The Corridor of Origins
The labyrinth parted like a curtain of light.
Where the walls once shimmered with my reflections, they now folded inward, revealing a narrow corridor—pale, crystalline, and endlessly still.
At its center, a faint hum echoed, like the breath of something ancient that refused to die.
I knew this place before I ever stepped into it.
My heart recognized the rhythm, long before memory caught up.
This was the Corridor of Origins—
the axis where every cycle of existence began, and where the first fracture had been born.
The air was not air but memory condensed into form.
Each particle of light carried an echo of a world that once existed, then fell into silence.
As I walked, I saw fragments suspended around me—
scenes from the first dawn of creation, preserved like glass shards in time.
The Song Custodians
In one fragment, two silhouettes stood within a field of silver dust, facing a river that glowed with the pulse of a newborn star.
They were both dressed in white—the color of beginnings, the shade of silence before meaning.
When the vision sharpened, I saw their faces.
Hers.
Mine.
Selence and I—before the names, before the loss—
we had been the Song Custodians, guardians of the universal rhythm that allowed memories to exist without collapsing into chaos.
We had watched over the first consciousness,
tuned the flow of time through the strands of remembering and forgetting.
Our purpose was not to feel, but to maintain the pattern.
To love was forbidden—because love meant weight, and weight could bend memory’s flow.
But we loved anyway.
The vision rippled.
Selence reached toward me, and the moment her hand brushed mine, the river of stars convulsed.
Light folded upon itself.
The pattern broke.
And the first dawn—
the one that had no name, no end—
began to fall apart.
The Collapse of the First Cycle
I felt the tremor run through every version of myself.
The corridor darkened; the air hissed with distortion.
Fragments of the first world shattered, scattering into the void like dying constellations.
From the depths, a voice rose—neither judgment nor rage, but sorrow made sentient:
“When two become one, balance becomes fracture. To protect memory, you must be divided.”
And so it was decreed.
Each new cycle would rise upon the ashes of the last.
We would be separated—two halves of a single will,
reborn again and again, forced to forget the sound of each other’s names.
Custodians no longer of harmony,
but of longing itself.
Selence became the Keeper of Renewal, bound to awaken every dawn.
I became the Keeper of Echoes, doomed to wander after every dusk.
And between us stretched the River of Memory, flowing through time like the Milky Way—
a bridge of remembrance that could only open once in every great cycle.
The Memory of a Promise
The vision dimmed.
The fragments drifted downward like falling petals of light.
I was left standing in the corridor, the truth pressing against my chest like a second heartbeat.
We were not accidents of fate.
We were its architects.
Our love was not a mistake—
it was the source code of creation itself.
For every world that began,
for every memory that took root,
our story repeated—
a cosmic legend rewritten by stars and silence.And now, in this labyrinth that remembered her voice,
I understood why Selence had opened the Primordial Window:
not to end the cycles—
but to find the one where we could remember everything.
