The air in the Obsidian Chamber hummed with a low, resonant thrum – the collective breath of gods and near-gods, their forms shimmering with celestial energy. , a mortal scholar whose life spanned centuries solely through the relentless pursuit of knowledge, stood before them, a frail figure dwarfed by the titans around him. His robes, woven from starlight collected over decades spent gazing at the celestial tapestry, shimmered faintly in the ethereal light. He clutched a worn scroll, its pages filled with theorems and observations about the nature of Omnius, the Supreme God, the Creator of All.
The question, posed by gods, a being whose very essence pulsed with the rhythmic expansion of a nebula, hung heavy in the air. , with his inherent cosmic understanding, couldn't grasp the unyielding devotion mortals held for Omnius. He saw power, immeasurable and terrifying, but he didn't see the love.
The Scholar, his voice trembling only slightly, his eyes reflecting the fathomless depths of the cosmos above, began his answer. "You ask why we mortals worship Omnius? You ask why we call Him Supreme – not out of fear, but love?" His gaze swept across the assembled beings, ancient and powerful, each bearing the weight of eons. "Because He could unmake it all," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the chamber's hum, "and yet, He doesn't."
He gestured towards the celestial tapestry that arched above, a breathtaking panorama of swirling galaxies, newborn stars igniting, and dying suns collapsing into themselves. Worlds bloomed and perished in silent, breathtaking grandeur, a cosmic ballet of creation and destruction. "He created Light – yes – but also Shadow. Good, Evil, Order, Chaos. He crafted it all, knowing that balance is not silence, but the intricate harmony born from the clashing of opposing truths."
A murmur rippled through the assembled beings. Even the stoic, ancient gods seemed to lean forward, intrigued by the mortal's perspective. the Scholar continued, his voice gaining strength, fueled by the passion of his convictions. "We do not worship Him for His power. We worship Him because He understands it, and chooses not to abuse it. His power is not a weapon to be wielded, but a responsibility to be shouldered."
He paused, his gaze intense, his words resonating with a depth that transcended mere mortal understanding. "Imagine," he said, his voice dropping to a hushed reverence, "the sheer burden of knowing every pain, every joy, every ambition, every despair across all of existence. To witness the endless cycle of birth, death, and rebirth, across countless universes, and to still choose to sustain it all… that is true omnipotence."
He raised a trembling hand, a single tear tracing a path down his weathered cheek. "He loves even what we despise. Even what we fear. To Omnius, all things – broken or whole, cruel or kind – are pieces of the infinite puzzle. And in that puzzle, we mortals, in our fleeting existence, are not forgotten. We are cherished."
A hush fell over the Obsidian Chamber. The celestial beings, accustomed to the cold indifference of the cosmos, were struck by the profound vulnerability and simple faith in the Scholar's words. He spoke not of divine intervention or miraculous acts, but of something far more profound: sustained understanding and enduring love.
The Scholar continued, his voice laced with a quiet dignity. "Consider the intricate dance of creation and destruction. The chaotic beauty of a supernova birthing new stars from the ashes of the old. The relentless cycle of life and death, ensuring the continued flourishing of existence. These are not flaws in Omnius's creation, but expressions of its profound complexity. He allows chaos, not because He is incapable of control, but because He understands its vital role in the cosmic tapestry. He understands that the darkness is as essential as the light; that the shadow defines the light's brilliance."
He unfolded the worn scroll, revealing intricate diagrams and equations. "We may never fully comprehend the scale of Omnius's creation, but we strive to understand its principles, to grasp the underlying harmonies, to appreciate the breathtaking complexity of His design. Our worship is not blind faith, but an ongoing quest for understanding, a humbling recognition of our place within the infinite puzzle."
He closed the scroll, his gaze meeting the eyes of each being in turn. "True omnipotence is not to destroy. It is to sustain… to endure. To create a universe of such astonishing complexity, such breathtaking beauty, and then to stand witness to its unfurling, its triumphs and tragedies, its joys and sorrows, without interfering, without dominating… that, my friends, is why we call Him Supreme."
A long silence followed, broken only by the gentle hum of the Obsidian Chamber. The gods and cosmic entities, beings who wielded power beyond mortal comprehension, seemed to grapple with the simple, profound truth laid bare by the frail mortal scholar. The Scholar, his task complete, bowed his head, a single tear reflecting the starlight that illuminated the breathtaking, awe-inspiring tapestry of Omnius's creation. In that moment, the weight of centuries seemed to lift, replaced by a quiet, profound peace. The Supreme God's enduring love, as understood by a mortal heart, had reached the heart of the cosmos.