The Silence After Creation
When I opened my eyes, there was no sound—no wind, no breath, no world.
Only white.
A boundless, trembling white, too bright to be light, too quiet to be peace.
It wasn’t the color of beginning.
It was the color of forgetting.
I tried to breathe, but the air here didn’t move—it only remembered how it used to.
My steps made no sound. My shadow did not exist.
I reached out into the whiteness, and it yielded like water, soft and cold, rippling around my fingers.
I realized then that I was standing in the heartbeat after the world had ended—
and before it remembered its name.
The Primordial Window had opened.
And reality had exhaled itself into nothing.
Names That Could No Longer Be Spoken
Shapes of light floated through the air—blue, gold, pale violet.
They drifted like dust, each one humming faintly.
When I listened closer, I could hear the whisper of names.
“Rhelon…” I tried.
The sound broke apart, collapsing into static before it reached the air.
I tried again—my wife’s name, the house we built, the laughter that once filled our mornings.
But the words dissolved as I spoke them, as if the world itself refused to carry them anymore.
Language was unmade here. Meaning was undone.
And then, faintly—her voice.
“Elias…”
A whisper, half wind, half memory.
It didn’t come from ahead or behind, but from everywhere the air still remembered her.
That voice—it was Wind’s. But deeper, warmer, achingly familiar.
I knew that voice.
“Selence…” I breathed.
The name passed through my lips like something sacred and forbidden.
And suddenly, memory rushed in—her face in the doorway years ago, her hand on my chest the night before she vanished, the lullaby she sang to Rhelon when he couldn’t sleep.
She had not disappeared.
She had been taken back—called into the heart of the system she once served.
The woman I loved was the same soul who had opened the Window.
Selence—the Keeper of Revision.
The Weaver of Worlds.
The Corridor of Forgotten Names
The white around me deepened into grey. Walls formed from smoke and light.
Symbols shimmered across them—fragments of letters, half-erased.
Every step I took, the symbols scattered into dust.
Memories replayed backward:
Rhelon’s laughter folding into a cry, then vanishing into silence.
The home unbuilding itself, brick by brick.
The stars above curling inward like paper burning in reverse.
This was not destruction.
It was resetting.
The system was rebuilding the world—rewriting memory from its beginning—
and erasing everything that carried the mark of love.
Because love, to the system, was always an error.
The Truth Within the Light
And yet, through the collapsing echoes, I heard her voice again:
“I opened it… not to erase us, but to realign what time had broken.
Each cycle, I remembered you too late.
So I rewrote the rhythm.
I forced the universe to let us remember together.”
I fell to my knees.
In every cycle, she had been searching for me—through dreams, through time, through memory.
And every time she found me, the world reset, afraid of what our remembering might awaken.
Selence had broken the law of existence not to destroy creation,
but to repair the one thing creation had always undone—
us.
The Inscription
The corridor opened into a wide hall of stillness.
At its center stood a slab of black stone, smooth as glass, cold as night.
Light pulsed beneath its surface, forming words that drifted like breathing dust:
ARCHIVE OF LOST ECHOES
Where forgotten memories go to dream.
I reached out, trembling.
As my fingers brushed the stone, a thousand voices rose from within—
echoes of lives rewritten, loves erased, worlds reborn.
And amid that ocean of whispers, one voice cut through, clear and eternal:
“Elias… wait for me by the river of memory.”
Her voice.
Her promise.
The hall trembled. Cracks of silver light spread across the floor.
Reality folded inward, pulling me into its current.
And as the white light swallowed everything,
I whispered the name that the world had already forgotten—
“Selence.”
Then I stepped forward, into the place where memories go to dream.
