Bok the Carrier

Thrum shouldered the Capricorn galaxy. Syl and Myr, partners who were fused under a red star, jointly shouldered the Pandora galaxy. Even Min, the smallest, shouldered the cotton galaxy. We are Carriers, and we hold heavenly bodies against the continuously pulling mantle of the universe.

There is a certain pride in doing your task well and none is more proud than Bok. Bok carries the heaviest galaxy, the Milky Way. It holds millions and millions of heavenly bodies. It is known for the bright creamy white swirl in its center.

Everything within the universe is painful to bear. It is always moving and changing. To carry a heavenly body is to constantly balance its weight, shift your body, and maintain your strength. 

The galaxies we carry are also growing, albeit at an extremely slow pace. However, the Milky Way is an oddity. Compared to other galaxies, it has continuously grown at an absurd rate. More so ever since Bok has carried it.

No one knows why. No one asks. It is not theirs to bear. You keep your million hands on your own task and Bok, along with all of his ancestors, has kept theirs on the Milky Way. 

Stories take an extremely long time to travel and be heard around the universe. And yet, every corner has heard of Milky Way’s size and those who carry it. 

Bok will carry it until the new millennium and will pass it down to me, his son, Sol.

I remember my birth alongside all the next generation Carriers. A million hands grasping on light to feed on. A million hands of mine holding Bok. Wherever, whenever, and whatever I did, he had a million hands to guide me.

He told me of all who came before us. My great-great-great-great-great-(to infinite)-parents, their pride, their strength, and their struggle in shouldering the ever-growing Milky Way. I spent every moment asking questions and he spent every moment answering.

He taught me how to properly stoke stars, how to throw a comet, how to spin a nebula. He caught my fall on a black hole and discreetly helped me carry a red sun. He was proud of the first comet I made and had it pinned on the Milky Way.

He also consoled me when I didn’t pass as a World Weaver.

___

Every millennium, before the Transfer of Burden, the Council has Runners go around the universe looking for World Weavers. Beings that are given the right to place their creations on the mantle of the universe. Creations to be looked upon, marveled at, and carried.

You can either be a World Weaver through birthright or through passing a test. The children of World Weavers have their ancestry to prove their potential. You are made of the same fabric, and thus, the millions of creations your ancestors have made tells of how capable you are.

They are lucky. Everyone else has to prove their worth in front of the Runners.

Everyone of us is capable of creating something small, like comets or stardusts. However, only a select few are able to create constellations and solar systems. If you fail the test then you are not meant to be one. So you continue what those before you did, which in my case, is carry.

Bok was always supportive of my creations. He took time to help me make stardust, planet rings, and even meteor showers. He critiqued, assisted, and even gave me unlikely tips. Unlike the others who had these lessons secondary, Bok gave me free rein to discover both creation and carrying on my own.

I loved every second it took creating. When the Runners came looking, I was there, ready to become a World Weaver.

__

The test was making a planet. I have never made a planet before but I was confident. I swirled, and grabbed, and pressed, and crushed, and molded with all my strength and million hands. I could envision it but I struggled to make it grow.

I swirled, and grabbed, and pressed, and crushed, and molded with all my strength and million hands but it didn’t grow any further. My time was up and I was left with a dwarf planet. I, along with all those who tried, have failed. 

“We see no potential here.” the Runners said and swiftly left to look at the other sides of the universe.

I was left in despair. For the first few centuries, I kept my million hands to myself. Bok was worried but patient. He urged me to open up, whispered soothing words, and held my million hands. He showed me all I created, scattered on the Milky Way, and told me, “You are a World Weaver.”

But I was not, and it took a long while for me to come to terms with it. He retold stories of our ancestors and their struggles shouldering the ever-growing Milky Way. How troublesome it was. How proud they were to carry it.

Slowly, I released my million hands around me. I grasped at the Milky Way. It is a proud thing to carry. I will be proud to carry it.

Time continues to run. I grew stronger, able to carry a moon, a sun, a solar system. I started training on the smaller galaxies and soon after, the Milky Way. The immense strength it took. The strain it put on my million hands. The pride of being able to carry it.

The Transfer of Burden is near. I continued to create stardust, asteroids, moons. I was also successful in creating planets. Unfortunately, It always seemed to vanish after some time.

I failed the test. I am not a World Weaver. I am a Carrier, the same as those before me. I will carry the Milky Way. Sol would be an addendum to its story. Every corner of the galaxy will hear of me. The task I am about to take and the fame it will carry brings me pride.

__

The galaxies are agitated and distorting. There is tension on the mantle of the universe. The Carriers are struggling to keep galaxies in place. It is time for the Transfer of Burden.

Everyone is excited. I am, too. But the few years leading up to this, I was surrounded by solar storms and aurora tears. I created a few more meteors, a few more moons, a few more planets. Today I will start my task as a Carrier and with it comes all my tomorrows.

Thrum passes down the Capricorn galaxy to Tam. She accepts and grabs it with her million hands.

Syl and Myr pass down the Pandora Galaxy to Hubb. He embraces and lifts it with his million hands.

Min passes down the Cotton Galaxy to Pica. He grips its edges and slings it to his back with his million hands.

The Milky Way is not agitated or distorted. Bok is firm and steady. He shows no sign of faltering even after a millennia.

I am a Carrier. I tell myself. My million hands will carry the Milky Way. I reach out to receive it.

Bok hands me a couple hundred planets. 

“I kept these for you.” he says. I was confused.

They were lovely, they were mine. My million hands were overflowing with joy when I made them. I swirled, and grabbed, and pressed, and crushed, and molded it with all my strength. If only reality didn’t sour it so quickly.

These would not be permitted to take space in the mantle of the universe. I was content knowing they vanished. I am not a World Weaver.

I gently laid my planets down. I cannot create worlds while carrying the Milky Way. Bok stood gargantuan in front of me. 

“I don’t have potential. I am a Carrier.” I tell him, as I reach out my million hands to receive the Milky Way.

“I am a carrier.” Bok says, and no one doubted it. He is a legend among us.

He reaches inside the Milky way and hands me a hundred solar systems. “This is Maia’s, who failed the test. She carried the Milky Way.”

He reaches again and hands me a thousand solar systems. “This is Kayn’s, who failed the test. He carried the Milky Way.”

He hands me another thousand solar systems. “These are Bema’s, who failed the test. She carried the Milky Way.”

He passes me a few thousands more and stopped. He reaches deep within the Milky Way with his million hands. A birthright, I hoped, but this is not enough. World Weavers need a million solar systems to have potential and these are hardly a hundred thousand. 

I appreciated the effort. I understood that creation does not stop for a Carrier.

Bok heaves his million hands and, with a struggle, hands me a million solar systems.

The surroundings gasped, galaxies stirred, and the mantle of the universe remains taut with silence. The Milky Way was still unimaginably big yet noticeably smaller and dimmer. I held a million bright solar systems on my million hands. My birthright. I can create heavenly bodies. I could be a World Weaver. I can -

“But the Milky Way.” I murmured.

He gestures towards the million solar systems he gave me.

“These are Bok’s, who failed the test. He carries the Milky Way and will continue to do so for the next millenium.”  He tells it loud and firm for everyone to hear.

He stands tall and proud. No one speaks, no one objects. It is not theirs to bear.

Then he faces me and says,”“This is your potential, Sol. You are a World Weaver.” 

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I am Sol, a World Weaver. I have made stars, solar systems, and bright galaxies. I carefully place all my creations on the mantle of the universe. They are looked upon, marveled at, and carried.

I am a World Weaver and so are those who have come before me. Maia, Kayn, Bema, and Bok, who continues to carry the Milky Way.