Words have powers.
They move the seas, the stars, the living, the dead.
They resonate with the universe itself, and more they are spoken, the stronger they get.
Imagine now words woven masterfully together, into sentences, phrases, chapters and stories.
Imagine them come to life due to their resonance, due to their powers to affect those who lay eyes upon them.
And this is not just a hearsay, not just a theory.
There are planets, beings, scenarios and events coming into being because someone talks about them, writes about them, thinks about them.
It usually takes the effort of trillions of life-forms over a long period of time to make real something with the power of words, but there is an exception.
The Weaver of Creation.
They are an individual whom mastered the words, and the words dance upon their tongue, in their mind and soul.
And these words are normal, yet when spoken, written or thought about by the Weaver they instantly resonate and connect with their concepts, with the space around them and they began their change.
It’s a mesmerizing sight.
Seeing the Weaver talk with their friends, and their conversation become reality.
Here or there, it’s never certain, but it does happen.
But this power of theirs made them not simply overwhelming, but also extremely feared.
And those who are feared, but don’t want to be feared are usually maltreated.
Thus, the Weaver of Creation is exiled, into the heart of the void, that is constantly expanding, constantly hungering for matter, for anything.
The void that is expanding, and is said to engulf all of creation and the Weaver whom is said to create but with a whisper.
Such an odd yet perfect combination.
And yet, miracles tend to happen to those who follow their heart.
The Weaver was a simple being.
They loved listening to and telling stories.
They loved the words and wanted to learn and know them all, and thus the words loved them.
Thus, something impossible happened.
A mere living being exceeded the cruel void.
The creations of the Weaver, were spreading, expanding, growing faster than the void’s hunger could handle.
And thus, more and more creations appeared, while the void slowly devoured them.
Universes new and old grew rich, while people both young and old became protagonists, antagonists or players in different stories.
The Weaver is sealed away, yet their words float through the void, and gaining the acknowledgment of the laws.
The Weaver does nothing but sleep, eat and write, and yet such a simple life-style protects the myriad realms from the clutches of the void.
The more they create, the more time the created gain.
The Weaver of Creation gained their name not by mistake, not by common use, but by obvious facts.
They are the one who creates, they were like that, and will be like that.
A being as them is hard to be change and is hard to change.
As long as new things are being born, there will be new words to appear.
And as long as there are words out there unknown to them, the Weaver will never stop…
And their stories will grow endlessly through the Weaver’s own growth…
Words have powers.