The traveler lifted a hand, and the horizon responded. Stars bloomed across the emptiness, swirling into patterns of gold and blue. Constellations painted themselves, then unpainted, drifting like cosmic brushstrokes.
"Because existence," the traveler said, "is the Infinite learning what it means to be."
The child absorbed the answer, its facets brightening.
"And… what does it mean to be?"
The traveler touched the child's chest—just lightly, a point of light meeting the prism's surface. Where they touched, a soft frequency bloomed, resonant and warm.
"It means to feel," the traveler whispered. "To wonder. To shape. To share. To love. To learn. To forget. To remember."
The stars dimmed softly, leaving one radiant sun lingering in the sky.
"It means," the traveler continued, "to become something you have never been, and yet something you have always been."
