It began with a fall. One idea: a meteorite drops silently into a hidden pond. No explosion. No impact flash. Just weight, water, and waiting.  

A meteorite descends into a still pond at night, creating a splash that ripples across the water, surrounded by silhouetted trees and a starry sky.

From that single image, I set out to visualise a mythic descent—a moment that feels planetary and intimate, ancient and silent, full of meaning but devoid of action. I chose to realise it using AI video generation, specifically Veo 3.  

I assumed it would be quick. It wasn’t. It was filmmaking—albeit one with different rules.  

Beneath the surface of a tranquil lake, a soft glow emanates from an unseen object, surrounded by gentle bubbles and shimmering rays of light filtering through the water.

Working with AI doesn’t commence with visual effects or filters. It starts with prompts. A prompt is not a vibe. It’s not a feeling. It’s a screenplay, written in the clearest, most instructional prose imaginable. You don’t say, “The meteor descends like a forgotten god.” You say, “The lakebed is empty. A glowing object enters frame from above. It settles in the silt. The camera does not move.”  

The moment you get poetic, you lose the machine. The more you distil your intent into action and structure, the more the tool responds. Gradually, that meteor began to behave. Sometimes it resembled a jellyfish egg. Other times, a floating dumpling. Often, it landed on the shore, no matter how many times I instructed it that the lakebed was deep and the object was large. But eventually—with enough visual references and prompt refinements—it listened.  

And when it did, I had something I could work with: the descent, the landing, the moment of stillness before the story begins.  

The generated video was silent, which turned out to be an advantage. It afforded me control over the audio landscape. I added a low underwater hum, a muted thud when the object touched down, and a faint echo of breath or cello at the periphery of hearing. The absence of music was as significant as the presence of sound.  

What I’ve learned thus far is this: AI doesn’t create your film—it waits for you to direct it. Prompts are merely shot descriptions. Editing is where meaning occurs. And iteration is crucial. You won’t get it right the first time. You’re not meant to.  

The result is my first built sequence—Watersprites Scene 1 (WTSPS SC1). A meteor falls. It sinks. It lands. It waits. That’s all. But in that stillness, a story begins.  

The next shot will depict the passage of time: algae forming, the shell settling deeper, something beginning to stir. And then the Raven. But for now, the lake is quiet.  

More to come. More to shape. All watersprite stories begin beneath the surface.

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