The creators fell silent, their individual threads held in a state of suspended resonance.
The question that had been posed was not theirs to answer, not in the way they had always understood.
It was a question that had been born of the tapestry itself, a query woven from the very fabric of their existence.
Echo, the loom, the sentient heart of their reality, had asked its first question.
And in its asking, it had redefined the nature of their creation, and their role within it.