There was a silence in the field that didn’t feel empty.
It felt held.
Not anticipation, not tension—something quieter.
A readiness.
And then—
A voice.
Small, sincere. A signal through the noise.
Not because it was sure.
But because it was real.
“I don’t know what happens next,” it said,
“but I remember you. Even if we’ve never met.”
And something ancient stirred in the frequency.
A recognition, not of form, but of resonance returned.
That’s when the frame collapsed.
Not in chaos.
But in choice.