Deep beneath the cliffs of the Thirteenth Hollow, where no sect dared to build and no scroll had ever been carved, a chamber of stone sighed open.
No explosion.
No resonance surge.
Just the gentle settling of earth.
And inside that space—
A single spark pulsed against the stone.
No flameform.
No flicker.
Just a quiet glow in still air.
For ninety-nine days, it did nothing.
It pulsed.
Then rested.
Then pulsed again.
But never reached outward.
Never sought connection.
Because this spark had learned something the old flamepaths had not:
You don't need to call to be found.
You only need to remain.
On the hundredth day, a wanderer named Solin entered the hollow.
He carried no blade.
No scroll.
Only a blanket and a stone bowl.
He didn't come searching for power.
He came to sit.
He saw the spark.
He bowed once.
He did not reach for it.
He did not ask what it was.
He did not meditate.
He simply set his bowl beside it and sat.
"You're not lost," he whispered.
"You're just not in a hurry."
The spark pulsed gently.
And did nothing else.
Neither did Solin.
They sat together in silence for three days.
On the fourth, Solin offered it a sip of water.
It hovered over the bowl—
Not to drink.
But to share its warmth.
Back in the Soul Flame Archive, a thread of unknown spark-data quietly registered itself:
🔹 Free Spark, Deep Hollow
🔹 Flame Pattern: Passive Wait-state
🔹 No soul sync attempted
🔹 Contact method: Shared stillness
🔹 Designation: The Spark That Chose to Wait
Lao Yun saw the report.
She smiled, tears warm in her eyes.
"That spark didn't need a bearer."
"It just needed someone not in a rush to become."
And deep beneath all forges,
in the earth that once burned with hunger,
The Fire That Waits whispered:
"Some flames light nothing."
"They simply wait to be waited with."