No one came looking for Erah.
No one remembered him.
No one was left to tell the story he once lived.

Because the new world... no longer needed him.

And that, at last, was the most beautiful thing.

Erah walked through nameless lands, each step leaving no trace—because the earth no longer needed to remember. Above him, there was no sun, no darkness—only rhythm, like a song without words.

One day, he stopped beside a large stone. It did not glow, did not hum, did not stand out.
It was just a stone, quietly existing.

He placed his hand upon it.

Not to draw. Not to command. But simply... to touch.

And in that moment, the world knew he had been there.
Not as a god.
Not as a symbol.
But as a humble part of whatever still remained.

The sky exhaled one final breath.

And then... it stopped.

Not because it ended—
But because it no longer needed to begin again.

Erah sat down.
There was no sunset.
No nightfall.
Only a gentle, eternal twilight.

He closed his eyes.
And for the first time, he dreamed of nothing at all.

In a quiet corner of the new world, unseen by all,
a child would one day open their eyes.
They would not know the name of earth, or sky, or even themselves.

But... they would hear something.
A whisper.
A sound barely audible in the untouched space:

“I was once Erah.
But you don’t need to know that.
Live as if no one came before you.
For here, you are the first to write the heavens and the earth.”