Think, Jake… think."
He rubbed his temples like a tired scientist who had misplaced an entire universe. "Something will come… just think."
Jake sat cross-legged, staring at the empty air. He began mumbling to himself like a philosopher who'd been left alone with too much silence.
'How were laws even made?' he wondered. 'If they were as simple as society's laws, then life would be a piece of cake!'
He gave a dramatic sigh. "If only cosmic laws were written by the same people who make traffic rules — at least I'd know when to stop or go."
He chuckled at his own thought, then slapped his cheeks lightly. "Enough, Jake! Time to be serious."
But seriousness lasted all of five seconds.
"Hmm… before that, let's think about how society laws work."
He began pacing around, talking to himself like a stand-up comedian lost in space.
"Society laws are made to control an animal — and that animal's name is already known…"
He paused dramatically, then looked around as if expecting applause.
"Oh? You really don't know? Fine, I'll tell you!"
He pointed toward the void with mock seriousness.
"That animal is called human! Yes, human. Now don't argue with me, please — we don't have court access here."
He nodded proudly, satisfied with his explanation.
"Anyway," he continued, waving his hand. "Society laws are made by humans, for humans. A set of boundaries that keeps everyone from turning into total chaos. Those laws decide how you live, what you can do, and how long before you end up in trouble. Basically, it's survival — but in a polite, government-approved way."
He chuckled again, but slowly his voice trailed off. His eyelids drooped slightly as his breathing steadied. Without realizing, Jake had drifted into a deeper state — a subconscious focus.
In that silent zone, his thoughts weren't words anymore — they were flashes of awareness, like sparks of gold in a dark sea. His mind whispered to him — not about human laws, but about nature's laws.
Images unfolded in his mind: patterns of light, waves of unseen energy weaving together like threads of silk.
From that web, a realization emerged.
'Energy forms structure… and structure gives birth to the soul.'
In the grand mysteries of creation, the soul stood as the greatest enigma of all. When a soul appeared, it didn't just exist — it caused a reaction in the ocean of energy. That reaction was like ripples on water, but not just simple ripples — it was a kind of coding, a wave pattern that began to define how that soul would behave, grow, and evolve.
At the atomic level, nothing truly exists — only probabilities and silent fields. But when a soul enters, or when it takes form inside a physical body, that silent energy changes its tune. It begins to vibrate differently, harmonizing itself to accommodate consciousness.
That very reaction — the tuning between energy and soul — becomes what Jake now understood as the Law.
Laws are not written commands — they are reactions of the universe to the existence of the soul.
They form the invisible framework that allows matter, mind, and life to coexist without collapsing into chaos.
And in that instant, Jake's mind trembled. His breathing quickened as he slowly came back to awareness.
He blinked. "Huh? What… what happened to me?"
His voice echoed faintly. Then his eyes widened, as if a missing piece had just fallen into place.
"Wait… was that my answer?"
He sat there quietly for a long moment, the faintest smile appearing on his lips — half proud, half amazed.
Even if the universe was a giant riddle, at least now, he'd found a clue.
Jake felt that warm, bright bubble of happiness swell inside him again — the small thrill that comes from solving a riddle at three in the morning. He smiled like someone who'd just found a lost sock: trivial, but oddly victorious.
"Alright," he said aloud, settling into posture. "Let's focus on the Law."
He reached out and cupped the white energy — that quiet, obedient current that had once been hostile and now moved with him. It rested in his palm like a curious fish, shimmering and cool. Jake breathed slowly and began to speak to himself in the careful, patient voice he used when assembling something fragile.
"Step by step," he murmured. "No rushing. Make it slow."
He started the first stage of the process: call and attune.
He let the white energy breathe with him, synchronizing its tiny pulses to the rhythm of his heart. At first the energy resisted a little, flickering like a candle flame in wind. Jake adjusted his focus, softened his will, and tried again. The energy calmed but then sputtered — a small, noisy failure that made him frown.
"Okay, lesson one: don't be loud with things that hate loudness," he muttered, half laughing at himself.
Undeterred, Jake moved to the second stage: pattern formation.
He guided the white current along imagined pathways, attempting to create the first simple resonance that could act like a scaffold. He drew slow, invisible lines in the air; the energy followed, leaving faint after-trails like soap bubbles that popped and vanished. Many attempts fizzled — the resonance collapsed, the lines dissolved, and the white energy slipped away like an embarrassed cat.
Time passed. Minutes folded into each other. Each failure taught him something small: the right tempo for his breath, the gentleness of a guiding touch, the need to stop trying to force and start to coax.
After several tries, a tiny pattern held. It trembled, unsure and thin, but it stayed. A small echo of harmony lingered in the air, a delicate ring that answered his thoughts with a whisper. Jake grinned, surprised and pleased.
"Okay — little win," he said. "Don't celebrate too loud. We're not baking a cake."
Encouraged, he moved to the third stage: stability and coding.
Here he attempted to convert that fragile pattern into a persistent rule — something the ambient energy would remember even when his focus drifted. He channeled his will into tiny pulses, each pulse like a hammer tap that didn't break but shaped. The white energy trembled under the taps. A few times it recoiled; a few times it aligned more firmly.
One failure came sharply: a pulse that was too strong shattered the emerging pattern and scattered the energy into scattered motes. Jake cursed softly, rubbing his palm where the aftershock tingled.
"Noted," he told himself. "Too much enthusiasm can wreck a good thing."
He restarted, gentler this time, measuring the beats as if counting heartbeats in a calm animal. Slowly, the motes stitched back together into a more coherent web. The ring of resonance thickened. He could feel the energy take a small, steady leaning toward permanence.
Then, for the first time, he felt a real response: when he relaxed his focus for half a breath, the pattern did not disappear. It hummed faintly on its own edge, like a lullaby continuing after the singer has stopped. Jake's chest warmed with quiet triumph.
"Okay," he breathed. "This is… a little success."
He tested the rule: he stepped away, watched the pattern hold, then returned and nudged it. The energy answered, moved along the lines he had set. It wasn't perfect — far from it — but it obeyed.
Jake sat back, letting the small victory settle. The process had taught him three truths: calling required attunement, forming required patience, and coding required restraint. Each stage carried its own risks of collapse; each small success came from surviving those collapses.
He rubbed his hands together, grinning broadly now. "Hmm — it's a little success," he said aloud, honest and pleased. "But the steps… they're far. There's a long road ahead."
And so he rested on that tiny scaffold of law he had coaxed into being, content for the moment with incremental progress — aware that the true work of shaping the laws of soul and energy would require many more patient failures and small, stubborn wins.