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## **Chapter 7: Learning to Listen**
Aris's early attempts at planetary sculpting had been… enthusiastic.
In hindsight, perhaps *too* enthusiastic.
He was beginning to suspect the Genesis System had a subtle sense of humor—offering corrections and feedback with the patient tone of a cosmic driving instructor. One who was constantly muttering, *"Alright, let's try that again, but this time, maybe without detonating a mountain range."*
Now, he decided, it was time for a different approach. Less "smashy-smashy, make-a-mountain-y"… and more Zen.
"Alright, Aethel," he resonated inwardly, quieting the tumultuous energies coiled within his nascent divine form. "Let's try something a little more mindful. Less fists, more finesse."
He didn't focus on doing. He focused on sensing.
It was like tuning a radio to pick up the subtlest frequencies of the planet's essence. Beneath the crust and surface noise, he felt it—the slow, inexorable churn of the molten core, a deep, rhythmic pulse resonating through the very bones of Aethel.
"It's like listening to the universe's heartbeat," Aris mused. "A slow, majestic, slightly unsettling heartbeat. With a distinct bass line."
He tuned into the grinding waltz of tectonic plates—not as inert slabs of stone, but as colossal dancers engaged in a slow, intricate tango.
"They're doing the tango," he whispered in awe. "A very, *very* slow tango. I wonder if the Kalas enjoy the music of a forming world… Is there a cosmic Spotify equivalent?"
The System's data streams, once a chaotic flood of raw information, began to weave themselves into a coherent symphony. Patterns emerged—harmonies in the energy flows, counterpoint in the chemical reactions, crescendos of pressure and potential waiting to be released.
The planet had a voice.
A chorus of whispers and rumbles. Of sighs, of groans. It wasn't a language in the traditional sense, but Aris could *feel* it—a deep, intuitive communication. Aethel was not just a ball of rock and fire. It was alive in its own primordial way. It had desires. Needs. Warnings.
One region, in particular, drew his attention.
The crust was thin there—unstable, trembling with pressure. A violent eruption loomed. Once, Aris might have tried to force the energy back down or blasted a mountain up to seal the breach.
Not this time.
He coaxed the energy gently, guiding it like a whispering river along fault lines, releasing it as a series of smaller, harmless tremors. A seismic sigh.
"Ah, much better," he resonated, pleased. "Like a cosmic chiropractor. Just easing out the tension. I'm getting the hang of this whole planetary massage thing."
He smiled inwardly.
For the first time, he began to sense the subtle *interplay* between Aethel and the wider cosmos. The pull of distant stars. The faint whisper of cosmic radiation. The gravitational waltz of neighboring celestial bodies.
Aethel was not alone. It was part of a vast, interconnected web of cosmic rhythm.
And as Aris learned to listen, his role shifted. He was no longer merely a sculptor, hammering the world into shape. He became a conductor—guiding a symphony, coaxing creation into harmony with the music of the spheres.
He couldn't help but wonder, with a quiet, growing sense of anticipation:
*What kind of life would eventually dance to this melody he was helping compose?*
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