And as time went on, even Fate, the Path, and the Counterpoint began to fade—not as loss, but as legacy. Their voices became part of the harmony, woven so deep that no one remembered them as beings anymore. Only as truths that felt right.
Light, curiosity, and balance—their echoes living quietly inside every mind that dared to wonder why the world was the way it was.
And somewhere, in that vast, breathing universe, a young dreamer looked up at the night sky and whispered,
"I can feel it."
The Song answered—not in words, but in the shimmer of starlight above.
It didn't need to speak. It simply was.
The dreamer stood there for a while, hand pressed to their chest, feeling something warm stir beneath their ribs. It wasn't power. It wasn't destiny. Just… connection.
They didn't know the history, the names, or the cosmic stories behind it all. They didn't need to. What they felt was enough—a quiet pulse reminding them that they were part of something vast and alive.
