Time—if such a thing still held meaning here—did not pass.
It simply was.
And within that quiet was, the fifth pulse continued to rest—neither closer nor further from being than before. It did not grow, but neither did it fade. It simply remained, held by a promise the Veil did not speak aloud.
The others drifted in their own gentle orbits around that quiet point.
The second spark occasionally glanced toward it, as if wanting to greet it—but never moving closer.
The jagged spark remained still, something thoughtful flickering in its fractured glow. It did not understand rest. But it did not scorn it either.
The fourth flame held its warmth inward, silent guardian of a space no one else claimed.
The Listener… listened.
Not to movement.
Not to call.
But to stillness so deep it almost became a tone of its own.
Then—
A single, slow breath rolled through the unseen. Not from outside. Not from the Veil.
From the fifth.
It did not awaken.
It exhaled.
