Before the Earth coalesced, in the roiling abyss of pre-creation, Thoth emerged—not from womb or clay, but from the raw intellect of the void. His ibis head gleamed under starless skies, his eyes twin lanterns of thought. Beside him stood Anu, the Babylonian sky god, his presence vast as the unformed heavens, his beard a cascade of storm clouds.

“This chaos offends me,” Anu rumbled, his voice shaking the emptiness. “We need structure, Thoth. You’re the mind here—scribe it into being.”
Thoth’s beak parted in a faint, enigmatic smile. “Order demands sacrifice. What will you give?”

Anu’s eyes narrowed. “Name your price.”
“A moment with Inanna,” Thoth said, his tone smooth as silk. “Her fire could ignite a universe.”

Anu’s laughter boomed, scattering motes of light. “Done. Now write.”

Thoth raised his hands, and the first Emerald Tablet materialized—a crystalline slab of verdant green, pulsing with latent power. His stylus, forged from a shard of the first star, carved the laws of existence: gravity, time, light. “Let there be form,” he intoned, and the void shuddered, birthing galaxies in a cascade of fire. Anu watched, awestruck, as Thoth etched the final rune.
“It’s beautiful,” Anu murmured.
“It’s fragile,” Thoth replied, gazing at the newborn cosmos. “And already slipping from my grasp.”