At the beginning of everything, there was only Father of Wind and Mother of Fire. Mother of Fire was equal parts a goddess of creation and destruction, rebirth and cycles. Father of Wind was god of motion and progression, feeder of flame and douser of inferno. They were lovers that swirled and swam in each other, blissful. Then, as two creatures in love are wont to do, they begot children. Twins.

  I was the first, born in darkness and void, the embodiment of Father’s and Mother’s entropic natures. Corporeal, but intangible. They named me Abyss. When my sister came, she was brilliant light, blinding and effervescent, the result of an ember given a breath of life. They named her Fyra.

  To us, they gave the entirety of the universe. As the oldest, I was given the most of it - the blackness, power over shadows and chasms and all things dark. They also granted me the power of shapeshifting so that I may mold my mantle of darkness however I wished, as darkness can fill any mold. My sister was given the ability to create all things, and with it, she created lightness within the dark.

  And so we shared it all.

  I loved my sister, and she loved me. Fyra and I spent our days watching her create the known universe and everything within it. Stars, planets, comets, asteroids, so many they spanned the entire universe. Then, she learned to create life.

  It was her greatest project. She created the perfect star, warm and hot but not too much, and then she made a planet in just the right spot. She gave it a clear blanket of gas (air, she called it), then she gave it blue stuff that splashed, (water), and eventually green tall things that kept the air blanket clean (trees). I loved watching her make things; I found it fascinating that something could come from nothing.

  After a while, since she saw the plants doing well, she asked for my help in creating other things. Since I could shift into anything, she used me as a model to hone her designs. I was happy to oblige; it was a fun game for me, but soon, I grew concerned.

  “Abyss, can you help me figure this out?” she said, staring at her breathing planet (the world). She was sitting delicately on a perfectly pale lump of rock she had made weeks ago. She called it the moon.

  Fyra was as beautiful as I was, though in entirely different ways. My form was blackness incarnate, void roiling within a bipedal shape when I chose. I was terrible and wonderful to look at. Fyra was bound to her shape and she was radiant. Her skin was constantly aflame, like a noonday sun. At the crown of her head was a wreath of light, changing colors on a whim. Her hands were artists’ hands, long and slender, commanding and sure.

  “Of course,” I said, standing in front of her. “What are we making?”

  “I think this might be the last thing I add to the world,” she said, smiling, but her voice was tired. “I don’t want to overcrowd it.”

  I eyed her. Normally, this was difficult for me to do. Not long ago it had almost blinded me to look at my sister straight on. Now it was easier, barely discomforting. She was still beautiful, but in the way of a fading star. “Are you sure you should really be adding anything else?” I said. “It’s taking a toll on you.”

  “I’ll be okay,” she said. “I still have so much to do.”

  “I hear you, but your last creations - what were they called? Mannials?”

  “Animals,” she corrected gently.

  “Right, those. They took so much out of you. Far more than you anticipated.”

  “I think that was because I made so many different kinds,” she said, still grinning at me.

  I took her in fully now. Yes, she was much dimmer than before, and not only that, but the edges of her were softer. Her wreath of light was smaller, subtly flickering. She felt thinner, finer, like a whisp of a cloud.

  “I think it’s because these creatures are much more complex than anything you’ve made so far,” I said. “All those jelly insides and scaffolding and complex systems. It’s a lot to do. And you’re making more? You’re not infinite, Fyra. If you do too much, who knows what it’ll do to you. You could go to sleep - for centuries this time - and I wouldn’t be able to wake you.” It had happened before, when she first created her world. She fell asleep as soon as the last drop of water was made, and she slept for a handful of years, curled and quiet. It was a lonely time for me, but when she woke again she was almost as bright as when she had first opened her eyes those eons ago.

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  “I know I’m not,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “This will be the last thing for a while. Like I said, I can’t really imagine anything else that’ll fit here.”

  “Isn’t this enough for now? It’s so colorful and lively, and everything is balanced. What else does this world need?”

  “It needs something that can create for me,” she said, yawning. “You’re right. I’m not infinite, but I can’t just...not make things. The universe is an empty jar, and what good is a jar on its own? The sole purpose of a jar is to fill it with something. A jar is nothing but potential, and this new world is my jar.” She had almost no light under her eyes, but I saw the same gleam she always had when she was fixated on a new creation. It never went away until she’d put what was in her head to life, and even then it was never gone for long.

  It was intoxicating, that gleam.

  “Alright,” I said, still uncertain. “Describe it to me.”

  “Well,” she said, a little sheepish, “this one’s going to look...a little bit...like me…”

  I tilted my head. “Alright,” I said. “I’m surprised it took you this long.” I copied her shape as best I could. I could get all the colors, but it was impossible for me to shine like her.

  “Not exactly like me,” she said, studying me. She circled but was quickly breathless and sat down again. “Same shape, so two legs, two arms, and a single head.”

  I wiped away all of the details, leaving only a basic dark shape.

  “Two eyes,” she went on, and I added those. “But not so big or so far apart. They’re on the front.” I adjusted. “A nose that sits between the eyes…no, a bit lower...perfect. And below that, a mouth...No, it’s not so much an open hole, more like, a hatch that they can open. With two soft shutters.”

  I made adjustments to that. “Like this?”

  “Yes, exactly!” she said, sounding more lively than she had in a while. “And two ears.”

  “Top or sides?”

  “Sides, and they’re small. They sit flat against the head.”

  “Done. What else?”

  “They have hair all over their body, but really fine hair. Except for on top of their heads.”

  I gave her a confused look. “Why?”

  “The part that does their thinking is in the head,” she said. “And the extra hair will keep it warmer so it can think better.”

  “That makes no sense to me, but this is your vision,” I said, and I added the long and little hairs. “What color are we looking at?”

  “Oh, all sorts!” she said. “I don’t want them to all look the same.”

  “This is just for the model. You’ll be adding the variations when you make this thing,” I said, deciding on a very pale color for us to work with. “What else?”

  “Hmmm...well, I think that we should have two different kinds.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Well, we’re going to want to see all the different kinds, right?” she said, “So they’re going to need to make more of each other and mix and match to see what comes out!”

  “You want to do the same thing that you did with the animals?”

  “I do! I certainly don’t have the patience to keep making new ones myself, and it seemed to work so well last time.”

  “If you say so,” and I created a second model and gave them different lower regions similar to what we did before. “Uh, how big?”

  “Um….” Fyra said, while I adjusted. “There. That’s adequate, I think. Any bigger than that and it’s going to be just absurd.”

  “Any smaller and it’s going to be ineffective,” I agreed.

  We made a few more adjustments then observed our work. “Are you happy with this?” I asked.

  She beamed. “I am.”

  “Alright then.” I put my hand on hers. It was cold, almost as cold as me. I squeezed her hand and frowned. “Fyra, I’m really worried about you. I don’t think you should do this. I think it’s too much.”

  “Abyss, you worry too much,” she said, squeezing my fingers. “Look at what I’ve already done! It’s all so vast and big. Yes, these are complex, but they’re so much smaller. You have nothing to worry about.”

  “We can always save this for later,” I suggested, trying to keep the pleading out of my voice. “That’ll give you more time to perfect things before you implement them.”

  “I work better when I see it all together,” she said. “You know this.” She turned to me and put her hand on my cheek. “Abyss, I promise you. I will not do too much. I feel better than last time, I really do. After this, I will rest, and you and I can watch what happens to these creations together. I’m so excited to see what they do and what they make, and I know we’re going to be so proud of them.”

  I searched for any sign in her face that she was wrong, anything I could use to convince her to wait. There was nothing. I sighed. “If you’re certain, then I trust you.” I hugged her tightly. “I love you, is all.”

  She hugged me back and kissed my cheek. “I love you, too. You are a good sister.”

  “What are you going to call these anyway?” I asked, keeping my hand around her waist.

  “Humans, I think,” she said. “You know, out of all of the things I’ve made, these are the closest to being family to you.”

  I made a face. “Yes, my weird little nieces and nephews.” Fyra laughed, and it was like the stars were singing.