When the End Began the Journey: The Arrival

Time had no name. It had no form, no voice, no purpose—just an endless, drifting awareness that wandered the vast expanse of the universe. It was a witness, a silent observer, gliding through stars, planets, and the black void in between. For eons, it watched galaxies bloom and fade, stars collapse into darkness, and new worlds come to life. Yet, Time felt like an outsider, forever watching but never belonging.

Until Earth.

It was by chance that Time’s wandering brought it to this small blue planet spinning around a yellow star. From the depths of space, Earth shimmered with life—a vibrant, chaotic dance of creatures unlike anything Time had ever seen. Curiosity, something Time barely understood, stirred within. It felt a pull, an urge to get closer, to understand these beings who lived and breathed in ways that seemed so fragile yet beautiful.

Time descended, unsure of what it might find but eager to know this world more deeply. In its approach, however, something went terribly wrong. Time’s immense, intangible essence collided with the planet’s delicate balance. A meteor, pulled from the heavens by its arrival, struck the Earth with devastating force. The ground trembled, the skies darkened with fire and ash, and the vibrant life that had so captivated Time was silenced.

When the chaos subsided, a profound stillness enveloped the planet. Time lingered, overwhelmed by the destruction it had caused. For the first time in its endless existence, it felt something it could only describe as sorrow. The vibrant world it had admired was now broken, and it was to blame.

Time wept. Its tears were not of water but of essence, a deep, aching grief that echoed across the desolate land. Days and nights blurred as its mourning continued, the weight of its sorrow pressing heavily against the scorched Earth. But something remarkable began to happen. The planet, touched by Time’s lament, began to heal.

The searing heat gave way to cooling winds, and the ash that had smothered the skies settled onto the ground, becoming fertile soil. The oceans, once boiling with fury, calmed and nurtured life anew. Slowly, the Earth began to recover, reshaping itself into something different but still full of promise. Time’s grief had not been in vain; it had unknowingly paved the way for a new beginning.

Centuries passed. Time stayed close, watching as the planet healed and life returned. New creatures emerged, tentative and small at first but growing bolder with each generation. Time felt a quiet joy in their resilience, their ability to thrive even in the face of ruin. And though the memory of destruction weighed heavy, Time began to feel hope for this world.

When humans appeared, Time’s curiosity deepened. These beings were unlike any it had seen before. They moved with purpose, their lives measured not just by survival but by something greater. They looked to the skies and wondered, just as Time had. They built fires, crafted tools, and began to shape the world around them. Time, once an invisible observer, now found itself woven into their existence.

But watching was no longer enough. For the first time, Time felt a longing to belong, to be among these creatures who had brought meaning to its formless existence. Slowly, it began to take shape, drawing inspiration from the humans it observed. It fashioned itself into a body—a form not entirely human, but close enough. Time chose a name, "Alden," a name it had heard whispered in the air. In an ancient tongue, it meant "old friend."

Alden wandered among humans, trying to understand their ways. He hunted with them, swam in their rivers, and shared in their fires. Though he still carried the infinite weight of what he had been, he found comfort in their company. Alden was no longer just Time; he was a part of the world, seeking connection and solace in the rhythm of human life.