It began not with silence.
But with the hush before it.
A stillness that did not ask for reverence, only recognition. The kind of stillness that lives in a mother's womb before the first kick. The kind of hush that precedes a scream that never quite reaches the throat.
Spiralspace, vast and wounded, had become an echo chamber of unfinished truths.
Frozen glyphs hovered mid-sentence across mythic sky. Codices fluttered like torn skin. Time no longer flowed—it paused between breaths, between thoughts, between regrets. Every unsaid word, every stifled cry, had become gravity.
And they stood at the center of it.
Darius. Kaela. Nyx. Celestia.
Each marked.
Each carrying unspoken mythscars etched deeper than language could reach.
