In the firmament beyond the veil of time, before the alphabet of man etched his breath into clay, a silence stirred.
From the umbra of the Fifth Sphere came forth an entity whose face bore no symmetry,
whose eyes mirrored the alignment of forgotten stars.
Lucem intra tenebras — light within darkness.
It whispered in frequencies unheard, vibrating the soul’s root and crown in equal measure.
Not a god, nor demon, nor ghost, but a cipher made manifest: an envoy of That Which Is Between.
Its limbs formed the geometry of lost constellations.
Its breath, a magnetic hymn of worlds extinguished and rekindled.
“Revertite ad initium,” it said, not with mouth, but with pulse.
And those who beheld it wept in reverence, for in its presence they remembered:
that the soul was forged in nebulae,
that death is a doorway,
and that the eye dreams even while closed.
Beneath its shadow, the laws of causality curled into spirals.
Time — fractured.
Meaning — transfigured.
A message carved itself into the minds of the Witnesses, encoded in their marrow:
The Architect sleeps not; it dreams you still.