The Garden of Gods was silent. Six billion pairs of eyes were fixed on Builder. He stood before the holographic projection of the city, his chest swelling with the pride of a creator.
The hammer of creation hung at his waist, a silent show of the power that had forged this utopia.
"Let us begin with the most fundamental need," Builder announced, his voice amplified by faith to reach every ear. He swept his arm towards the horizon. "First, let us talk about where we will live. The Southern District."
The Gods turned their gaze southwards. What they had assumed were grand administrative buildings from afar turned out out be their new houses.
They saw a sea of floating islands in the space, connected by bridges of woven light. Upon each island sat a structure that defied the humble definition of a house.
These were palaces of crystal and star-metal, towering spires of obsidian and gold, each one unique, each one radiating a faint, inviting hum.
