In the sanctuary between worlds, Origin closed the Hall of First Memory for the first time in an age that didn't have a number attached to it because counting would have required a different relationship with what the age contained.
The ancient doors met each other with a sound that was more weight than noise — the specific resonance of something substantial finding its resting position. Silver roots moved across their surface as he watched, threading through the carved details with the purposeful slowness of something that grew rather than moved, wrapping the doors in layers of protection that operated by different principles than conventional seals.
Not imprisonment. The records inside didn't require imprisonment. They required the specific care of things that were too important to be accessed carelessly, that needed to remain undisturbed until the conditions for their disturbance were correct.
