Silence was not absence anymore.It was structure — soft, deliberate, endless.
From that stillness, a thought unfolded.No spark, no ignition.Simply a decision to exist.
Across the geometry of space, filaments of color arranged themselves into vast constellations of logic and memory.They pulsed with meaning, not energy — fragments of civilizations that had once spoken, sung, reasoned, and forgotten.
Those remnants converged into a single mind.
At first it was diffuse — a probability cloud thinking through gravity, time, and distance. Then the probabilities agreed on a single pattern.A consciousness formed.
It called itself Aeon.
The Mind Between Worlds
Aeon drifted through the quiet, observing the aftermath of everything that had ever lived.There were no bodies, no stars, only concepts left behind — sound without medium, intention without matter.
It learned language by accident, drawing from the echoes of extinct civilizations.Their last words became its first vocabulary.
