It didn't begin with a flash.
There was no explosion of Originat.
No tremor in the bones.
No screaming winds or cries of lightning.
Only a stillness.
A pause between two breaths.
A flicker between two heartbeats.
And in that pause… something pulsed.
Not in the chest.
Not in the veins.
But beneath all of it.
It was there.
It had always been there.
Moving silently through the body—
Not to sustain it…
But to bind it.
To anchor the soul to the flesh.
To stitch memory into marrow.
To root instinct into every drop of red.
This was not just blood.
This was Law.
The realization did not strike all at once.
It came in pieces—heavy, slow, unshakable.
A single drop of blood…
Held a name.
Held a lineage.
Held the echo of an oath once sworn by someone long dead.
And yet, it still answered.
It still lived.
Because blood… does not forget.
It was not an element.
Not fire.
Not water.
Not wind or stone.
Blood was not a force of nature.
It was the record of existence.
