The tesseract – suspended in midair – spun on a corner through multiple axes, multiple dimensions. Contained within it was the bare homunculus of a man, sleeping. He lay foetally inverted, the crown of his head pressed into a point, his forehead flattened by one side. The box barely contained his magnificence, as though ready to burst.

His eyes were closed, as they had been since before time began. Since before he had conceived of the concept of time. 

Sometimes the man who dreamed the universe, cramped in his box and clasping his knees, would twitch or the blisters of his face would bleed. He never moved any more than that. A twitch. Truly, little else was required. A twitch.

The ones who observe and obey watched from their room as the spinning tesseract glowed. They bowed their reverent halos to acknowledge the emerging new age. So it was how the ones who observe and obey heralded creation.