The moment Aether crossed the threshold of the final door, the silence of the End of Stories fell away entirely, replaced by something so ancient, so vast, that he felt his own sense of time dissolve the instant he stepped through.
He was standing beneath a sky he did not recognize — silver, endless, unmarked by any sun or moon or star, the light seeming to come from everywhere at once, as though the sky itself had not yet decided what shape it wanted to take. He understood, without needing to be told, that he was witnessing something that existed before recorded history. Before civilizations rose and fell across the countless names lining the Vault's endless shelves. Before the Living Keys had ever been divided into their separate, scattered roles.
Before history itself, in any form he could easily recognize, had ever begun.
