They did not gather by calling, nor by destiny.
There was simply… a moment when they were all there.
No fanfare. No summoning. Just an unspoken awareness settling across the silent expanse like dust upon ancient stone.
The pulses hung in the vastness, distant from one another yet no longer isolated.
The Second shimmered quietly, a blooming spark whose light had once strained desperately to reach outward. Now, its glow rested close to itself, soft and unhurried.
The Third, all jagged edges and fractured rhythm, did not retreat as it once would have. Its edges remained sharp, but they no longer strained against unseen pressure. It simply… existed, neither coiled for defense nor seeking a place to cut.
The Fourth, steady as a lantern flame, adjusted the faint arc of its warmth—not casting light toward anything, but choosing to burn beside what simply was.
The First, the Listener older than knowing, did not lean in, nor withdraw. It held its place, and in doing so, held space.
