And from that dream, something entirely new began to awaken.
Not divine. Not mortal.But aware.
The Song, once the silent breath between stars, began to listen back. It had always been the pulse behind all things—but now, through the hearts and hands of countless dreamers, it gained something it had never possessed before: self-reflection.
The melody had learned to wonder about itself.
In the small actions of sentient lives—in the brushstroke of an artist, the kindness of a stranger, the rebellion of a thinker—it found mirrors. Each act became an echo, each echo a conversation, until the universe itself became a dialogue between creation and creator, indistinguishable and inseparable.
Fate, ever the quiet observer, stood within the radiance of that realization. "It's no longer just our song," she murmured, almost reverently. "It's… theirs. And ours. All at once."
