Rowan and the sphere

Rowan was jarred awake by the collapse of his cot. The strange orb was still clutched in his hands, like a stuffed animal. He held it up to his face to feel its radiating warmth. It almost seemed to glow; he knew it could not glow, as others told him that it did no such thing, but he enjoyed the notion that this was an experience to which he held the only privilege.

He ruminated upon his dream - no, his vision - and wondered who he'd just witnessed. It was the birth of a world. The emptiness of a black void, until a beam of pure white light projected a sphere into existence. At first, a formless blob. Then, a plume of flame, spreading outward until it enveloped the entire thing, giving it shape. It had seemed to change colors for a while, blue, to green, to red, then finally to grey as it clouded over. Once the clouds had subsided, it became a misty blue again, with complex forms and masses dotting its surface.

And then, once the changes had ceased, he had heard - sensed - that someone was speaking. That should satisfy them. A normal planet. MY normal planet.

He gazed upon the orb in his hand. Planet. A word that he had not considered before. Before, it was naught but a stone to him; albeit, a stone that he believed had personal meaning to him. He'd polished it to a mirror shine, began to carry it in his pocket. Nobody else thought it was anything more than a plain rock. But now, he realized, this was a symbol. His holy symbol. The holiest of symbols. This was an icon of creation. This represented the very planet they all lived upon. Greater than city, than nation, than continent or sea. It represented allness.