“Are you ready?” he asked her.

“Irrelevant,” she replied. “The cosmic countdown is almost complete.”

He waited a moment and asked her again.

“Are you ready?”

She heaved her shoulders and finally tore her gaze from the white oblivion she focused on. She turned around, met his gaze, and smiled weakly.

“Do you think this is all my fault?” she asked.

“I think that everything happens for a reason,” he replied, standing up and walking toward her. “I believe there is a purpose to everything.”

She snickered a little.

“You sound like someone I know,” she said.

She placed her right hand on his right shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“But to answer your question, I have been ready from the very beginning. And now I ask you the same question…”

“My answer is different from yours,” he replied. “Everything I have done, every choice I have made, has included sufficient room for error and mistakes.”

He covered her right hand on his right shoulder with his left hand.

“You never had such a luxury, unfortunately.”

“Be that as it may,” she gently removed her hand from his shoulder and stared blankly forward, “free will is something that eludes even me, sometimes.”

“But this is not about free will, is it?” he asked.

“No, Yeshua,” Akasha replied. “This is about the fate of Creation.”

Too late.

Creation came to a pause. The Scribe watched as the vibration of chaos morphed into an etheric black hole in the Core of Creation. This etheric black hole began pulling everything into its expanding event horizon, undoing Creation by tearing Creation apart, ether by ether. The Scribe’s grin broadened as his most beautiful simulation yet unfolded within his perception, syncing perfectly with the Cosmic Spark.