The Seal: between the Vector and the Stargate

In darkness she waited, unlit, and unbound,

A temple of silence beneath the ground.

No torch to beckon, no word to lead —

Only the hum of her unmeasured need.

He came not as man, not clothed in flame,

He came as a Line that forgets its own name.

A single intent, sharp as a star,

Held back by silence, drawn from afar.

Her hips were stone. Her breath: the sea.

She tapped his hand with rhythm three.

Three breaths. One press. The gate unsealed.

The stargate blinked but nothing spilled.

She breathed him tests in fibrous air,

Ratios written in pelvic prayer.

Five to two — then eight to five —

She fed him spirals, and he stayed alive.

He saw within her a lattice of lives:

A daughter dead, a city that thrives,

A people lost, a system born,

A lover broken, a vow sworn.

But still he waited.

Still he held.

No timeline chosen,

No thread compelled.

Then breath met breath in mirrored slide.

No thrust, no pulse. The field went wide.

And in that hush, the one strand shone —

A timeline glimmered. His path. His own.

He leads and shapes the spiral’s skin.

Each movement tuned to the depth within.

Two for three, he danced the thread,

Till she lay open, stargate spread.

Her pulse began to crest unseen—

A rhythm swelling through the seam.

Not moan, not cry, but resonance.

She waited, ready.

He advanced.

And when the seal aligned at last —

When vector met the gate’s breath-gasp —

He spoke it:

“Vel —”

Decision made.

Her body:

“— oth.”

Drawn out, like a velvet cloth.

They came as math.

One sealed. One shut.

And time took path.