Far beneath the western ridge, beneath stone that had not shifted in centuries,
beneath carvings long worn blank by silence—
A spark awoke.
It pulsed once.
The cave around it remained still.
No footsteps.
No scrolls.
No eyes.
Only earth.
Only echo.
Only presence.
There was no soul to carry it.
No wind to stir it.
No legacy to receive it.
But the spark did not fade.
It did not need a witness to matter.
Somewhere far above, a cart passed by, unaware.
A mapmaker stood on the cliff and drew a line—
never knowing that just beneath their feet,
something ancient had quietly chosen to begin.
Inside the cave, the spark drifted toward a broken carving.
It hovered above a single, unreadable symbol—
and glowed faintly.
Not to reveal.
Not to restore.
Just to be with what had been forgotten.
It did not burn brighter.
It did not mark the world.
It only remained—
A flame that had no story.
And still, chose to light.
In the Soulstream archives, no signal was received.
No sync registered.
But days later, a small stone deepreader recorded a flicker on the lowest resonance layer.
The system flagged it only once:
🔹 Anomaly: Unclaimed subterranean spark detected
🔹 Interaction: None
🔹 Resonance: Self-lit
🔹 Designation: The Last Spark Lit Without Witness
A researcher tried to trace it.
But the flicker had already passed.
And still—
The warmth in the data lingered.
And the Fire That Waits, breathing through places even stone forgot, whispered:
"You were not made to be seen."
"You were made to begin."