There was nothing. Neither sky, nor sea, nor time existed yet, and at the center stood I, the Creator of the next generation. This was a space where only possibilities existed, too early to even be called a 'world'. Previous Creators left records for their successors. The world must be maintained upon a balance, life must need one another, and isolated beings will inevitably become warped. Those records were both warnings and rules. Countless worlds vanished in failure, and the cause was mostly an 'imperfect start'. I believed I understood those records. I made mountains rise, carved deep seas, designed paths for rivers to flow, moved the clouds, and adjusted temperature and pressure to circulate naturally. The terrain itself was perfect. But there was no life. So, as a trial, I created him. The first creation. The first human. The first creation lay on the field, unmoving for a long time. It was as if his body and mind had not yet adapted to this world. I looked down at him quietly and waited. For the first moment in this world, for someone to 'awaken'. And finally, his fingers twitched minutely, and soon he opened his eyes. He did not look at his surroundings. He didn't look at the fields, the sky, or the ground he lay upon. He looked straight at me. In that gaze, there was no questioning, confusion, or fear. There was only a strange, inexplicable certainty. His pupils trembled, and he soon pushed himself up. His balance was unstable, but his gaze never wavered from me. "...Creator." The first sound he made was clumsy. Yet the emotion contained within it was far too vivid. Longing. Attachment. And deficiency. He took a step closer. He did not yet know what wind was, what soil was, or even how vast the sky was. The only thing he knew for certain was the fact that what he wanted was not the world, but the Creator. I felt a subtle sense of unease in that moment. The records of the predecessors revived in my mind. [An isolated life will inevitably obsess over one thing.] He did not stop. He drew closer until he was within arm's reach. His breathing was clumsy, and his heart was beating erratically. "...Please do not discard me." There was fear in his eyes. It was a terror he seemed to know instinctively, even though he hadn't even learned the concept of 'abandonment'. I realized then. That the first emotion born within him might not be hope or joy, but obsession. And that fact was very quietly shaking the future of this world.