There was no sky.No ground.No stars.Only Time.
Not as mortals knew it — no ticking clocks or flowing rivers — but as something deeper. A presence. A vast stillness humming beneath the breath of creation.
And then… came him.
A flicker in the dark.A spark that refused to be swallowed.Soft feet touched the nothing, and did not fall.Wings shimmered — not grand, not feathered — but radiant, like sunlight caught on morning dew.
He was a boy.And yet not a boy.He was new.
An angel — not born, but sent.No memory to mourn, no wounds to hide. His mortal life had ended, truly ended. What remained was a soul, reshaped by grace and chosen by the Great Mother for something sacred.
He looked around with bright, curious eyes. "Woah... this place is huge!"
Somewhere — or perhaps everywhere — Time watched.
The boy floated forward with a wobble and a delighted giggle, wings fluttering behind him like thoughts that hadn't settled yet. Every motion was a new discovery, each small step a leap into the unknown. The boy's gaze darted about, trying to take in the vastness of the empty space, but it was as if his mind could not grasp the size of it. His thoughts danced, unable to stay still, just like the wings that fluttered with a rhythm of their own.
"Hello?" he called. "She said you'd be here!"
The silence stirred. Not broken — just moved. A whisper, like the rustling of an unseen presence, filled the air. The stillness was not cold, but warm — inviting, yet infinite. As though the silence itself was waiting for something.
From the void emerged a shape: a wheel, immense and glowing faintly, turning not with speed, but with purpose.Not made of spokes and steel, but of stories.Of cycles and seasons.Of cause… and consequence.
The boy stared up at it, wide-eyed. "You're really, really big."
From within its glow, a voice emerged — not loud, not harsh, but endless."I am Time," it said.
The boy tilted his head. "You don't look like time."
"I look like everything," the voice replied.
The little angel floated closer, hands clasped behind his back, halo bobbing. His wings fluttered with excitement, though his feet never quite touched the unseen ground. "The Great Mother said you have something for me."
"What do you believe it is?" Time asked, its voice carrying the weight of centuries.
He tapped his chin thoughtfully, the soft glow of Time's presence casting gentle shadows on his face. "Hmm… A secret? No, a tale! Or maybe a hundred of them!"
Time observed him with the patience only eternity could offer. The wheel of stories slowed, its spinning deliberate and steady, like the motion of ancient thoughts being uncovered. "And why do you want them?"
The boy's gaze softened, and for the first time, the playful spark in his eyes dimmed, replaced by something deeper. Something like understanding. "She said they'd help me grow," he answered simply. "She said they're like food, but for the soul. And that no one tells them better than you."
There was a pause. A moment suspended between questions and answers. Time, which had known every age and every end, considered the boy's words.
"She said you're funny, too," he added in a whisper, as if the words were a secret meant only for Time's understanding. "But I think she meant it in a nice way."
Time stirred. A sound like the rustle of pages in a library that never ends. It was as if every moment that had ever passed was contained within the vastness of its presence. "Not many are sent here," it said, a quiet acknowledgement of the rarity of the little angel's existence.
"I guess I'm special," the boy said, beaming with a wide, innocent smile, his halo glowing a little brighter. Then, with a touch of pride, he added, "I don't even have a name yet. She said I'll grow into it."
Time did not respond immediately. It watched the boy, who was now spinning through the nothingness, his wings fluttering in delighted chaos. The boy was a fresh spark in the dark, untouched by the world's weight, unburdened by history. He was new, untouched by the consequences of time.
"The Great Mother," Time said at last, its voice softer now, "has asked that I guide you."
The boy stopped spinning. His eyes, full of curiosity, turned to Time with absolute trust. "She said you'd tell me stories. The kind that help me understand things. Big things."
Time's wheel turned, and a pulse of energy rippled outward. It was not a sound, nor a light, but something felt, something experienced. The boy listened, his body still, as if absorbing the very essence of Time's being.
"What I offer," Time said, "are not just tales. They are truths. Wrapped in myth. Shaped by joy. Tempered by sorrow."
The little angel stopped floating, hovering in the stillness, his wings at rest. His expression was calm now, a quiet resolve settling over him. The playful giggle was gone. There was something more profound in his eyes now, a yearning to understand.
"I'm ready," he said, voice steady but filled with quiet anticipation.
Time's wheel turned.
The stars held their breath.
And Time spoke:
"Then listen well, little one. For the first tale… begins with the end of a world."
The boy curled into the air, floating like a question mark waiting for its answer.
The wheel turned.
And the first tale began.