Children have always been considered the future. And they will always be considered the future. After all, children should be better than their parents.
They gazed at the stars, dreaming of one day being among them. To be fair, they managed to rise above the sky and begin reaching into the Darkness. While some prayed to the gods not to bring down punishment on them for such terrible sins, others lived in the dream of becoming gods in the future. With each passing day, the world experienced a rise in spirit among those who considered gods a fairy tale and science a fact. Songs about sins fell silent, one after another, while songs about self-deification grew louder each time. While one religion fell, another rose. And in this religion, everyone was valued; there were no heretics, but equality of mind. For mind was considered superior to matter.
But there were those choirs who begged the gods to have mercy on them. Trying to calm their spirits, they sacrificed their own kind. They brought them gifts of blood, naively believing that this would change anything. Those who looked to the future, not clinging to the past, began to fight the last manifestations of fanaticism. And when the last song, the last prayer, died away, the gods descended from the heavens.
...
It was a fleeting phenomenon. No one understood what had happened. All that was known was that the lands to which the gods had descended had become a defiled and monstrous place, full of wonders and horrors at once. Pleas for mercy once again soared deep into the heavens, but songs of enlightenment rang out even louder. This world yearned to be known. Yearned to behold the Truth. And there were those who tried to penetrate the forbidden lands, despite the cries of danger. Some returned, while others were never able to meet their families again. Their children.
Time was in the hands of this world. They understood that there was plenty of time to understand the unknown. That the answers would be found, even if not immediately. And if not they, then their children, or their children's children, would find the solution. The only gods on this earth were themselves. And they would conquer the Darkness.
...
The lights grew brighter. Cries for salvation fell silent. Songs of enlightenment took over the world. The rich became even richer, and the poor ceased to be poor. The long-awaited equality of minds and ideas arrived. And then came the time of their children. Their children took up the puzzles with greater enthusiasm. They were smarter, more determined, more determined. But their voices... They sounded different... They were unlike any this world had heard since the dawn of reason. Their songs were slightly different. Their voices were slightly different. Their ideas and solutions were radically different from the previous generation. But it worked. Answers to old questions began to emerge. The elder generation saw their children begin to comprehend the Darkness. How they began to live there, though not straying far from their home.
And then new songs began to sound. Those who sang of enlightenment began to sing of how they were the chosen ones, how their children were the chosen ones, and how their children's children would lead their world to greatness. That all this was the planned by the Universe itself.
...
Generations passed, one after another. Each one had a different choir voice than the previous one. Each one sang differently, yet the same song. And the riddles were solved. And suddenly, someone began to wonder.
"Why?"
Why were the Universe's plans precisely these? What did it all mean? Looking through memories of the past, someone began to notice external differences between the streams and their seemingly recent ancestors. Could it be that the Universe had decided to act this way? Was it really necessary to reach a new branch of evolution to become a god?
"Why?"
The riddles became philosophical. The darkness no longer seemed as unattainable as it had once been. Wonders were conquered, and horrors were tamed. But no one was ever able to go beyond their home, even though they touched the Darkness - they could not. As if something was missing...
And the generations came and went, one after another... And the new generation sounded different from the previous one. But the songs were the same.
This was not the arrival. It was an invasion.
...
When the gods descended from the heavens again, their kindred awaited them. Their blood. Their likeness. Their voices that sang their own songs. They believed in their great destiny. This world considered itself deified.
To become God, they needed to be among the gods. They needed to walk, think, and sing like them. Look like them.
They needed to become like them. After countless years, they became them. What is time to a God? Those who descended from the heavens had no need to rush. They could wait.
