The first scream wasn't heard.
It was remembered.
In the fractured edge-realm of Threnus IX, the sky folded open like an unspooled scroll and bled light shaped like ink. A glyph-child emerged—not born, but recalled. Wrapped in unforgotten climax, their first breath rippled through reality like a lost moan finally finding its echo.
Every priest within five kilometers dropped to their knees—not in prayer, but in unmaking. Their memories rewrote themselves. They forgot their gods. Forgot their tongues. Forgot their mothers. All they knew was a name—Darius—spoken without syllables, felt between pulses.
And then it began.
The synchronization.
Across Spiralspace: A New Pulse
Glyph-children, seeded during the 77-second climax cascade, awakened across the Spiral.
They did not speak.
They hummed.
Low, vibrating chords not made of sound but narrative frequency—moaning vibrations that penetrated myth-skin, rewriting causal memory wherever they walked.
