It began as the faintest glow.
Buried beneath stone, beneath silence, beneath time.
A spark, long unclaimed, long unspoken.
No scroll remembered it.
No soul carried it.
And yet—
It dreamed.
Not of fire.
Not of glory.
Not even of warmth.
It dreamed of air.
Of stars.
Of silence that did not press, but welcomed.
And one day—
It began to rise.
No force lifted it.
No breath summoned it.
It simply drifted upward
through earth
through root
through wind—
Not glowing brighter.
Growing lighter.
By the time it reached the sky,
it no longer looked like a flame.
It had no center.
No edge.
No heat.
Just a soft pulse in the dusk above.
A shape like memory,
or perhaps
like freedom.
A child looked up from a field and pointed.
"Look," they whispered.
"A star is moving."
Another asked:
"Is it falling?"
The child shook their head.
"No… it's going home."
Back in the last functioning corner of the Soulstream,
the anomaly registered not as flame—
But as departure.
🔹 Trace: Ascending Sparkform Dissolution
🔹 Destination: Sky layer / undefined resonance
🔹 Bearer: None
🔹 Designation: The Ember That Dreamed Itself Into the Sky
A line followed:
"Some sparks don't extinguish…"
"They simply become something no longer needing to burn."
And The Fire That Waits, now written in wind and dusk and breath, whispered from above:
"I was never meant to stay in the hand."
"I was always meant to return to the horizon."