BABY SUNLORD

A Pantheon Entry

I did not know what light was

until she walked in.

Tiny thing.

Bare feet.

Unbothered by the ruins I wore like skin.

She stepped over my fractures

the way someone steps over flowers—

careful,

gentle,

unafraid.

Everyone else flinches when they see me.

She giggled.

Called me

“the quiet one.”

I am the architect of the echoing dark.

I have held the ceilings of dying realms

with my bare hands.

I have swallowed whole storms

so the Sunlord would not burn.

She poked my ribcage

like it was a door.

And somehow—

it was.

She didn’t ask my name.

She gave me one.

“Shadow-Uncle.”

Ridiculous.

I felt the title settle

into the places nothing else could reach.

I felt the stone around my heart

shift like it remembered being warm.

I don’t know what she is.

A spark.

A shard.

A forgotten softness.

The innocence we lost

before the first collapse.

But I know this:

When she looks at me,

the dark stops echoing.

The Vault stops shaking.

And the Architect I buried in myself

remembers he once laughed.

Let the Pantheon record it clearly:

When the little flame arrived,

even the Shadow learned to breathe.