Aot:The Silent Witness

Chapter 2: The First Breath

[ORB'S POV]

Darkness. Not the absence of light, but something deeper—an existence without thought, without name, without form.

Then, a pulse. A spark.

Something stirred where nothing had been before. A ripple ran through the void, spreading outward like the first trembling breath of a newborn. The being did not awaken all at once. Awareness came in fragments, drifting together like scattered embers drawn into a single flame.

First came sensation. It was not cold, nor warm, but something in between—a presence, a gentle hum within itself. It did not have a body, yet it could feel. Something pulsed beneath its formless shape, a rhythm like a heartbeat, though it had no heart. It did not breathe, yet there was motion, a slow expansion and contraction, like the tide pulling away from the shore and returning again.

A ripple disturbed the still waters of the chasm's lake. The being became aware of the water—not just as something outside of itself, but something it could sense. The liquid shimmered with energy, a quiet force pressing against its presence.

Then came sound. It was faint, distant, as if it had always been there, waiting to be noticed. The rustling of leaves above, stirred by unseen wind. The distant call of a creature—one of the many that roamed the lands beyond the chasm. The slow, deliberate movement of something immense, shifting in the shadows.

Something else was here.

The newborn being did not yet have words, but it had thoughts, raw and unformed. It reached outward, not with hands—it had no hands—but with its very existence, pressing against the silence with a question.

"What… am I?"

The question did not travel through air. It moved through something deeper, through the space between thought and form, through the very essence of the world.

A response came, not in speech, but in understanding. A vast presence loomed in the depths of the chasm, ancient and patient. It did not rush to answer, for time had little meaning to it. When it did respond, it was not with a voice but with a tremor in the air, a low vibration of meaning.

"You are made of me, yet you are not me. You are your own existence."

The ethereal being pulsed, uncertain. It was not alone. But what was it? It had no shape, no weight, no flesh like the creatures it could faintly sense beyond the chasm. It was something other.

It did not know if that was a good thing.

It tried to move—not in the way creatures did, not with legs or wings, but with thought. The motion was effortless, like drifting on a current. It hovered just above the water, watching the way its presence disturbed the surface. The lake responded to it, shimmering in pulses that matched its own. The energy within the water recognized it, acknowledged it.

Curious.

The being turned—or at least, it thought about turning, and so it did. The chasm walls stretched high above, their surfaces jagged and ancient, lined with the roots of trees clinging to the edge. The world outside was vast, but this place, this deep and hidden sanctuary, felt right. It was where it had come into being.

It drifted toward the trees at the chasm's edge. They were different from the water, their energy slower, steadier, humming with something old. As the being approached, the sensation deepened. It did not merely sense the trees—it understood them.

On instinct, it reached outward, pressing its essence against the bark. And suddenly, it was the tree.

The experience was startling. It had no eyes, yet it saw—saw through a different lens, a perspective that was not its own. It felt the weight of roots buried deep in the earth, the slow pulse of life moving through the bark, the stretch of branches swaying ever so slightly with the wind.

This was new.

It withdrew, returning to its original form, and pulsed with thought.

"I can become things."

The primordial being in the depths of the chasm remained silent. Watching. Waiting.

The ethereal being hovered for a moment, letting this realization settle. It was not bound by a single form, nor confined to a singular way of existing. It could be many things, could exist in different ways, through different perspectives.

The thought filled it with something that might have been excitement.

It moved again, exploring the edges of the chasm, testing its form, shifting between states of presence and absence. When it neared the rocky walls, it felt the stone's slow, deep patience, an existence so different from the quick, vibrant pulse of the water. It pressed itself against the rock and—just as with the tree—merged into it, becoming part of the stone's being.

This form was different. Heavy. Enduring. Ancient.

The being withdrew once more, fascinated. Everything it touched, everything it became, carried a different rhythm, a different way of existing.

The world was vast. And it had only just begun to see it.

The great being that had created it remained at the bottom of the chasm, unmoving, as patient as the stone itself. The newborn being turned its awareness toward it, sensing its sheer magnitude, its overwhelming presence.

This creature had given it life. But why?

The question formed before the being could stop it, flowing outward like a ripple across the lake.

"Why am I?"

A pause. The air was still. The water, the stone, the trees—all waited.

And then, at last, the answer came.

"To witness."

The ethereal being considered this. It did not yet know what that meant. But it would learn.

It would see.

It would be.

And so, it was.

[END OF CHAPTER]