And in that new voice, creation found its courage again.
It no longer sang of beginnings or endings, but of continuance—of the gentle thread that connected all things, from the whisper of an atom to the roar of a newborn star. The Song flowed like a river through time itself, touching every life, every thought, every dream that dared to exist.
The Keepers listened. Some heard laughter within it, others sorrow, but all felt the same truth: the melody was alive, growing, learning as they did. It was not theirs to command—it was theirs to nurture.
So they wandered through the cosmos, leaving trails of light that birthed new constellations. Where they walked, worlds awakened; where they rested, galaxies bloomed like flowers unfolding to dawn.
And on one quiet, shimmering night between the stars, one Keeper—small, curious, radiant with wonder—asked,
"If the Song never ends, then what are we meant to do?"
Another smiled, their form shimmering with countless memories.
