Now it is impossible to say where the beginning is and where the end.
War, myth, faith, dragon, human, child — all move simultaneously, like waves on a single body of water, intersecting and reflecting each other.
The hero walks across a field where earth merges with sky.
Each of his movements creates reverberations in layers that do not yet exist.
Soldiers see his silhouette, unaware that he is not human.
Elders read scrolls, not noticing that the text repeats from the future.
The dragon breathes fire, though its body has not yet been born.
Children play at battle, not knowing it has already ended, and has already begun again.
The echo of the first "yes" spreads across all branches.
In each layer, it appears differently:
— War as a schedule.
— Faith as an empty sign.
— Myth as a spiral biting itself.
— Dragon as a process.
— Hero as traversal.
— Child as a chance.
Each echo overlaps the traces of others, creating a pattern that cannot be read, yet governs all movement.
The hero stops.
Not because he is tired.
Not because he understands.
But because he feels the network.
— I — am not me, — he thinks, and the thought feels true.
The dragon, in another layer, feels the same.
Not as understanding. Not as intellect.
Just a vibration that says:
— Everything that will be, already is.
And yet movement continues.
Because stopping is impossible.
For the world that births the hero and the dragon does not know stillness.
In one layer, soldiers fire again.
In another — elders argue over words.
In a third — a child laughs.
In a fourth — the ash has not yet cooled.
In a fifth — the dragon spirals toward light that does not exist.
And the hero walks between layers.
He does not choose.
He does everything at once.
Each action — simultaneously past, present, and future.
The world records this as fact: a small movement can break the pattern.
And in this fracture — the beginning of chaos, which will later be called history, myth, war, legend, meaning.
He takes another step.
And the echo spreads everywhere, asking no permission.