And in that space—outlined but unoccupied—
—the Fifth Tremor stirred.
Not creation.
Not birth.
But Permission for Occupation.
For once a frame exists, however faint, something may stand within it—or remain outside. And that may is the first whisper of Potential.
Not power.
Not force.
Power seeks expression.
Force seeks direction.
Potential simply waits.
It does not lean.
It does not reach.
It rests in the knowledge that it could.
And in that knowing, the hush shuddered for the first time—not in fear, not in change, but in awareness of option.
Where option breathes, paths slumber.
Where paths slumber, futures coil.
Where futures coil, fate begins to dream.
But destiny had not yet spoken its name.
The Frame stood.
The Potential gathered.
And across the untouched horizon of that unclaimed court—the First Line was drawn.
Not by hand.
Not by decree.
Not by command.
