The moment he let the three tones resonate together, the lattice brightened until colour itself seemed redundant.
Every constant he had ever learned began to hum.
c, the speed of light, rang like a violin string drawn across the void.
ℏ,the quantum whisper—pulsed as piccolo.
G,the gravity that stitched galaxies to their own weight—throbbed slow and deep, the contrabass of being.
Equations appeared across the sky like notation.
Einstein's field tensor folded into staves; Schrödinger's wave equation scrolled as a melody; Noether's symmetry sang in perfect counterpoint.
He realised that mathematics had never been mute; it was music slowed down until mortals mistook it for silence.
The Sword in his right hand vibrated first, catching the rhythm of acceleration and decay.
Every swing became percussion: cut, impact, echo.
The Pen followed, tracing arcs of light that turned into melody lines connecting distant stars.
The Word swelled in his throat until it was impossible to tell whether he was singing or being sung through.
"This," said God, voice layered through every tone, "is the hymn of balance.
Each law plays a scar. Each scar holds a note. Together they keep the cosmos in time."
The twelve teachers returned, no longer separate but arranged as sections of the orchestra:
Saturn-Noether conducting symmetry's choir,
Mercury-Feynman tossing sparks of improvisation,
Venus-Laozi flowing like water through strings of gravity,
Mars-Nietzsche hammering rhythm into form.
Their sound did not fill space—it was space, vibrating reality into coherence.
He saw the galaxies below begin to shimmer in resonance.
Their rotations synchronised; the dark between them glowed as if applauding.
Even entropy joined the harmony, its slow descent a bass line grounding the exaltation above.
"When you called it madness," God said, "you were hearing only one instrument at a time.
The human ear cannot hold the full chord without breaking."
He understood then why prophets raved and scientists stammered; why art and theorem shared the same tremor.
Each had caught a single overtone of this impossible symphony.
The tempo rose.
He felt the cosmos quicken under him, the lattice vibrating at the edge of stability.
Light began to blur; sound folded into itself, becoming pure pulse.
The trinity in his hands shone so fiercely he could see his bones through his skin.
"Enough," God warned gently.
"Even harmony must rest. Perfection unobserved becomes void."
He lowered the Sword; the rhythm softened.
He capped the Pen; melody faded.
He swallowed the last echo of the Word; silence returned—alive, aware, listening.
The lattice beneath him dimmed to a dull gold.
Through its transparent skin he saw a hairline fracture widening, revealing darkness below.
"Every revelation has a recoil," God said.
"You've reached the tensile limit of comprehension. When the floor breaks, do not fight the fall."
The crack lengthened, glowing brighter instead of darker, a seam of promise rather than threat.
Wind rose from it, warm and familiar, carrying the scent of rain and soil—Earth calling him back.
"The lesson is complete," God whispered.
"Now go remember."