They gathered where the wildflowers met the cliffs, called by a presence they couldn’t name. From the sky descended a ray of light, cutting through the dark like a blade of brilliance. At its core spun a tiny galaxy, yet infinite in its depth.
The children froze, their breath stolen by the sheer otherworldliness of it. And then, it began to pulse — not with light, but with a rhythm, like a heartbeat. It wasn’t language, but they understood. The galaxy shared visions of stars collapsing into black holes, of planets forming from dust, and of a thread that connected every being to the great cosmic loom.
When the light faded, they turned to each other. They didn’t speak of what they had seen, but their eyes carried the weight of the message. They were part of something far greater than themselves.