Aetheria Cosmara had made a thousand worlds, and now she stood before empty space with nothing to make the next one from. She was the goddess of all creation. She wanted this realm to outshine every world behind her. But her hands were empty. The amulet at her throat, the one that had birthed oceans and suns, gave her only a faint, tired glow. She held the amulet up. Its center showed a swirl of starlight, like a galaxy caught in glass. She pressed her will into it and waited for the first speck of creation-stuff to bloom. Nothing came. The swirl dimmed. She had drained every wellspring she owned on the worlds already made. To build something greater, she needed raw material greater than any she had touched. From her sanctuary of white domes and shining gates, Aetheria looked down into the dark below. Something moved there. It was long and vast, with powerful limbs and wings that blotted out the empty black. A dragon of the first chaos, older than her oldest world. Its scales burned deep red and green. Its presence pressed on her like a storm about to break. She understood at once. The beast was made of pure creation-stuff, wild and unshaped. No wellspring in all her realms held so much. If she drew from it, she could begin. But the dragon was not a pool to dip into. It was alive, and it had never served anyone. Aetheria descended. The dragon turned its burning eyes on her and bared its teeth. She lifted the amulet. "Give me what you carry," she said, "and I will shape it into worlds." The dragon lunged. Its jaws snapped where she had stood. Aetheria pushed the amulet forward and pulled. A thread of light tore loose from the beast's chest. The dragon screamed and thrashed. The amulet's center brightened, feeding on the raw stuff pouring out of it. For the first time in ages, Aetheria felt the swirl grow warm and full. She pulled harder. The thread became a flood. Light streamed from the dragon into the amulet until the whole sky glowed. Her hands shook with the power of it. At last she had her wellspring. She had more creation-stuff than she had ever held. The dragon did not die. The tearing woke it fully. It wrenched free of her pull, and the stolen light left a wound that cracked and sparked like broken sky. The beast reared back, now furious, now awake, and now hunting the one who had robbed it. Aetheria clutched the glowing amulet to her chest. She had what she needed to begin. She also had a wounded chaos-dragon loose above the empty space where her new realm would grow. She turned toward her sanctuary and began to run.