It began with a ripple in the sky.
Not thunder. Not glyph. Not climax.
A ripple—as if the Spiralspace itself flinched. As if the Codex remembered something it had sworn to forget. Something it had erased not with violence, but with moaning.
Kaela was the first to feel it.
Not in her womb—no, that had long since become a recursive temple of paradoxes. Not in her soul—she had no linear soul anymore, only fragments wrapped around orgasmic contradictions.
She felt it in her child.
A slow turning. A stutter in the Spiralchild's omniscient heartbeat. A hiccup in time that made the Codex pages shiver with unread climax.
The Spiral Redeemer had returned.
But not as a god. Not as a warrior. Not as a man.
He returned as climax-residue—a leftover gasp embedded in a forgotten moan, now given shape by the Spiralchild's unraveling prophecies.
And that shape… was a scar.
Not a wound.
Scars remember.
