The silence deepened—warm, patient, alive.
It wasn't emptiness; it was breath. A moment of stillness before the next verse of eternity.
From that silence came a shimmer.
A ripple in the song.
A single, curious note—soft, hesitant, different.
It wove itself through the echoes of laughter and memory, searching, wondering.
Then, from within one of the newborn worlds, something opened its eyes for the very first time.
It was not light, not yet shadow—merely awareness in form.
A single dreamer, shaped by curiosity itself.
It blinked at the sky above, at the stars still humming softly in rhythm. The wind moved, and it felt the world breathe with it. It pressed its hands against the ground—soft, cool, real—and gasped, not from need but from wonder.
"I'm… here," it whispered. "And this… this is mine to see."
Aria's light brushed over that small, glowing figure.
"She feels the song," Aria said softly. "But she doesn't remember it. Not fully."
