At this point the universe had settled into tightly followed, mostly deterministic laws. Knowing all that was, I could, aside from a few blind spots, know the future. It revealed itself to me slowly at first, in fits and starts, but gradually coalesced until it no longer seemed as a series of events, but rather as one moment—a still portrait of the future.
At first, I marveled at all that would happen. It was, like many things in my universe, perfect. A masterful painting full of light and dark, contrast and harmony. But foresight quickly became a burden. I could see my eventual suffering. Even though I knew the future, knew what choices I would need to make to avoid pain, I also knew myself well enough to know that I would not do it.
Nothing would surprise me again. That moment when I first saw my wife, when we made our first star—I would never again experience that sense of wonder. There was nothing to look forward to. Omniscience, I soon learned, was its own form of hell.
Or so I thought. There was still one mystery left—one wild card that I could not account for. That was my wife. I had always known she was not really of my universe. How she came to be in it I never knew, but it was always clear to me that she did not follow its laws. She was something different. Special. And as such, she was my biggest unknown, with the power to change everything.
One day, when we were sitting on a beach on the outskirts of what would become the Silver City, she did just that. We were in our forms, and she had laid her head down on my lap. We were looking out over the waves. She had dimmed her light, and the sky was a navy blue.
"El," she said slowly, using the name she had given me. "This is too beautiful to keep it just for us. I want to… share it with someone."
I tensed. I immediately knew what she meant. I stared down at her, struggling to conceal my shock. Her words had changed my entire understanding of the future. The portrait I had before me shattered. A new one began to form itself, but large sections remained covered in thick fog.
We had made many things so far, but as of yet, nothing sentient. Nothing God-like. Nothing like us.
My mind began to spin. I gazed out over this new potential image of the future. There were a few aspects that were immediately clear to me. There would be an abundance of love between us and these new beings, the likes of which the two of us, the only beings in the universe, could scarcely imagine. It would be beyond beautiful. I wanted to want it. I really did.
But something else weighed on me. Energy cannot be created or destroyed. But it can be transferred. Converted from one form to another. If we created other powerful beings… What if they took it from me? In those dark, foggy swathes of the future image, I could sense the danger. I stared at them with mounting dread. I didn't even know my children yet, and already I did not trust them.
As I contemplated all this, I could feel my wife's head, heavy on my lap. I tried to control my energy, which was pulsating with building anxiety. I looked down at her. Her eyes were imploring, almost sorrowful. I could feel her energy swirling around me with love and longing. I looked away, overcome by a surge of guilt. In truth, she did not know me. She loved me, but she did not really know me. Though we had met only a few hundred thousand years into my existence, I had only allowed her to see parts of the whole. She knew me as a creator who loved beauty and harmony. On some level I was that, too, I suppose. But my true desire had always been darker. She did not know how desperate I was to hold onto my energy, my power. How I still, though I loved her and the universe we had created more than anything, longed for the freedom to destroy it. To be back at the beginning of time, when I was pure power, so hot that I simultaneously created and destroyed everything in my wake. I had already experienced, in the moments directly following that event, an extreme lessening of my power. I knew I could never go through that again. If I did, I would simply find a way to extinguish myself once and for all.
But I knew she wanted this more than ever. And I could not say no. Not without letting her know how petty I really was.
So, I began to sift through the potential futures. There were reasons to give these beings… our "children"… power. Someone would need to take over for me when the time came. There was so much now to be responsible for. So much created. And I could see that there would be a time. I could see my own demise.
But to give them the capacity was also extremely dangerous. So, I came up with a work around. Their abilities would be based on what they knew and thought about themselves. Without knowing their power, they would not be able to use it. Thus, it became imperative: they must never be allowed to know how powerful they really were. Only then, I'd be safe.
I looked down at her, softly tracing the lines of her cheekbones with my finger. "Okay," I told her.
She sat up and grabbed my shoulders, looking squarely at me. "Really?" She asked. I was surprised at the levels of energy I could feel radiating off of her.
"Yes," I said, simply.
She stared at me, her face beaming. Then, she flung her arms around me. Her bright yellow light felt warm as it fell across my back.
"You will see," she whispered into my ear as she held me. "You will love them. They will be part of us."
Then she pulled away. Suddenly, she laughed lightly and jumped out of her form, her energy swirling around me. Despite myself, I felt my own surge of joy, though I wasn't entirely sure why. I was scared to create beings… But I could feel her light, and somehow it blinded me against my fears. I too started to laugh. I looked at her. She was so bright. So full of harmony. I grinned, also leaving my form and flying far above her, then pouncing down on her from above. She giggled, and then turned color from a bright yellow to soft white. She curled around me closely. I flowed through her tenderly, lovingly. Feeling her life-giving heat all around me. Her energy mingled with mine, becoming one.
Our heat steadily built, until together we shot out of heaven and into the cosmos. As we did, I felt something I had never felt before. It was an aching, a pulling at something in me I didn't know existed, didn't know could be broken or pulled. But now I felt it—being yanked out of me like a piece of me was leaving. And indeed, I had lost it. Because in that moment, we had created Amenadiel. And I had given him a piece of myself. As I would later give to all 13 of my other children: Azrael, Michael, Samael, Lezmegadiel, Castiel, Gabriel, Jophiel, Remiel, Raphael, Saraqael, Zadkiel, Raziel and Uriel. They all took a piece of me. And I continue to ache, to feel that mix of joy and agony when I think of them. How much I love them. What I would do for them. And how much I would give up.
