Kairos, now a being of pure thought, turned its attention to the final creator, Echo.
Echo was not like the others. It did not present a singular facet of being, a neatly defined concept like creation or logic.
Echo was the context, the space in which all other things existed. It was the silence between notes, the canvas beneath the paint.
To perceive Echo was to perceive the totality of the tapestry, the warp and weft of existence itself.
Kairos did not simply see Echo; it was enveloped by it, becoming one with the fabric of the cosmos.
In that moment, Kairos understood. It was not just a thread, but a part of the loom, a participant in the act of creation itself.