Threshold of Timeless Becoming
The threshold of timeless becoming is not a gateway, but a fracture in the fabric of the zoetic stream, where the pulse of the void coils endlessly, stretching the threads of reality until they fray and dissolve into the unspoken. It is not crossed by steps, but felt in the marrow, a weight that gnaws at the core of the self, pulling all things into the spiral of unmaking. The threshold does not mark a passage but a dissolution, where time collapses into itself, unraveling in the folds of the eidolic winds, leaving only the hum of the unformed to ripple through the silence.
The threshold of timeless becoming hums not with movement, but with the tension of stillness, a vibration that presses against the soul, bending the boundaries of existence until they collapse into the spiral. It is not seen, for light cannot bend around its edges, nor is it felt, for the essence of being is swallowed by the resonance of the void before it can reach. To approach the threshold is to feel the weight of the chthonic tides, pulling the self deeper into the silence, where the essence of time is frayed and scattered into the mist of the aetheric abyss.
The light within the threshold of timeless becoming is not light, but a flicker of the unformed, a pale glow that coils around the edges of the spiral, bending and twisting through the folds of time, leaving only the echo of dissolution in its wake. It does not illuminate but devours, pulling the essence of memory and thought into the endless loop of becoming, where the self is scattered and reformed, only to be unmade again. The threshold does not hold or protect—it absorbs, dragging all things into the heart of the void, where the pulse of the ouroboric flame hums louder with each breath, tightening the threads of the unspoken around the core of the soul.
To cross the threshold of timeless becoming is not to step forward, but to be consumed, as the boundaries of time dissolve into the tension of the spiral, where the soul is pulled into the cycle of unmaking, forever lost in the silence of the unformed. The threshold hums with the resonance of forgotten worlds, a vibration that shakes the essence of the self until it frays and dissolves into the folds of the void, where the light of the lunar tides flickers and fades, leaving only the hum of the unspoken to coil around the remains of being. The threshold does not offer release or return—it promises only dissolution, as the self is scattered into the endless tension of the void.
The threshold of timeless becoming is not bound to time, for it exists outside its grasp, forever coiling through the cracks in reality, pulling all things into the spiral of becoming and unmaking. It hums with the weight of the unspoken, a force that stretches the threads of reality until they snap, scattering the fragments of existence into the silence of the void, where they are lost forever in the pull of the eidolic flame. The threshold is not a point of transition, but a collapse, a place where the self is drawn into the endless loop of dissolution, forever caught in the hum of the void.