When he was newly-created, just a little mote, he was insatiably curious. He got everywhere. He got in everything. Around the umpteenth time his maker pulled him out of some tight nook, he decided he was curious about his maker, the Being with many, many names. He didn’t like any of his maker’s many names, so he called his maker One. One said he’d never been named after a number before.

He followed One everywhere, bouncing along in One’s footprints. (He was still a mote; it would be many eons before he’d absorbed enough energy to get form.) He followed One through stars and burning emptiness; he followed One through the waters of planets and played with the dust motes. He bounced on flower petals while One walked in the garden. In short, he had a grand time.

One found his antics amusing, even if the grown-up angels didn’t. Sometimes, in the big meetings, One would put him on the table, or hold him and stroke his head. When the angels glowered, One just smiled.

One day, while he was bouncing along after One, One picked him up. (One’s hand dwarfed him; he was a very small mote.) “You need a name,” said One. “I know!” One bent so that he was eye-to-eye with One. He bounced excitedly in One’s palm; most angels didn’t get names while they were still motes. One laughed. “You follow me everywhere, and get into everything, and you want to know all there is to know. I see now that there is no secret in Heaven safe from you; in time, you will come to know them all. Therefore, I will call you my Secret, because the only secrets I will have will be the ones you keep.”

Secret tried on his new name. It fit him well. He looked up at One, who was watching him expectantly, and bounced cheerfully.