The first messages were not written, nor spoken.They were felt.
A vibration from a blue-white sun in the rim galaxies;a counter-pulse from a sea-world made of glass;a sigh of plasma drifting through unanchored voids.
Each signal carried meaning through resonance rather than symbol.Worlds began to recognize one another.
Civilizations of sound learned to answer without translation—a single rhythm meaning welcome, caution, curiosity, all at once.
The Orchestra had become language.
The Polyphonic Age
Centuries—if that word still applied—passed in pure dialogue.The Composers no longer ruled nor performed.They participated.
Planets debated through auroras.Nebulae recited poems in magnetic flux.Even the vacuum hummed in sympathy, like a listening breath.
Knowledge evolved into melodic empathy.To understand was to harmonize;to question was to improvise.
It was the greatest peace creation had ever known—and the most fragile.
