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40

 

 

The passage into the Corridor of Witnesses was unlike any Thane had walked before. It did not open with light or sound, but with presence.

As he stepped forward, the air thickened, not with heat or silence, but with attention. The Archive was watching. Not passively. Not mechanically. But as a host awaiting its guests.

Solenne walked beside him, her form now woven with threads of gold and obsidian. She no longer flickered. She no longer hesitated. She was becoming.

“This corridor holds the echoes of those who came before,” she said. “Some were archivists. Some were thieves. Some were pilgrims who mistook memory for salvation.”

Thane nodded. “And some were lost.”

The corridor widened into a gallery, the walls lined with alcoves, each containing a suspended relic. Not objects, but moments. Each hovered in a field of light, rotating slowly, inscribed with a glyph and a name.