PREVIEW

... ed writing.

For one span of breathless twilight, the constellations dimmed, the narrative glyphs paused, and the stars—so long compelled to map, to mirror, to reflect—went still.

Not blank.

Just present.

All across the Garden, people looked up and saw nothing told.

And for once, it was enough.

In the days that followed, the Quiet Between became a pilgrimage.

Not for learning.

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