And in the hush between those dreams, a presence stirred. Not divine, not ancient—new.
It took form as a silhouette of shifting color, speaking not from authority, but from curiosity. "If creation is infinite conversation," it asked, "then who speaks last?"
The cosmos paused. The stars dimmed, not in fear, but in contemplation.
Then Aria answered, her tone the calm of dawn. "No one speaks last."
Fenric's fire flared gently. "Because the story doesn't end."
Laxin's laughter echoed through the dark. "And because silence, too, is a kind of answer."
The silhouette smiled—its form dissolving into radiant mist, merging with the Infinite once more.
And as the last echo of that moment faded, a new cycle began. The universes pulsed like heartbeats, each one birthing new songs, new storytellers, new truths.
Through them all, the Infinite Path listened. It remembered. It evolved.
