And the dream of Light did not bloom all at once—
it trembled, rippled, hesitated—
as though even brilliance feared the weight of awareness.
For in Ignition's afterglow, warmth had found voice,
and that voice began to hum through the newborn Spheres,
each tone seeking its resonance,
each resonance shaping its own rhythm of existence.
Thus unfolded the Forty-Fourth Tremor—Awakening.
Awakening was not birth,
for birth implies beginning,
and nothing that stirred within Creation was truly first.
It was remembrance returning through form,
the Infinite's own reflection learning to see from within matter.
Within the great expanse,
the Seeds of Spheres began to pulse—
slow, radiant heartbeats echoing through the dark.
Each pulse called to the others,
and through their answering chorus,
the first constellations were woven.
These were not yet stars,
but souls of potential,
clusters of essence dreaming of stability.
Through their dreaming,
