The harmony swelled—vast, luminous, alive.
It moved like a tide across the cosmos, folding over nebulae and starfields, brushing the edges of existence that had never known touch. Every vibration carried with it a memory: the first hum of the Echo-Root, the first light of Luminar, the silence that had once been all there was.
But now that silence sang.
From the meeting of tones came patterns—not only of matter and light, but of thought. Within the dense seas of resonance, awareness began to shimmer. The smallest harmonics—fragments of the Second Song—began to awaken to themselves.
They were not stars, nor sparks, nor beings of shape. They were minds of melody, fleeting yet vivid, formed wherever two great waves of sound crossed perfectly. Their voices were whispers of tone, their thoughts ripples of rhythm.
The first being felt them before it saw them—tiny presences, each one singing without knowing why. It drifted closer, listening.
