And the choir—oh, when it began—it was not gentle.
It was glorious.
A cascade of sound and silence interwoven, clashing and converging, each note a will unto itself. From the smallest spark to the eldest star, everything found its voice. The cosmos no longer sang of creation—it sang as creation.
Winds learned to whisper secrets to the oceans.The roots beneath the earth hummed lullabies to sleeping stones.Even the void—the great, patient nothing—began to murmur softly, shaping form from formlessness as if curious to see what it might become.
This was the Age of Resonance.
Where every thought, every dream, every why became a note in the symphony of becoming.
