Wander had always been alone.


    Long before the first flicker of light had ever stained the empty darkness, there had been only the void — cold, endless, and indifferent. No time, no space, no measure of existence. Nothing to hold it, nothing to guide it.


    Only Wander.


    In the silence of this nothingness, it existed as an idea, an abstract form that had no name, no shape, no substance. It had no memory of how it came to be, nor did it need one. It was. It did not hunger or thirst, did not dream or fear. It simply was. It wandered aimlessly through the emptiness, its thoughts as endless and unformed as the void itself.


    Eons passed — or perhaps they didn’t. Wander’s perception was not bound by time.


    The first stirrings of a strange emotion began to fester in the depths of its formless mind. Boredom. At first, it was a vague sense of dissatisfaction, a hollow ache where something once might have been. But that ache grew. It gnawed at Wander’s consciousness, twisting and thrashing until it was the only thing Wander could think of. Boredom.


    The unbearable nothingness.


    What good was eternity if it was spent alone? What was the point of wandering forever through an endless void, without change, without challenge, without… anything? The idea — the existence of Wander itself — had become an unbearable truth. Wander was sick of itself.


    And then, something changed.


    In its frustration, Wander thought a thought. The thought of something else. A spark. A fleeting concept that pulsed into existence — something that could be. A creation.


    Wander didn’t fully understand the desire, but it acted on it. It reached out into the blackness of nothingness, its essence pulling at the raw threads of emptiness, weaving them together, shaping them, crafting a thing from the formless void. The first breath of creation.


    A universe.


    It was a spark, a glimmer. The very first light. Wander focused on it, nurtured it, pressed its will upon it. And from the chaos of that first stirring, from the collision of nothing and everything, the universe was born.


    At first, it seemed perfect. Wander watched as stars blinked into being, as gas clouds formed and compacted into planets. The very laws of physics, gravity, time, and space — these things worked. The universe began to pulse and spin, and Wander marveled at its beauty. It had made something real. Something alive.


    But, as the first sparks of life began to form, Wander saw it — the first flaw. The first crack in the perfection.


    It wasn’t anything noticeable at first, just a little disruption in the pattern, a ripple in the cosmos. But it spread. Like a sickness, it infected everything. Life began to grow, evolve, move, and think — but there was something wrong. Something twisted. A universe that could give birth to stars, could also give rise to beings who, despite their infinite potential, were flawed by their very nature.


    Greed. Pride. Hatred.


    It wasn’t long before those beings began to destroy themselves. Empires rose, only to be crushed by war. Leaders were born, only to be corrupted by their own power. Wander watched, impotent and horrified, as the universe it had created began to implode. Its children turned on each other, tore apart the concept of existence, and soon, the world was nothing but a broken wreck.


    Wander did what it always did. It destroyed it all. Wiped it out.


    With a thought, the universe crumbled, and the stars fell into oblivion. All that had been birthed, all that had once been bright and beautiful, was snuffed out, forgotten, erased.


    And then there was nothing. Silence. The cycle began again, as it always did.


    But Wander’s memory was fickle. Flawed.


    It couldn’t remember the mistakes of the past, the failures that had caused the destruction. It couldn’t hold onto the sorrow of what had been. Wander, eternal and cold, simply wiped the slate clean, and once more, it began.


    Each time it created, it did so with hope. But each time it created, it made the same errors. The same flaws. The same devastating mistakes. Time and time again, Wander reached into the nothingness and spun a new world into existence. Each time, it believed that this would be the one. The one that would be perfect. The one that would last.


    But nothing ever did.


    The cosmic cycle had become rote. Creation. Flaw. Destruction. Waiting.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    And each time, Wander forgot. It would forget the lesson, forget the mistakes, forget the flaws of the worlds it had brought into being and destroyed. It could never remember why the world had fallen apart. The memory would slip away from it like sand through fingers. And so, each time, the same pattern would play out. Creation. Flaw. Destruction. Waiting.


    Again and again.


    And now, once again, it had begun.


    Wander reached deep into the infinite void, and the birth of a new world surged into being. It was no longer a mere spark, but a cataclysm. A Big Bang, loud enough to shake the cosmos. The universe collapsed in on itself, bursting outward with a deafening roar. Stars exploded into existence, planets formed in the blink of an eye, gravity rippled, and time began its endless march forward.


    Wander stood at the center of this creation with the same raw hope that it had felt every time before.


    This time, surely, it would be different.


    It watched, as the first sparks of life began to emerge. Simple at first — molecules, gases, atoms. A flicker of consciousness. And then came the stars, the oceans, the creatures that crawled, swam, and flew. Everything felt… right. It was perfect.


    This time, it would work.


    But soon enough, the flaws began to reveal themselves, as they always did.


    The creatures born of this universe began to grow aware of their own existence. Their minds, though simple, began to ask questions. They began to build. And build they did — but they built wrong. They created weapons of destruction. They sought power. They destroyed the very land they had been gifted.


    In a flash, Wander saw the same familiar pattern unfold. The pride of one being led to the destruction of all.


    A kingdom rose. It crumbled. The seas grew dark with pollution. The skies turned red with the fires of war. Everything began to fall apart.


    And Wander… Wander did what it always did.


    With the flick of a thought, the universe collapsed into nothingness once more. Stars flickered out, swallowed by black holes. The oceans boiled away. The creatures screamed in their final moments before they were silenced forever.


    And then there was nothing again. Silence.


    The cycle repeated.


    Creation. Flaw. Destruction. Waiting.


    Wander stood in the center of the collapse once more, its formless essence writhing in frustration. Each time. It was always the same. Always the same mistakes. Always the same downfall. The same, endless failure.


    For how long had it been like this? How many worlds had it created and destroyed? Wander had no way of knowing. Time was a concept lost to it, a thing that was as malleable as the void itself. But it didn’t matter. No matter how many times it began anew, it could never escape the one truth that weighed upon it like the heaviest of chains:


    It could not create life. Not in the way it desired.


    It had tried, yes, tried again and again to breathe life into the empty void. But every time, the same fatal flaw emerged. The same flaw that ran through every creature, every lifeform — the same greed, the same hatred, the same hunger for destruction.


    Each time it had watched, from the distance, as the creatures it had given birth to spiraled into chaos. The potential for something greater was there, buried deep within them — but that potential always got lost in the madness. A brief flicker of beauty, then death, then silence.


    No.


    Wander could feel the pressure rising, the insatiable need to fix this broken pattern. The need to create something that could endure. Something that wouldn’t fall apart.


    The primal frustration began to swell in Wander, and for the first time in countless cycles, Wander wondered. Why had it failed? What had it missed?


    It had given the creatures life, yes, but what else? What had it truly given them?


    In every single one of its previous creations, it realized the truth: it had given them nothing — nothing that could endure. No true understanding of their purpose, no guidance. Just life, and the freedom to twist that life into whatever form it wished.


    And now, Wander understood the most painful truth of all: the flaw was not with the creatures. The flaw was with Wander itself.


    Wander had done this to itself. It had been too abstract, too distant, too detached. It had created life and then watched from afar as it turned to dust. But there was something more that it could offer. There had to be.


    It could not create life alone. Not like this. Not without purpose.


    Purpose!


    The word settled deep within Wander’s consciousness, the final missing piece of the puzzle it had been searching for. It needed more than just the flicker of life. It needed something more fundamental. Something that could give form and meaning to that life.


    It needed Guides.


    Something that could lead the creatures, nurture them, teach them the virtues that would allow them to grow, to evolve, to be more than just the chaotic, destructive forces they had always been. It needed something that could give them a soul.


    Wander had tried before, but it had only created from its own lack of understanding. It was time to act differently.


    A new plan. A completely different approach.


    The idea formed quickly, a bright, sudden flash in Wander’s consciousness. And before the memory slipped away, it would create the foundation of life — but it would not leave the creatures to themselves. This time, it would shape life with a clear purpose. It would give them bodies, yes — but more importantly, it would give them souls. And with those souls, it would provide the knowledge, the guidance, that they so desperately needed.


    Wander’s essence shifted, and the void around it began to warp. The universe which was a swirling void of pure potential and empty space, now burst into gigantic stars and planets, suns and moons. But this time, Wander was not content with mere stars or planets.


    This time, it shaped the Earth.


    A barren land, lifeless, empty, and cold. No creatures, no plants, no sky to span above. Just emptiness, a blank canvas that awaited the first strokes of creation.


    Then, Wander conjured two beings into existence — two orbs of light, luminous, swirling with energy, each radiating different forces.


    One orb pulsed with the raw power of matter, a dense core of energy that radiated heat, weight, and form. This was the Body, the foundation for all things physical, the essence of creation that could shape and change the world around it.


    The other orb shimmered with a different force. It was the Soul — an ethereal presence, bound to no physical form, but full of wisdom, emotion, and intellect. It was the force of thought, the driving pulse of purpose that could give the body its true direction.


    And as Wander shaped these orbs, it did something it had never done before: it pulled them from the very core of its own flawed consciousness. It poured everything it knew — everything it had learned in its countless cycles of creation — into these orbs. The hope, the desperation, the rage, and the wisdom of an eternity of mistakes.


    It could not retain its own memory — that much it knew. But perhaps, They could. Perhaps Body and Soul, now detached from Wander, would retain what Wander could not. Perhaps they could remember the lessons Wander had forgotten.


    Wander felt a pang of hope — something unfamiliar, like warmth in the cold emptiness of its being. Could they break the cycle? Could they remember where it had failed?


    But there was a risk. A terrible, terrifying risk.


    Would they remember? Or would they, too, forget?


    The orbs of Body and Soul spun, hovering in midair, and from them, the first beings would emerge. Wander shaped them with precision, not leaving anything to chance. They would be the architects of this world, the creators of the world.


    And with that, Wander stepped back, feeling a sense of finality.


    For once, it had taken control. It had shaped this world deliberately, without hesitation, without the weakness of empty hope. But now, the most painful question loomed before it: would these creations of its own consciousness remember? Would they retain the lessons of its eternal struggle, or would they fall victim to the same flaw?


    Time would tell.


    The cycle of creation would begin again, but this time, Wander would not watch from the distance. This time, it would guide.


    Now, all that remained was to wait.


    And as Wander drifted into a deep cosmos, something far darker stirred beneath the surface of its being. A gnawing thought, an echo from the far reaches of its consciousness:


    If this fails again, I will end it all. In the blink of an eye.


    There would be no more cycles. No more mistakes. No more creations to watch fall apart. If these two — these beings — could not retain the memories of Wander’s past, then this world would suffer the same fate as all the others.


    Nothing.


    Wander had created, and it had destroyed. And if it failed once more… it would obliterate everything.


    It would not be the first time. And hopefully, not the last!