I created the first atom.
Not fire. Not light. Not even time.
An atom. The smallest agreement reality ever made with itself.
Everything else came later.
Footsteps echo softly as I walk down the quiet street. Morning air is cool, the kind that still carries yesterday's rain. Utility poles line the road like tired sentinels. A cat watches me from atop a vending machine, eyes sharp, tail flicking once.
I slow my pace without thinking.
Cats always notice.
Humans rarely do.
Today is my first day of school.
That sentence still feels strange, even after saying it in my head a few times. School. Uniforms. Bells. Attendance sheets. A place where people learn how the world works, unaware that the one who made it is walking among them with a school bag slung over his shoulder.
On paper, I'm a transfer student.
Name, age, address, academic history. All perfectly filled in. Government seals. Digital records. Teacher recommendations. Even a photo that looks like it was taken years ago.
I made them last night.
Reality didn't object.
It never does.
They'll say my parents live abroad. Busy with work. Important work. Too important to attend school meetings or parent days. A convenient lie. Humans accept distance easily when it's wrapped in ambition.
In truth, I have no parents.
I am older than lineage.
I stop at a crosswalk. The signal is red. A group of students stands nearby, chatting loudly, their voices layered with sleepiness and mild annoyance. One of them glances at me.
Then another.
Then silence.
I feel it, the shift. It always happens.
Their eyes linger a fraction too long. Confusion first. Then interest. Then that quiet, unspoken thought.
Why does he look like that?
I don't try to stand out. I never do. This is the minimum. The simplest form I can take without fracturing human perception. Symmetry that feels natural. Features that don't offend evolution. A presence that makes the mind pause but not panic.
Even so, compared to human standards, it's unfair.
No man in their history looks like this.
Kings, actors, idols. They were all rough drafts.
I didn't design this face to attract. I designed it to exist without rejection. Beauty, in this world, is just another mathematical harmony. I understand harmony better than anyone.
The light turns green.
We cross.
A girl whispers something to her friend. I don't listen. I could, but that would be rude. Omniscience doesn't mean entitlement. That's something gods often forget.
I didn't.
The school comes into view. Gates open. Students pouring in like a controlled flood. Banners welcoming new term, teachers standing with forced smiles, the air buzzing with expectation and boredom in equal measure.
I observe everything.
The cracks in the pavement. The way anxiety tastes metallic in the air. The subtle distortions near the sky where something beyond this planet briefly presses its attention too close.
Ah.
So it's starting already.
Earth is never truly quiet. There are always things that want it. Entities born from leftover laws, forgotten gods, curious voids. Normally, they don't last long.
I make sure of that.
But never loudly. Never openly.
Protection is best when it looks like coincidence.
I step through the gate.
A teacher checks my name, frowns at the unfamiliar entry, then smiles politely. "Transfer student?"
I nod.
"Welcome."
Simple. Clean. Accepted.
As I walk toward the building, conversations resume behind me, just a little louder than before. I can feel attention cling like static. By tomorrow, rumors will start. By next week, theories. By next month, I'll be part of the background.
That's how it always goes.
I don't want worship. I don't want fear.
I just want to walk these halls, attend classes, protect this fragile planet in silence, and make sure reality continues to exist tomorrow morning.
After all—
I'm the one who started it.