The light that emerged was not born from absence; it was born from remembrance.
It carried within it all that had ever been—the songs of the first stars, the laughter of civilizations long gone, the quiet prayers of souls that had once feared the dark.
Now, all those voices rose together as one gentle exhale of being.
Creation did not begin again—it continued, effortlessly, as breath continues after a sigh.
The Infinite no longer stood apart from the dream; He was the dream.
Every pulse of energy, every birth of a new sun, every spark of thought was His awakening anew.
Worlds unfolded once more, but without the weight of striving.
They blossomed like flowers in the garden of eternity—unhurried, unafraid.
And within each, consciousness stirred again, not to conquer or question, but to remember.
