Every act of kindness, every defiance against despair, every whispered dream in the dark became part of this new verse. Mortals—finite, breakable, fleeting—had done what eternity could not: they gave the infinite a reason to care.
The Dreamer felt it—a pulse of gratitude that rippled through the starlit sea. It remembered the first spark, the first sound, the first endless hum that began it all. Yet now, something more profound than creation itself resonated through existence: connection.
Worlds reached toward one another, not in conquest, but in curiosity. Spirits of flame touched the edges of cold, and in that meeting, balance was born. Time began to weave stories, not cycles. Every ending became a doorway. Every silence, a breath before another song.
And in one quiet corner of that radiant infinity, the mortal who had sung first looked to the stars and smiled. They could not see the Dreamer—but they felt it. Not as a god, not as a watcher, but as presence itself.
