For a long time, there was nothing. The seeds of the new game drifted in silence, untouched. Then, a flicker. A young, nascent consciousness, born in the heart of a swirling gas cloud, stumbled upon one of the seeds. It was not a creature of grand intellect or cosmic awareness, but of simple, raw curiosity. It touched the seed, not with a hand, but with a thought, and the game began to unfold for it, a private universe of possibility. The Weavers, watching from afar, felt a thrill of connection. Their gift had been received. The game had begun.