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There once was a Daydream.
Her brother was a Dreamweaver, a part of the land just like she was. But he did not have any real beginning the way she did- he was not made by anyone’s hand, the way she was made by his.
One day, he simply was.
And then one day, he wasn’t. His tether was lost to her and he was nowhere to be found.
So she dried her lonely tears and searched for him.
She searched and searched until she found.
What she found was a little boy in a green jacket wearing a Dreamweaver’s mask. He did not look like her brother in the slightest, but he felt like him. He felt like her brother’s playfulness.
“Who are you?” Daydream asked.
“I’m a little duckling!” the boy cheerfully said. “Mama said so!”
Only a child, then. Daydream flew away and kept searching.
She found a group of people living in tents, and among them was a shadowed man with a scruffy goatee and a colorful poncho, clucking to an eagle on his wrist. He turned to her, wearing a Dreamweaver’s mask on his face, and he felt like her brother’s kindness.
“Who are you?” Daydream asked.
“Who can say, niñita?” the man smiled. “I did not know who I would be today, and I do not know who I will be tomorrow! Isn’t it great?”
“Then who are you today?” Daydream wondered.
The man’s smile turns soft. “Someone searching for love. If you see my Selena, you be kind to her, okay?”
Only a man, then. Daydream flew away and kept searching.
She went deep and far into the wilds until she found a woman with strong legs and long flaxen hair. The woman turned to her, a Dreamweaver’s mask on her face, and Daydream thought that this person felt like her brother’s swiftness.
“Who are you?” Daydream asked.
“Someone searching for food and firewood,” the woman said, “just like anybody else. If you see my Primo, you tell him I’m coming home soon, okay?”
Only a woman, then. Daydream flew away and kept searching.
She went into the city and found a man with a mustache and a big brown coat. He turned to her, a glass lens set into the Dreamweaver’s mask on his face, and he felt like her brother’s sharp mind.
“Who are you?” Daydream asked.
“A seeker,” the man said, “For truth, among other things.”
Only a seeker, then. Daydream flew away and kept searching.
Daydream flew and flew and flew until she came across a mountain filled with her brother’s magic. Deep inside, she found a man with white hair and marbled life marks, staring at a Dreamweaver’s mask in his hands. He turned to her, green eyes wild with suspicion, and he felt like her brother’s determination.
“Who are you?” Daydream asked.
“I’m Lagos,” he shakily said. “Who are you?”
“If you were really Lagos, you wouldn’t need to ask,” Daydream mumbled to herself.
Only a pretender, then. Daydream flew away and kept searching.
And suddenly she saw…
…she saw…
…she saw.
She saw a Lord in green, in white, in gold, gold, gold. The light of golden rings fell upon His blinding wings, and there was no Dreamweaver’s mask upon the shadow of His face, but His power felt like her brother’s hands.
AND WHO ARE YOU? He asked her, His booming voice deafeningly quiet.
“Who- who are you?” Daydream dared to ask.
And the God was silent.
(Everything was silent.)
I AM ALIVE, He decided after an endlessly tiny eternity. ARE YOU?
“Of course I am,” Daydream said in a very small voice. “You made me.”
God tilts His head.
WHAT ELSE DID I MAKE? He wonders.
“Everything,” Daydream told Him. “Everything you can see.”
He held out his hand to her. SHOW ME, LITTLE ONE.
Daydream took what might have been her brother’s hand, and showed Him the life of his own creation.
(And she stopped searching.)