At the end of the universe, the very end where space ceased to exist. Just a empty canvas of black lay there. The universe hadn't expanded that far yet to reach this plase but here there was a God. A lonely God. He himself doesn't know how he got there or how he was born. The God had a form of a human but he hadn't known that since the existence that we know as humans hasn't yet been discovered by him. He was a lonely God, just drifting beyond the universe where colors and whatnot didint seem to exist as of yet.Time did not pass there,at least not in any way the God could recognize. There was no before, no after. Only now, stretched thin across nothingness. He drifted, not because he wished to move, but because stillness itself had not yet been invented. He did not think in words. Thought, as a concept, had not formed. Yet something stirred within him,an unease, a pressure, like a question trying to exist before language was born. He felt absence. Not the absence of things, but the absence of others.
Beyond him, far away, so far that distance itself was meaningless,the universe was still learning how to be. It was folding light into color, shaping chaos into laws, teaching matter how to stay together. None of that had reached him. He was outside the reach of creation, standing at the edge of what would be.
The God raised a hand once. Not intentionally,intention would come later, but the void reacted. A faint distortion rippled outward, like a scar forming on reality. Darkness bent. Something changed. The God did not understand that this was power. He only understood that, for the first time, the nothingness responded. And somewhere, impossibly far away, the universe shuddered,as if it had just become aware that it was not alone.