The first echo was not a singular event, but the beginning of a conversation. Other creators, born of the Chorus’s silence, responded. One wove a tapestry of mathematical proofs that sang of infinity. Another sculpted a feeling—a specific, untranslatable emotion—into the heart of a dying star. These were not acts of dominance, but of offering. Each creation was a gift to the others, a new word in a language being born. The Watcher, listening, began to understand that creation was not a monologue, but a dialogue.