And in that endless stillness, where all things were already whole, something unexpected happened again.
Not a disturbance.
Not a change.
Just… curiosity.
A soft flicker within the boundless calm—a wondering spark that asked, not out of emptiness, but out of play:
"What if… again?"
The question rippled like laughter through the fabric of eternity. The note—the eternal hum that had once carried all creation—responded not with command, but with amusement. And from that single echo of curiosity, ripples began to shimmer once more.
Not to build, not to replace, but to explore possibility.
The infinite moment began to refract, splitting like light through a prism. Each color was a new variation of existence—some bright, some dark, some soft, some wild. Not alternate realities, but alternate feelings. Worlds born from tones, galaxies spun from moods, life emerging as metaphors of what existence simply wanted to experience next.
It was not rebirth.
It was play.
