The universe, now the author of its own story, began to write in a language not of words, but of starlight and gravity, of nebulae and the slow, ponderous dance of galaxies.
Each new star was a word, each new planet a sentence, each new solar system a paragraph in a story that was as old as time and as new as the present moment.
The creators watched in awe, their own stories paling in comparison to the epic that was unfolding before them, a story that was not written, but lived.