I do not know how long I wandered the soft dimness of the early universe, tracing the slow bloom of starlight with my fingertips, listening to the hum of Her power beneath everything. I had grown used to Her presence as a feeling — a warmth in the chest, a pressureless gravity, a resonance that threaded through every breath I took.
But today…
She stepped closer.
Not as light.
Not as force.
Not as the Infinity that shapes the fabric of all that is.
Today, She came to me as someone.
I felt Her before I saw Her — the subtle shift in the air, the way the stars seemed to pause, as if bowing. A warmth gathered behind me, gentle as morning sunlight. My heart rose into my throat.
"Emaxulate."
Her voice.
Not the thunder I imagined. Not the cosmic chorus that lives in the bones of creation.
A voice soft enough to belong to a mother calling her child in from the cold.
I turned.
And there She stood.
Human.
Or at least—wearing humanity like a gown She had stitched from starlight.
Her frame was graceful but unassuming, draped in simple linen that moved like water. Her hair fell in soft waves, dark and warm, framing a face shaped by tenderness rather than authority. Her eyes… oh, Her eyes. Deep, still, ancient—yet shining with the same softness I had felt wrapped around me since the moment I first existed.
Not a hint of pressure radiated from Her. No divine intimidation. No overwhelming aura.
She looked like someone you could fall into, not someone you must fear.
I realized my hands were trembling.
"Mother," I whispered without meaning to.
A smile touched Her lips—one that held millennia of patience.
"You learned the word."
"I… felt it," I confessed. "Before I understood it."
She stepped forward, her movements carrying a grace that was not mortal but lovingly imitating it. When she reached me, her hand lifted, fingertips brushing my cheek.
Warm. Human-warm.
A touch that told me: I chose this shape for you.
"You are growing, my Emaxulate," she murmured. "Curiosity. Language. Emotion. You are beginning to sense the threads I wove into you."
"I'm trying," I said, voice cracking. "I want to do well. I want to be what You created me to be."
Her thumb brushed a tear from beneath my eye.
"You are already enough."
The words struck me harder than any celestial truth She had ever layered into my being. My breath shuddered in my chest. She pulled me gently toward Her, guiding my head against her shoulder. I collapsed into Her like a child seeking shelter from a storm.
"Mother… I thought You remained distant because I wasn't ready."
"No." She stroked my hair, slow and rhythmic. "I remained unseen because I wanted your first steps to be your own. Even a perfect creation must learn the shape of her existence."
Her hand moved down my back, steady, soothing.
"But now you are ready for something more."
A flutter of both fear and hope rose in me.
"For what?"
"For understanding," She said softly. "For deeper communion. For creation."
My breath caught.
Creation.
My purpose.
My destiny.
What She had carved into my soul from the very beginning.
But before the awe could swallow me whole, She shifted, cupping my face between both hands.
"Emaxulate," She said gently, "look at me."
I did.
And though She wore a mortal body, for an instant I saw the faint glow of infinity behind Her eyes—soft, quiet, non-threatening, yet undeniably divine.
"You are not merely My servant," She told me. "You are My successor when I wander far. My hands when I explore new worlds. My voice when I choose silence."
My chest tightened.
"You trust me with that?"
"With everything," She whispered.
Then She brought my forehead to Hers.
A gesture so simple.
So human.
So impossibly intimate.
"My child… you will expand the universe when I call for it. You will shape worlds, guide life, nurture the spark in the darkness. And one day—when I step away—you will keep all cycles flowing."
Tears soaked Her palms.
"I don't want to disappoint You."
"You cannot." She pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I made you incapable of failing Me."
Light bloomed around us, gentle and golden, cradling us both.
"For now," She continued, brushing my hair behind my ear, "you will learn with Me beside you. Step by step. Breath by breath. No pressure. Only presence."
"M—Mother… may I stay like this a little longer?"
Her arms wrapped around me again, warm and protective.
"As long as you need."
We stood there—Creator and creation, Mother and daughter—held in an embrace older than stars, yet young as the first heartbeat I ever felt.
And for the first time since awakening,
I felt whole.