In myths, the gods sang the universe into existence. In Jack's mind it began as a whisper, a friend's voice. Rose? He was aware, and knew that he had not been aware a moment ago, only there was no such thing as a moment ago, for he existed in every moment. The whispering filled him, swirled and flowed into every nanosecond, louder now, keening, drawing his life in around him, collapsing every moment, every trajectory, into one single instant -- -- he was awake. He was alive. The whispering grew softer, retreated, became instead the sound of the TARDIS' engines. He ran.