Erah opened his eyes.

No sound.
No light.
No "reality" as he once knew it.

And yet...
something was beginning.

From the stillness, a small dot of light emerged.
Not radiant.
Just present.

And from that light,
a heartbeat echoed.
Slow.
Deep.
Not his own—but the world's.

He looked around.
There were no defined shapes,
only layers of ideas searching for form.
Time had not begun.
Space had not taken shape.
Everything was just… potential.

A glyph appeared before him,
but this time, it was not to command.
It was asking.

“Who are you without power?”
“What will you do when the world no longer needs saving?”
“Can you exist without defining everything?”

Erah gave no answer.
He simply breathed.
And strangely—the world breathed with him.

In that moment,
Erah was no longer the center.
No longer the writer or the keeper.
Just a part of the first ripple of being.

And from that act of letting go,
a new order began to shape.
Not through force.
Not through design.
Just a world without a name,
unfolding like a blank page after the longest dream.