It was a hot, bright day. The fields stretched wide, golden waves of wheat and grass rippling under the sun.
Birds flitted and called, filling the air with chatter.
Animals grazed quietly, unbothered by the children chasing each other across the open land.
One boy laughed the loudest, his feet tripping over the grass as he ran.
He shouted, he fell, he scrambled back up, and he ran again, chasing and being chased.
By evening, the sun dipped low, and the children returned to their homes, tired and dusty, their laughter fading into the warmth of the night.
The boy wandered to his grandmother's veranda, where she waited with a small plate of sweets.
He took them eagerly, crumbs sticking to his fingers, and recounted every tumble, every game, every shout of triumph from the day.
She listened quietly, smiling at the joy and clumsiness alike.
Night deepened. Crickets began their gentle chorus, and a faint wind rustled the wheat.
"Grandma.." he said, eyes wide and earnest, "can you tell me that story again?"
"you don't want the story of the king and the sons?" she asked, raising a brow.
"No.." he insisted, shaking his head. "That one's boring. I want that one."
She chuckled softly, the sound mingling with the evening air. She leaned back in her chair, letting her voice take its rhythm, gentle and steady, like a river curling through quiet fields.
"once there was nothing. Just a blank canvas. And on that canvas, suddenly-- a spark. Red, blue, green…every colour you can imagine. And from that spark came...
The voice."
"you couldn't see it. You couldn't even hear it. But you could feel it. And one day...one day, it grew bored. So, it split itself into twelve peices, twelve fragments. Those fragments became the twelve gods."
"the gods were told to make life...to make us. They tried, ofcourse there were some mistakes, little ones..and sometimes bigger ones. Silly accidents. But in the end..everything came together."
"some say the voice wasn't real."
she added, tilting her head.
"some say it was forced to do this. But whatever happened...the voice never fooled. Even betrayed. It was the gods themselves, who cast one of their own out...because he was too dangerous. Atleast, thats what people say..."
"...did he ever come back, grandma?" the boy whispered.
She smiled, quietly, a hint of shadow in her eyes. "who knows..maybe he did..maybe he didn't.."
The boy's eyes drooped. The stars began their slow dance across the sky. Soon, he was asleep, the soft rhythm of his breathing blending with the crickets' song.
Far away, beyond the golden fields, beyond the rivers and forests, cries began in a hidden place.
Not the warm, joyous cries of children—but raw, wild, piercing.
Life stirred there too, but it was different. Strange. Dangerous, in a way no one could yet understand.
And so, as one world slept...
Another began.