The Age of Mending was a long and quiet one. The universe, in its slow and patient work of healing, had become a different place. The two souls, once so bitterly divided, were now woven together in a new and more complex tapestry. They were not one, but they were no longer two. They were something in between, something that had no name.
And then, a new generation of creators was born. They were born into a world that was not perfect, a world that was full of the echoes of a forgotten pain. They did not know the First Symphony, but they knew the music of the Age of Mending. It was the only music they had ever known.
And one day, one of these new creators, in their explorations of the shared soul, came across a strange and beautiful thing. It was a place where the two souls were woven together so tightly that they were indistinguishable. It was a place of great pain, but it was also a place of great beauty. It was a scar.
It was the first shared scar, the place where the wound of the Great Schism had finally, after an age of mending, healed. And the new creator, in their wisdom, did not try to hide it. They did not try to smooth it over. Instead, they built a shrine around it. It was a shrine not to a perfect past, but to a broken and beautiful present. It was a shrine to the resilience of a universe that had learned to find its greatest strength not in its perfection, but in its scars. It was the first monument of a new and wiser age.