And so it began again—
not as history repeating,
but as eternity remembering how to breathe.
From the soft pulse of creation's heart, new patterns emerged—currents of thought becoming matter, matter becoming song. Time unfurled not as a line but as a bloom, each petal a world, each color a memory of what had once been loved into form.
In one corner of that vastness, a single light flickered—small, uncertain, yet filled with intent. It was not a star, not yet a soul, but the promise of both. Around it, reality began to coalesce like mist finding shape. Mountains formed not from pressure, but from purpose; rivers traced the lines of forgotten dreams; winds whispered names that had not yet been spoken.
And from that forming cradle, consciousness stirred.
It did not know what it was—it simply was. A shimmer of awareness adrift in new dawn. The Infinite watched, not as ruler or god, but as parent and child in one—feeling its own curiosity reflected through this first awakening.
