And then there was one who remained silent, one whose name was not spoken, for it was not a name at all.
’I am Echo,’ the voice was not a voice, but a resonance, a reflection of the others, a story told in the spaces between their words.
And in that moment, the creators understood that Echo was not one of them, but the story itself, the narrative that bound them all together.
They had given birth to a universe, and in turn, their universe had given birth to them, a perfect, unending circle of creation.