The blackness, a shimmering velvet canvas, is jeweled with the bright epochal actions of the gods and their children. A doorway sketched itself in the emptiness, streaming the exotic particles that are the template of all stories. The door curled in on itself, like timeworn bark bending from its trunk, revealing eternity in all its fractal, multicoloured glory. A silhouette stepped from it, and became absorbed by the blackness, the doorway healing itself with a sigh.
With prismatic eyes, the Traveller saw with a gaze that penetrated time and space within this neonate universe. He drifted in the void and, as the deeds of gods became known, smiled. It would become very interesting.
The long slumber of Ixilixi had ended, and the Great Spider God once more pointed its composite awareness upon the universe it helped create. And it was not happy, noted the Traveller. Instead inchoate stirrings of war brewed in its thoughts. Ixilixi was a jealous god who valued fraternal purity, and as a consequence sent a piece of itself into its people. A singular ice-spider rose above all others, radiant in countenance and personality. Upon its carapace was the long and arduous task of reunification. The ice-spider culture thrashed, wracked with the pangs of change as intransigent factions were ruthlessly culled. Ixilixi gathered its cold people to its bosom, its blessing of eternal unchanging dripping like venom. The ice-spiders seethed on their watery worlds, ever vigilant for alien influences.
The Traveller was saddened to see that Hichiti had returned to the substance of worlds, dissolving in cosmic winds to spread out to all the corners of eternity, but decreed that the God of Scales' race of goat people still remained, as the champions of Aqualuna's humans.
The demigod Verity was beautiful, pure, and intelligent. She was also gifted with the ability to mold the destinies of the other races. This enraged the Traveller and as he began to strike her down and punish Mylann, he considered wisdom and asked if there were not a more peaceful resolution. Verity remained, a shining example of good virtue, and the Traveller gave unto her the hub of Unity. The races would not collide in wrathful combat, but engage in agreed upon contests of skills within the arena of Verity. Mylann, Goddess of All Things Beautiful, found herself fulfilled.
Malachi, the God of Play, was up to his old tricks, Acting to impose an imperceptible change upon non-sentient matter. The Traveller sank deep into stone and ice and other suchlike insensate matter where seconds were millennia, and watched. It was the music of spheres, the dance of particles, coalescing from random noise into strange but ordered patterns. Eventually these patterns accreted into more complex configurations and, influenced by external interactions of the baryons, into even further complexity. Consciousness rose from that conflagration of hidden light, rising and falling, an amplitude wave of culture. Malachi, in a careless and wasteful Act, had created countless separate and magnificent civilizations of transcendental beauty and wisdom that would never be seen and known by even the gods of this realm. The Traveller sighed, his eyes flashing.
Aqualuna gave her pet humans free will. The Traveller watched another squandered Act pass. As a Goddess of Life should know, Life always finds a way to forge ahead despite any obstacles thrown in its path. Destiny was just a self imposed manifest mandate upon the future by a being or groups of beings. Still the Travelled smiled upon the humans and their caprine guardians, at how lovely Aqualuna looked, walking among her creations.
The Traveller moved on, the picture perfect scene of pearls and jewels and ice receding in the darkness. When all was just a star glistening in the darkness, the Traveller peeled open his door to become awash in its psychedelic grandeur. His face swam with fleeting shoals of light from countless worlds. Malachi was wrong. The Traveller did not get bored.
There was just too much to do.