He stirred. The buoyancy of his body swayed as the liquids surrounding him were disturbed. Warmth flowing, barely shifting, barely changing. The rhythmic pulse of his heart beating. A change. His skin absorbing needed nutrients from the fluid as they came to him.
He had no concept of time. His eyes could barely open. When he did see, he saw little. He only saw the fluid. Yes, the fluid was always every where. Some where on the edges of the fluid was the flesh. It was there, producing the life giving warmth he so loved.
Everything he needed was here. There was no reason to leave. But something out there. Something alien wished him to leave. Sounds. He could hear sounds. These were related to the things that wanted him to leave his solitude. His peace of mind.
Another thing. It too stirred like his heart beat. Rhythmic and sure, it never faltered. Sometimes the pulses of sound waves would shake the flesh. And then he would notice. But that was not now. Now was feeding from the richness of life.
There were things he knew. He never questioned. This was why he did not know that he wasn’t supposed to be able to know these things. They were just there, in his mind. Just as the fluid and the flesh was here to comfort him.
He had a name, Idraea. And Idraea had a purpose. Of it he was not certain. But he knew of the People. And he knew of the Clean Ones. And he knew a great deal about history. This was so much about things and places he had never seen. Things and places he might never see.
Universe. Life, Soul, God. These were names and concepts. He knew only two of them. Life was what he was. Universe was out there, some where. Every where. He often felt its presence. The stories, they told, of the Clean Ones who explored many parts of Universe.
They explored it, leaving behind their own Life. Why they did this, Idraea could not understand. But they had done this and so it was done. But then came the Ill Omen. Its larcenous portent stole away lives, destroyed everything that it could.
Stories told that some believed it to be a vengeance against their expansion. No one knew. Some how in a time for which the Clean Ones had become their greatest, this ancient evil was unleashed from something old and rotten. A disease known as leprosy.
The People were forced to leave. The Clean Ones were in danger of becoming infected by their presence. Likewise the People were in danger, the Clean Ones wished them to be eradicated to destroy the plague. But escape the People did. To live on in dismal misery, ever searching to make themselves anew.
Until finally the People finally found Life once again. And from Life they created Prosperity. Idraea did not know of this last one until he left his own Life. That was now. After the feeding. His fingers suddenly grasped, pulling at the flesh. Why he did this, he did not know.
He loved this place. But something forced him to leave. And he would never be able to return to this place. That is how he became Born from Life. The flesh became torn from his fingers, his body carving its way out.
Now he was on the outside. The fluid lay spilt all over. Now this was coldness. There was no fluid here, only nakedness. Cold amongst the above, cold amongst the below. This was a starship of the People, although he would not be able to conceive such yet.
Something that he sensed was like him, but did not look it then grabbed him, lifting him away from the below. It did not grasp with things like him. These were strange things. Cold. Unfleshed. Its own face looked upon Idraea through something similar to his Life, but it was not the same. It was made from the cold material.
Mother. Bearer. Creator. This was one of the People that lifted him from the fleshy Life and brought him forth into the Universe. Porcelain like skin curled into a smile on his child-like face as he embraced this figure, one of the People.
It still wore a look of complete surprise. He could sense that it was still shocked by the fact that he lived. There were others, he remembered as it came to him. They did not survive, there was only him.
The unfleshed suit kept the People alive as the Ill Omen robbed them of their heritage. Of their life. Much sadness. Their flesh and their world lost. But now it was to come to an end. Finally, one of the Chosen had been created.
The People could now live for a future. Here was perfection in this simple man born from the flesh of Life. This creation built amongst the stars of Universe. Idraea touched the chest of the suited figure and its material wavered and then melted from his touch as he willed it to part out of his way.
Fluid spilled from the suit. Life giving fluid he was familiar with. The kind that had been providing him nutrients while he grew over the last two hundred years. Reaching, he found flesh hiding there. What was left of it as the fluids kept the person alive. It was cold, but alive.
Idraea concentrated and healed his mother. The work was too much for him, having just arrived amongst the Universe. He passed out until he would be able to reawaken. Time was of no consequence to him. The People had succeeded in building a true god.
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