In the beginning, there was a song—a melody that danced through the void, shaping stars and breathing life into the cosmos. It was the Song of Creation, sung by the first and last of the great beings, the Architects. For eons, the song wove the fabric of reality, its notes crafting worlds, its rhythm setting time in motion. Everything was born from this melody, and within it, all things found their place.
But all songs must end.
As the final verse approached, the Architects gathered in the heart of the universe, a place where light and shadow met, where time stood still. They had known this moment would come. The Song had been composed with an ending in mind, for nothing could exist without the balance of conclusion. The notes began to slow, the melody softening, as the great beings prepared for the last refrain.
Across the universe, stars flickered as their light began to dim. Oceans stilled, their tides frozen in eternal quiet. Beings of all kinds, from the tiniest insect to the mightiest titan, paused as if they too could hear the fading melody. There was no fear, only a profound sense of peace, as though the universe itself was taking a final breath.
The Architects sang together, their voices entwined in harmony. With each note, a world gently faded, its essence returning to the void from which it was born. Mountains crumbled into dust, rivers dried into the earth, and skies darkened, their colors bleeding into nothingness. Yet, within this end, there was beauty—a serene, bittersweet beauty, as the creation was lovingly unmade, each piece returning to the silence that had existed before the first note was sung.
Finally, the last note was sung—a single, pure tone that resonated through the emptiness. It lingered for a moment, echoing through the remnants of the cosmos, before it too faded into silence.
And then, there was nothing. No light, no sound, no time. The Architects, their work complete, dissolved into the void, their essence becoming one with the silence. The universe was gone, but it was not forgotten, for in the silence, the memory of the Song remained—a quiet, eternal echo of what once was.
In that silence, where the end met the beginning, there was peace. And perhaps, in some distant future, a new song would rise, and creation would begin anew. But for now, there was rest.
The Song of Creation had ended, and with it, all that had ever been.
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