Eons passed. The Museum of Beginnings glowed steadily at the edge of known space, its collected first clicks a constellation of fragile, hopeful light. Leo tended it with patient devotion, a gardener of origins.
Then, a familiar resonance entered the Museum's field.
Kael.
The Keeper had not faded into Witness's archive. It had released its role, yes—but release was not annihilation. Kael had drifted through the deep silences between galaxies, through the fertile void where potential waited to become form. It had learned what it meant to be unfinished, unneeded, unburdened.
Now it
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