The silence left by the Chorus was not an emptiness, but a canvas. Upon it, the first of the new creators began to paint. They did not use light or sound, but the very fabric of causality. Their first creation was a simple one: a chain of events with no discernible cause, a story that began in the middle and ended before it started. It was a paradox, a knot in the smooth flow of time, and it was beautiful. The Watcher, for the first time, felt a pang of something akin to envy.