Life spread between Agu's feathers, blood, flesh, and bones, evolving into countless forms.
His feathers drifted into the sky. Each kind transformed into a different species of flying bird, filling the heavens with wings.
His blood soaked into soil and stone. Where it fell, serpents and insects crawled forth, inheriting instinct and motion.
His flesh shattered against the land. Fragments sank into the earth, becoming embryos that soon birthed beasts of every shape.
His bones broke apart and scattered. Where the fragments landed, roots took hold, and plants rose toward the light.
Only one part of him did not disperse.
Around Agu's neck was a ring of black feathers, iridescent with shifting colors. They did not fly away. They fell together, gathering upon the earth, slowly enclosing themselves into thumb-sized eggs.
Elios watched silently.
His form gradually manifested above the newborn world, his gaze carrying contemplation rather than judgment.
Agu was pure.
From the moment of his birth to the instant of his death, he had never wavered from his mission. Yet his journey was not finished—it had merely passed its first threshold.
Within Elios's sight, Agu's purity condensed into a phantom. His spirit separated from the surge of life and awakened in the lingering afterglow of death.
"God!"
Agu's voice trembled with joy and reverence as he looked up.
"You did well," Elios said calmly. "Your journey has reached its first node."
Agu froze.
"Not… completed?"
He had believed that surrendering his life to give rise to life itself was the end of his mission.
"All scenery is born from you," Elios continued. "And you must complete your journey within that scenery."
Creation was not merely to be made—it was to be lived, witnessed, endured.
Agu lowered his head in understanding.
"Yes, God. I will complete my mission."
He did not ask how. He did not question death.
A mission given by God was itself a qualification.
Elios's gaze fell upon him once more.
Agu felt his spirit condense rapidly, drawn downward and sealed into the waiting eggs.
[Genesis 2:1
God once again granted life to Agu, and commanded him to continue his journey.]
Spirit reunited with life.
A surge of vitality pulsed through the eggs, and Agu fell into deep slumber.
Before sleep fully claimed him, faint ripples of thought escaped.
"God…"
"Mission…"
"Four claws are inconvenient…"
As the eggs developed, the surrounding life continued to spread.
Wind carried seeds across the land. Rain washed spores into valleys and rivers.
Animals felt no hunger. Plants knew no decay.
For a time, the miracle of life sustained everything.
From a single point, life expanded into a surface.
Color spread across the world.
Though few in variety, these new lives adapted rapidly. Wherever they arrived, they evolved to match their surroundings.
Creatures that entered water became fish. Plants that sank transformed into aquatic growth.
Tribes began to form.
But miracles were never eternal.
Cracks appeared in the eggshells.
The borrowed vitality returned to its source.
Agu was born again.
Mucus fell away. His body grew swiftly, reshaping itself in moments.
Yet this time, he was different.
His form drew closer to Elios—more upright, more humanoid.
His torso resembled that of a man, covered in soft white down. His head bore long feathers flowing from brow to crown. A dark red beak and crimson pupils lent him a quiet ferocity.
Broad shoulders supported wings that brushed the ground.
From the waist down, layered feathers covered his hips and thighs. Behind him, sword-like tail feathers pierced the soil like planted blades.
Muscle shaped his thighs. Scaled calves ended in five-clawed feet, joints refined for grasping and labor.
Agu tested his body.
Then he heard more shells breaking.
He lifted into the air and settled nearby, watching his newly born companions emerge.
For the first time, something stirred deeply within him.
Manpower.
With enough hands, wonders could be built.
And above all, he wished to build a statue of God.
Not the crude structures he had once made, unworthy of divine glory—but something refined, perfected through effort and time.
As he watched his kin, he noticed their growth was slower than his own.
Though stronger than beasts and birds, they were far inferior to what he once was.
"I am weaker than before," Agu realized calmly.
His vitality had diminished.
Yet he felt no regret.
Life was merely a stage of the journey.
He had already offered death without hesitation. This life, too, was only a tool to complete God's will.
As long as it was enough, it was sufficient.
While observing the world, Agu noticed something strange.
"Cows… sheep… horses… sparrows…"
All creatures had names.
Yet his own people had none.
His name, Agu, was given by God alone. It could not be shared.
He recalled the words etched into Genesis.
Feathers born from the earth.
"Then we shall be called…"
"Feathered People."
In his mind, the concept of human took form, a race that stood upright and possessed wisdom.
"The Feathered People will be the only intelligent race of this world."
"And they shall be the race favored by God."