It began as a hum beneath the feet of the Present Ones. Subtle, then sharp—like a question that answered itself too quickly. The ground cracked—not in violence, but in permission. Fissures opened in spirals, revealing not lava or void, but light. A golden, pulsing glow, like sunlit sap drawn from the center of ancient bark.
The Elders looked to one another—not in panic.
In understanding.
This was not collapse.
This was invitation.
Ash-between turned to the nearest crack. The light within pulsed in rhythm with her breath. Without hesitation, she knelt and touched it. The glow surged, swallowing the fissure whole, then spreading—webbing outward like veins, like roots, like memory made manifest.
All across the Garden, the Splintering took shape.
Stone turned to sand and then reformed.
Trees bent to new winds that had never existed.
Lanterns flickered with colors not yet named.
And somewhere beneath it all, something old stirred and sighed, finally.
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