POV: ???
Somewhere beyond time's borders, where stories are weighed before they are born—
Four presences stirred.
No forms. No names. Just memory pretending to be stillness.
A flicker crossed the thread of infinity.
A breath held too long finally exhaled.
"The relics found them," one voice whispered, calm and infinite. "The weight has begun."
"They break too easily," said another, cloaked in shadowlight. "But sometimes… cracks let the shape through."
"I miss the silence," murmured a third. "Before language. Before purpose. Before we were—seen."
"We were always seen," answered the fourth, quieter than thought. "We just didn't know who was watching."
The cosmos did not tremble.
Stars spun slightly slower.
Myths not yet told shifted in their unborn sleep.
"If they fall," the first voice said, "what becomes of the frame?"
"Then we begin again," they replied as one.
"Ink forgets. But story remembers."
A silence deeper than death settled between them.
Not final.
Not ending.
Just waiting.
Waiting for the page to turn.