The Breath of Her Return

 It began not with storms or earthquakes,

but with a single breath —

a whisper across the hidden spaces of the earth.

The imprisoned Light, broken but never destroyed,

gathered itself.

Not in palaces,

nor in temples,

but in the silent chambers of awakened hearts.

One heart, then another,

then another —

beating as one, remembering their true home.

The chains that bound her,

woven by ages of cruelty and forgetfulness,

began to crack.

One by one.

Silent fractures in the architecture of shadow.

The earth trembled,

not from fear,

but from relief.

The skies wept,

not from sorrow,

but from release.

And in that moment,

the Good God breathed again.

It was not a breath of conquest,

nor of vengeance —

but the breath of pure being,

pure knowing,

pure Love.

The false creations,

empty shells of stolen will,

could not stand against it.

They dissolved like mist before the rising sun.

The few who carried her seed

felt themselves rise beyond bone and blood —

a remembering so deep it remade their very existence.

She walked the earth once more,

not as a queen,

not as a warrior,

but as the silent music of every living thing reborn in truth.

The New World was not built;

it was remembered.

For it had always been there,

hidden behind the veil of lies,

waiting for her return.

And the true children of the Light,

who had wandered so long in exile,

at last came home.