The One was All. The One was None. It was without face, without shape, without name. And yet it was possessed of potential for anything. Its thought was life. Its word was oblivion.
The One had wandered the Black Beyond for eons, seeking a place of its own. It moved from realm to realm, world to world, universe to universe, swimming through the void, breaching the barriers between existences without hesitation. It could not be stopped, because what it was was not. Yet it could not act, for it had not found its place; in all its endless wandering, all it had found was that which already was claimed. Such was the only limit upon its reach - it could not act upon the work of another’s hand.
So it searched, and wandered, and watched, and dreamed. It saw the works of others, and saw that they were good, or efficient, or interesting, or desirable. It could not touch, nor take, nor steal, but it could remember, and adapt, and invent.
And in time, it found what it sought. A dark pocket of space and time, outside all established realities and unrealities, far from the reach of other Crafters. When it found this place, it sensed immediately that it had found a place for its own, and so shrouded its prize in a cloak of darkness and starlight, to hide from prying eyes until its work was done.
Within its globe of shimmer and night, The One began its work. It had seen the many worlds Crafted by Others, and wished to do the same for its own. But it had seen much, in its eternities of wandering, and was of many minds as to how to begin.
Give it form and function, perfectly suited to the tasks it must perform, spoke an iron spark, unwavering and true.
Give it power and fury, that nothing may stand before it, that it may claim all it wishes and crush all it opposes, hissed a sinister cloud, seething and boiling.
Give it freedom and flexibility, that it be not restrained, to bend rather than break, burbled a liquid flame, ever-burning in endless shapes.
Give it heart and soul and an iron will, with respect and honor to all rather than only the one, sang a pure note, sincere and without guile.
Give it life and breath and being, and give them unto us, that what is not may be, what is formless may have shape, what cannot be seen given sight, what is one may be many, instructed an endless eye, which saw without sight and heard without hearing, and perceived all things.
And The One thought of all these things, and thought them well; and thus to give way to its conflicting influences it sundered itself, dividing its essence among the voices.