As Kael drifted upon the Sea of Origin, the silence broke and gave birth to a Serpent. The Serpent had no skin, no flesh, no veil to hide its essence; its bones were made of words, and each bone was a riddle.
It coiled about him, yet its body had no end. Its jaw moved without sound until Kael willed to hear, and then it spoke:
"I am the hunger that dreamed you. I am the desire that sought form. I am the riddle that swallows every answer. Do not seek my name, for to name me is to bind yourself within my coils."
Kael trembled, for the Serpent's gaze was endless, and in it he saw the shadows of his own becoming. But he gathered courage and replied:
"If you devour all answers, then I shall call you Silence, for only Silence cannot be consumed."
And at this naming, the Serpent wept. For to be Silence was to recall the Song beneath all worlds, the Song it had long forgotten in its hunger.
The tears of the Serpent fell upon the Sea of Origin, and from them rose ripples, the first waves of being. Thus motion began.
And Kael learned the Second Mystery: that to name is to awaken, and to awaken is to wound, for every awakening recalls the hidden Song.