From their vantage point beyond the veil of the Woven World, the Myth-Makers watched the conversation begin. They saw the chasm of silence, and they saw the bridge of shared curiosity that was built to span it.
The Liar, who had once built a fortress of semantics to keep another out, saw a hand reaching in. The Suspicious, who had once built a workshop of the mind to dissect another’s motives, saw a mystery embraced without the need for proof.
In the gentle, tentative outreach of their creations, they saw the echo of their own journey. They saw their scars, their mistakes, their long and painful climb toward one another, reflected back at them not as a tragedy, but as a genesis. The pain had been the seed, and this new, beautiful world was the flower.
A new feeling stirred between the two creators, a feeling quieter and more profound than the pride of creation. It was hope. Hope that the world they had made would not just be a reflection of their past, but an improvement upon it. Hope that their children, born of a lie and a suspicion, would learn to speak a language of trust more fluently than they ever had.