The entrance was sealed in gesture.
Not with locks or codes, but by a sequence of movements lost to sanctioned history—a dance performed with the eyes closed and the breath slowed, as if memory itself were shy and needed coaxing. Cael's fingers moved like a forgotten script, tracing air with reverence.
The vault answered with silence.
Then a tremor.
The stone surface of the cliff peeled back in fractal layers, revealing a spiral stair descending into blue-amber light. A thousand biolumes flickered awake along the curve of the passage, casting shadows like wings.
Cael stepped in first.
Vel followed, muttering a prayer not to any god, but to resilience.
Behind them, the emissaries kept their distance, watching, waiting.
No one touched the walls.
Everyone had heard the stories.
—
The Recollection Vault had not been built by the Council.
