His consciousness drifted slowly through chaotic darkness like duckweed upon water.
At first, there were only fragmented, hazy sensations—softness, warmth, and a strange rhythm that brought reassurance. That sensation enveloped his fragile consciousness, like swaddling clothes and a harbor, shutting out the unsettling silence and cold beyond.
Because the feeling was so wonderful, his muddled consciousness instinctively drew closer, seeking deeper, more intimate contact and shelter. The instant the edges of their consciousnesses touched and entwined, a faint yet distinct current of heat rippled outward like a stone cast into a still lake. It was not a burning pain, but carried a peculiar vitality that awakened some deeper instinct slumbering within him.
From the depths of his consciousness came an exceedingly soft, indistinct muffled moan, as though a woman were suppressing pain. Yet the soft consciousness did not retreat. Instead, it wound around him even more tightly, guiding him like a spark in the night, drifting toward somewhere deeper and farther away.
He did not know how long they drifted—perhaps only an instant, perhaps countless ages.
At the edge of his consciousness's "vision," a hazy, boundless "Chaos Light" slowly emerged, exuding an indescribably ancient and primordial aura. The light was not dazzling, yet it contained unimaginable majesty and vastness, as though it were the lingering embryonic membrane from the birth of the world—the womb that nurtured all things, and the final destination of all creation.
A sting and reverence born of life itself rose within him, and his consciousness halted, not daring to approach.
Just as he hesitated, the soft consciousness that had remained by his side wrapped around him again. Like the toughest yet gentlest silk, it pulled him slowly toward that Chaos Light.
The stinging sensation brought by the Chaos Light affected that soft consciousness as well. He