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The Chronicler sat down on the padded chair, clasping his hands together.

"Are you ready to tell this story, sir? Think about what could happen if people know of your history before they need to, if the wrong people find out what happened..."

The being in front of him raised a single hand and silence fell. He had already considered the possibilities numerous times before and yet he felt as though he needed to think about it one last time. Having the story recorded made it final and the Chronicler wasn't wrong when he said that it could open a nasty can of worms in the future. Although he was pretty sure that wouldn't happen. Say, 85% sure.

Getting up from his location next to the historical section of his bookshelves, he noted with a small huff that books of all sizes were strewn about the room haphazardly. Organization was never his best habit, but his recent research frenzy must have been worse than usual. He sighed, pondering the problem presented to him by friend, letting it drift around inside of his head in lazy swirls, using the light of the stars and the universe visible through the window as guidance. And then, he pushed through it.

Leaving the Chronicler behind for a few moments, the being stepped out of the window and the room. He knew the Chronicler would wait. The budding universe sang in glory and power and he spread wings of starlight for a small flight around. Fixing things was another way he could work thoughts out, which was good, since things always seemed to be breaking. Stars going out, planets collapsing. Another mental note made to correct that sometime in the future. But for now, just the joy of soaring through space and feeling the vast power beneath his skin.

Eventually, however, he returned to the room. There was no option other than to tell the story and it was at least a little important for people to know what would happen. Even though he couldn't see the entire future, it still was his job to tell what little he could.

Tucking in his wings to save space, he flew back through the window and landed lightly on the floor. One of the lamps had gone out, he noted with a frown. Snapping his claws to reignite the flame, he walked back over to where the Chronicler was sitting. The question was patiently repeated and a nod was given in response.

Materializing a pen and paper, he gestured for the being to sit, but was declined. Even after living for millions of years, chairs were still incessantly uncomfortable. It probably had something to do with the wings. That and his stupid tail, which always seemed to be getting in the way. He laughed suddenly, realizing the stupidity of the situation. The powers to create galaxies and he couldn't make a simple piece of furniture

Beginning to pace around the room, he cast his mind back to the events that had transpired so long ago.

"So, Chronicler," he said, my voice echoing with undertones of power. "Are you ready to begin? You will be the first to hear the entire thing, from start to finish."

Pen was set immediately to paper and his hands shook in anticipation. The being gave a toothy smile at his badly concealed excitement.

"Always ready for new stories, new histories. Alright then, now where to start?"

Casting my mind back through the ages, he recalled two important things, a name and a face. And then he laughed. The Chronicler looked up, not having written anything yet, his face showing confusion.

"Something wrong sir?"

"No, I just find it funny."

"What sir?"

"That the great story you are about to hear has such a small, and humble, beginning in a relatively quiet part of the universe, far away from anything else."

"No beginning is too small, sir, as it sets up the story and makes the whole thing spin."

He laughed again, pleased with the response. "You're right, Chronicler; you've learned well. So, start it like this..."