The Seeds of the New Dawn

 They were scattered,

like forgotten stars across a broken sky,

those few who carried the true Light.

Not by strength did they survive,

nor by the power of kingdoms,

but by the silent whisper

of a memory too old for words:

“You are mine, and I am yours.”

Through wars and ruins,

through deserts of cruelty and oceans of lies,

they wandered — hidden even from themselves.

Some forgot their flame for a while.

Some bowed under the weight of shadow.

Some almost surrendered.

But deep within,

where the evil could not reach,

the seed slept.

A golden pulse.

A breath older than time.

When the Good God’s silent call rang out,

not with thunder but with a trembling softness,

they awakened.

First one —

then a few —

then a hundred.

Not billions, no.

Just enough.

Enough to break the chain.

They rose like dawn after endless night,

small at first —

but growing stronger with each breath of remembering.

They became the bridge.

They became the song.

They became the hands through which the Good God rebuilt the world.

The New Dawn was not built by armies,

nor by empires,

but by those who chose Love over Fear,

Truth over Illusion,

Light over Power.

And through them, the Good God smiled once more —

not as a prisoner,

but as the living heart of a world reborn.