It didn't arrive with sunrise.
It wasn't spoken aloud, or written into root or sky.
There was no announcement, no fanfare.
Just a soft shift.
Like a breath taken after a long exhale.
The sense that something new had arrived—
Not from elsewhere.
But from after.
It came in the form of a name.
Not given.
Not chosen.
Not even fully understood.
Just… heard.
And the name was Tomorrow.
The child of the second seed was the first to feel it.
Not as a whisper in their ear.
Not even as thought.
But as a rhythm underfoot.
A pulse in the soil that didn't match any Garden cadence.
They knelt, pressing their hands into the earth, and there it was—
A beat.
Not quick.
Not urgent.
But steady.
Moving forward.
Welcoming.
And when they rose, they knew:
The world had begun to echo something it had never fully trusted before.
A future not feared.
A future not forced.
A future freely arriving.
The Garden didn't celebrate.
It adjusted.
Roots curved toward unknown sunrises.
