Shiora was a single plane: Light, the neighboring Void, and, at the farthest reach, the Dark lay side by side. At the center stood a Sun—gold to those who looked from Light and Void, a mute black sun to any gaze from the Dark. On the same plane, a pale Moon drifted in silence.
In the Sun's calmest heart, a shell hung—smooth, flawless, untouched by heat. Something waited inside it, like a breath that did not yet breathe.
The first hairline mark cut that hush.The shell split.
Flame opened like twin wings. From within stepped a fully grown woman—washed in light, standing unflinching in naked fire. Her sun-flame–colored hair caught the corona, every strand carrying a flick of gold. Upon her chest a six-rayed star kindled; each ray lit in turn as if a heart were finding its rhythm. Her face was calm, and beneath that calm shone how beautiful a soul—good, guarding, awake. In her movement there sparked the lively edge of one who loves combat, bright and energetic.
And then the music began.
Wordless—born of light itself. A single bell-pure note stretched, then multiplied. A symphony unfurled, strings widening into a low choral swell. Rhythm became pulse, warmth heat, opening and closing breath, the sprout-theme growth, keen attention sense, and the binding circle will. The sound strengthened Light, steadied the Void, and reminded the Dark of its old quiet. The entire plane heard it. Even the far-buried Veliathen lifted their heads. They did not strike. They listened—like creatures remembering a law older than fear.
Fire parted to make a path. The woman stood. Her eyes were as clear as a newborn day.
A figure descended into the Sun's heart—through a white seam, crossing into the blaze as if heat could not touch him.
"I am Valuva," he said, voice clean and unforced. "Guardian of Eternity and Time."
She regarded him—no surprise, no emptiness, only a lucid noticing. The star on her chest pulsed again, softer this time.
Valuva inclined his head."You were born of the Sun. We have been waiting," he said. "Your name is Soluva."
Soluva's mouth curved, the briefest smile; she did not hide her curiosity."How strong are you?" she asked.
Valuva laughed—warm, short, true."It has been a long time since a soul like you arrived," he said. "Your mind is clear… steady. Strength is measured there first."
Soluva nodded once. "I understand. Light… Void… Dark… I seem to hear them all at once."
"You do," said Valuva. "A soul born of life hears life's now. It's a fine gift—but don't carry it all at once. Narrow it when needed, open it when needed. Choose what you hear."
Her expression held no gratitude as performance—only readiness. "And now?"
"Now, simply walk," Valuva said. "Let the language of flame settle in your body. Sort what you hear. Today, you have only been born."
The Life Symphony lowered itself. The bell-note hung like a thin ring in the Sun, then thinned away. The plane—three regions, one line—grew quiet again.
Valuva did not retreat. He remained near, in no haste."Welcome, Soluva," he said at last. "This is your home as well."
Soluva dipped her head—neither submission nor challenge, but acceptance. The star on her chest glowed once more; as the flames learned her new breath, the Sun, for the first time, felt set in its place.
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