Come children, gather and sit. I will tell you a tale of where the world came from.
In the beginning there sat a world where all other worlds overlapped. This world was not our world; our world did not yet exist. Yet from this world the seeds of ours was created, and planted. If anyone recalls the name of this world, I have never heard it spoken.
This world grew old, and broken, and finally it died. In its place was a formless void. Remnants of this void remain far from this city, beyond the suburbs, beyond the fields and farms, past the mountains and over the oceans. Do not seek to go there, though. The void is dangerous. From its formless chaos anything can come. Anything can be formed. A stray thought, a memory, a brief longing can bring destruction, and fear that brings more destruction.
What about the priests of creation? What about them? They meddle in things they should leave alone. At that, at least, they are trained to stillness to not let their mind wander. Leave them alone, they too make mistakes on the fringe.
Now, as I was saying, anything can form from this nothingness. And one thing remained from that old world. A single mind, powerful enough not to be subsumed in the destruction that came. A single seed that from that lonely, emptiness created all that we have.
What happened to that mind? It's still here, with us. In the bones of the land. In the heart of the buildings of our city. In the verve of the plants that grow in our fields. Go now, children. Go play. We will continue this story anon.