Light was not born. It was remembered.
“I remember the moment the Word struck time. Even the void flinched.”
The waiting ended with a word.
Not a sound.
A rupture.
He did not whisper.
He spoke.
And silence tore like a veil across eternity.
"Light."
That was all.
One syllable.
But it struck the void like a blade dipped in memory.
Not because it was loud—
but because it had waited so long to be heard.
And the moment it was spoken,
everything that had held its breath
exhaled in fire.
Time didn’t begin.
It flinched.
Because the Word wasn’t the start.
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It was the arrival of what had always been ready.
The Name moved.
The Breath collided.
The Flame ignited.
And from that collision—
Light.
But not light like stars.
Not heat or glow or fire.
This was presence revealed.
Glory uncovered.
The voice of the uncreated
becoming seen.
Light did not spread.
It unfolded.
Like a scroll rolling open in every direction at once.
Creation didn’t rise into it.
It was dragged into being by it.
Like existence remembering what it had forgotten.
The altar pulsed.
The crown shimmered.
The breath roared in silence.
Even the void,
holy in its stillness,
wept.
Because it wasn’t losing silence—
it was gaining purpose.
And for the first time,
darkness knew its place.
Not as evil.
But as boundary.
Not as rival.
But as contrast.
A frame for glory to bleed into.
The Name no longer waited.
It moved.
And in that movement,
everything followed.
Not because it was commanded.
But because it had no other choice.
"Light."
It was not an invention.
It was a remembrance.
A return.
A scar that finally opened its eyes.
He did not create glory.
He released it.
And all of reality began
not with sound—
but with a single Word
spoken in love,
through power,
by flame,
into silence.
The Word did not echo.
It replaced silence
forever.
