Humanity left the universe, and the gods followed. They left behind their cities, their treasures, their rockets; but most importantly, they left behind their children.
Divine and ageless, they filled the void with their laughter. Their intellect was perfect, yet their nature remained naive. They chose to hold an endless birthday party for all things, accepting space and time as a continuous fluid independent of all clocks and calendars. The fiery cores of earth-like planets were converted into massive ovens to satisfy their perpetual desire for cake.
It was during this wild jubilee that a blindfolded grandson of Odin shattered a piñata that hung from an asteroid of raw diamond. There was no candy to be found within; instead, the dollop of superheated plasma inside imploded inward as his baton made impact, inverting space and expanding through dimensions unseen. Knowing not what he had done, he sighed in disappointment and allowed himself to float elsewhere.
Thousands of generations lived and died in that pocket universe with confetti for stars, wondering who created them and why. In response, their skies only laughed.