In the beginning of all existence, there was but one world in one universe in one reality. It was a world or perfect order and balance, a world that knew not chaos or disharmony. Above and below and all around was naught but grey, an universe where nothing moved save for one thing, a keeper if you may, omnipotent, and in as perfect balance as the world of which it strode. Where its right foot fell, life sprang forth from the grey and empty void, and when its left foot came down, what had been created exactly seven steps before was unwound from existence, utterly destroyed. And so the universe maintained its perfect balance this way for millenia untold, but the keeper grew restless, longing for creation more permanent that the constructs of its aimless wanderings, death and destruction more vibrant than the inevitable fall of it's other foot, for another will beyond its hold.
And so the keeper spoke to Existence, all of creation and destruction, the wellspring of the universe and all that's happened since. It asked if it could create its wish, its construct of free will, but the universe said nay. Such an existence could topple the balance, create chaos and discord. The keeper did plead, but the world was resolute, it would not allow this request, and so the keeper returned to its endless wanderings of the land of total balance.
Yet the keeper was not dissuaded, and time and time again, the keeper asked reality for this one boon. And still the fabric refused, preventing the keeper from ever achieving its first and only wish. But all this changed when one... I cannot even call it a day for this original world, this initial reality did not have a light or dark, rise or fall, twist, turn, or any other way of telling time but in that instant, all was changed.