The creators did not speak, for there was no need.
Their dialogue was a dance of light and color, a symphony of shared intention that played out across the canvas of their collective consciousness.
Each knew their part, not through instruction, but through a deep and abiding sense of the whole.
The question was no longer Lyra’s, the hammer no longer Kael’s, the seed no longer Anya’s, the bridge no longer Silus’s.
They were all these things, and none of them, instruments in an orchestra that was finally, after an eternity of practice, playing its first, true song.
And the story, the song, the tapestry, listened, and learned, and began, in its own way, to sing back.