It could be anything he chose to make it. Joy filled him, and power. Like a billion doors, the possibilities opened before him--a different world beyond each one. What should he choose? A world without hatred, without fear, without violence?
Yes, there was such a world. He reached toward it...then recoiled. The people in that world huddled in mud huts, staring with listless eyes at smoky fires, their bodies filthy and covered with sores. They spoke no stories, sang no songs, made no music. They had no fears, no cares, no worries. And no hopes, no desires, no dreams.
Did such things have to go hand in hand? He had chosen the wrong door, that was all. Travis moved toward another, toward a world without hunger, without pain, without sorrow.
He saw a modern city, not unlike Denver, but its lines cleaner, sharper. In it, a mother walked down a street. She stared at the dead child in her arms, then let it fall to the gutter as she continued on. Nearby, a man had been struck by a car. He flopped in the street, confusion on his face, not agony. No one stopped to help him. He dragged himself to the edge of the street, trailing shattered legs, then died. A street sweeping truck drove by, scooped up the bodies, and drove on. The sky was dark with soot; no one looked up.
No, that wasn't what he had meant. Travis turned away and flung open another door. In this world, there was no such thing as death. He saw a village like that below Castle Calavere, its dirt streets littered with bundles of sticks.
Horror blossomed in him. They were't sticks, but people-- withered, decrepit people. They raised desiccated arms, staring with milky eyes, opening toothless mouths in moans of suffering, begging for release. Passersby stared at them with hate, then hurried past.
Travis fled. That wasn't it. A world of peace, of joy, of beauty, that was what he wanted. He found a door beyond which people danced and laughed, smiles on their simple faces. Yes, this was right. Then he drew closer and saw more. At night, monsters dragged the children from their beds and ate them. The people made it a game; they never spoke of the ones who went missing. They simply danced and clapped their hands as shadows prowled just beyond the lights of their small, happy towns.
A thousand doors he opened, and Travis glimpsed a thousand terrible worlds beyond them. He cried out into the nothingness, but there was no one to listen to him. It wasnt supposed to be like this. There had been such sorrow in the old world. War and hatred and violence. What was the use of being the Worldsmith if he couldn't create a world without these things? He wanted a world without pain and suffering, without despair. A world where Beltan and Vani's daughter had a hope of growing up...
