A world making itself, in the order physics tells it. Space expands out of a hot, dense start; after about 380,000 years the fog clears and the first light escapes; gas falls together into stars, stars into galaxies, and the leftover disc around one young star into planets. On the third one, two plates part at a mid-ocean ridge, the crack erupts, and the pile of lava breaks the surface as an island. It cools to basalt, moss takes it over decades, then grass, scrub and trees; snow that never melts becomes a glacier; the melt cuts a canyon and falls off the old lava edge; people arrive last, and the aurora closes the day. The land is a height field of several thousand points, shaded face by face from its own slope — drawn live, never filmed.