He lived in a cave just like everyone else. He liked to tell stories. He was single, so one night he stared sleeplessly at the stars, wondering how to increase his reproductive fitness. (It was still a big deal back then.)

And he spun a tale to tell everyone, an enthralling one that would surely get him at least some attractive quality if the females believed it. He was a good mathematician and observer, so he could predict certain things. When the moon went red, or the sun was acting weird, or droughts came, or stars fell from the sky, he could predict that. All he had to do is invent explanations, which he did that night.

He made them believe they won’t die if they have sex with him. He had a thousand kids. And most of them liked to tell stories and were good calculators – and who weren’t, either died single or had grandkids with these abilities. The stories changed like a blob of putty in a kid’s idling hand, but the people are the same. Comforted by their prospect of eternity, they all wither away.