Safety, however, came at a cost. If my love was a prize, it could not be given freely. I had to keep my distance. So, I started spending more time alone. At the time, it seemed a small price to pay. I never questioned its necessity. And besides, I was angry. I loved my sons so much. How could they… how could Samael… plot to destroy me? The thought made me seethe with anger. He meant the world to me. He still did. Despite my rage, I couldn't help but continue to love him. Love him desperately. He was still a part of me. I even kept doting on him, giving him the favored status. But I felt betrayed. I knew that one day he would break my trust, though he himself did not know it yet.

The more time I spent alone, the more the seeds of bitterness and resentment took root. I saw my family as ungrateful. I had given up so much for them—the capacity to burn as hot as I could. All I really wanted to do was to create, but at that point, everything had already been built: heaven, earth, a myriad of planets and stars. I could not make anything significant without violently disrupting the balance of it all. I kept it all for them. I ran the whole universe for them.

It was… exhausting. I became tired of controlling the future. Tired of scanning the horizon for potential threats. Threats to my power. Threats to my family and their happiness. Despite my indignation, I worked hard to protect us. But sometimes… I just needed to get away. To escape. Occasionally, I would temporarily block my sight. I created alcohol, a liquid disabler, as an excuse to be powerless for a while. To let go of omniscience. I knew that this was dangerous. That I was willingly putting all of us at risk. But I was too tired to care.

Of course, spending more time alone also put additional strain on my marriage. Every time I saw my wife, she would ask me what I was doing by myself. Why was I avoiding her and the children? Her questions just pushed me further away. I could tell she was beginning to resent me. So, I started avoiding her and her guilt trips even more, choosing to spend my days up in the tower that overlooked the Silver City. My isolation grew. I recalled the feeling I had experienced when floating for hundreds of thousands of years in the empty universe, with no light and no other beings in sight.

One night, while sitting in the quiet of the tower, the loneliness became unbearable. I was heavily inebriated, having finished several bottles of a concoction I'd made for the express purpose of blinding me to everything unsightly. It was a relief, I suppose. But it didn't help me feel less alone.

And so, in a drunken stupor, I created Adam and Eve. It pains me to say that humanity was an accident. But, in truth, that's how it happened. Perhaps the best mistake I ever made. They weren't the humans they are today, of course. They had no free will. No souls. They were just puppets, really. Someone for me to talk to. With my sight blocked, I had no idea what they would eventually become. Imagine my surprise when I awoke the next morning to see the future…

I didn't tell my wife about them, though it didn't take her long to find out. We had always created together, and she was not too happy that I had suddenly taken on this solo project. So, to avoid her wrath, I kept them hidden away. Left them in a garden on the outskirts of the Silver City, one that contained everything they needed to live and even to thrive.

As the years went by, I ended up spending more and more time with them. I found I loved talking to them. They worshiped me too, which was a nice ego boost, I suppose. But also, they were the only ones I could really trust… if only because they lacked the power to destroy me. They were, in a way, my closest friends. Just as I had foreseen, I came to love them. And so, I wanted them to be more. To come alive. I ended up gifting them the same capacity for thought that I had given to my children. I gave them free will and wisdom, making them even smarter than the cherubim.

Of course, in the short term, this all turned out to be a horrible mistake. The humans were meant to be my escape. But, yet again, I had come to love my creation. To feel responsible for them. Yet again, I was a father.