been running? Minutes? Hours? Those words didn't exist yet, but the feeling persisted, stubborn and undeniable.

— "Is time watching me?" — she asked the space.

Nothing replied. Only silence. Inar spun midair, floating without knowing how, and crossed her arms.

— "Why does everything here just watch me? Why won't anyone play with me?"

Her voice echoed, but the echo sounded… different this time. It didn't just repeat her words mechanically. It hesitated, shifted its tone slightly, as though it had its own intention.

Inar's eyes lit up with hope.

— "Do you want to play?"

— "Play," the echo answered.

She laughed, and the echo laughed with her. She tried to touch it, but there was nothing there. The sound was only sound, without shape or weight. The void, though no longer so oppressive, was still immaterial.

— "I want to see you," she whispered.

The universe answered her wish.

A soft crackle resonated, and then came light. It blossomed like a golden breath, peeling back the veil of darkness. Inar blinked, mesmerized. Space revealed itself, immense and endless, with the echo now visible as faint ripples in the glowing air.

— "Wow…" — she murmured.

The light etched out the vastness, showing her the enormity of the space she'd created. But it was no longer just emptiness. It was an ocean of possibilities. Inar stretched a curious hand toward the light and felt its gentle warmth.

Warmth.

Another concept, sprouting like seeds in unseen soil. Inar laughed, enchanted, and blew softly into the glowing air. The breath became a gentle breeze, which swirled into wind. The wind spiraled around her, laughing in its own airy voice, playing by wrapping itself around her form.

Now there was light, wind, sound, and space. But something was missing. Inar wanted to feel the world, to touch it, to run across it.

— "I need ground," she decided.

She raised her hands—or perhaps just her will—and beneath her, a surface emerged. It was smooth and white, stretching across space like an immense, untouched canvas. Inar stepped forward, cautiously.

The ground didn't yield. It was solid, firm, resistant. For the first time, something did not bend entirely to her will.

— "You're stubborn," she said, giving it a playful kick. The ground didn't respond, remaining steady.

Inar smiled. She liked that. She liked feeling that something could resist, even just a little. It made the game more interesting.

And so, she ran across the ground, leaving faint trails behind her. The wind chased her steps, the echo of her laughter bounding from one invisible wall to another. The light followed her, illuminating her dance.

Inar ran, laughed, and danced upon the newborn ground. Her feet left soft impressions on the surface, which stretched like a blank page waiting for stories. The space around her remained vast and curious, watching its creator with quiet intrigue.

The ground beneath her, once flat and unyielding, began to change. Each step deepened the trails, each spin carved delicate curves. Without realizing it, Inar traced circles as she ran, her laughter weaving through the air.

— "Faster!" — she shouted, propelling herself forward.

The wind, playful and loyal, answered. It pushed her gently, helping her spiral faster. Inar whirled, steps blurring into patterns across the ground. The sound of her laughter danced alongside the wind's whisper, until she suddenly noticed something odd: the ground tilted.

The smooth surface dipped beneath her feet. Inar slowed and stared at the changing world. The once-flat plane curved, bending into a gentle slope. She walked cautiously, then broke into a run again. After circling the surface several times, she came to a stop and looked around.

The horizon was gone, replaced by an endless curve.

— "What is this?" — she whispered.

She stood at the center of her creation. The ground no longer stretched flat; it wrapped around itself, forming a smooth, endless shape. Inar tilted her head and followed the curve with her eyes until it vanished beyond the arc of the space she'd made.

— "I… made this?"

She took a tentative step. The ground held. Then she ran again, circling the surface. With each lap, she realized the truth: if she ran far enough, she would return to where she started.

— "A round floor!" — she exclaimed, delighted.

Inar dropped onto her back, arms wide, and gazed up at the stars she'd flung into the sky. Above her, the points of golden light flickered like distant eyes winking in approval.

She sighed.

The sound rolled across the planet's surface, carrying into the vastness beyond. The wind circled her lazily, curious as ever, whispering secrets she didn't yet understand. Inar watched the glowing sky and counted softly:

— "Sound… light… wind… ground… space… time…"

She paused, thoughtful.

— "I made all of this… just by playing."

Her eyes fluttered shut. The ground beneath her was cool, the wind a gentle lullaby in the silence. Her thoughts swirled like the stars overhead.

— "What else can I create?" — she asked the void.

Silence, as always, remained her only answer.

But this time, she didn't mind. There was an entire world beneath her feet—a world still blank and waiting for her imagination.

And Inar loved a blank canvas.

So she smiled.

And the stars smiled back.