He was not building a wall, but a room—a chamber within the heart of their cosmos where this new, raw emotion could be held and observed without overwhelming the whole.
It was an act of cosmic quarantine, but also of profound respect.
He was acknowledging the fear’s right to exist, while simultaneously protecting their universe from its corrosive, unchecked power.
Lyra’s fear, the ache of a mother for a lost child, became the foundation of this new space, its floor of sorrow.
Anya’s fear, the dread of an unsolvable paradox, formed the walls, each one a question that seemed to curve back upon itself.
Silus’s fear, the anxiety of an uncontrollable variable, became the shifting, translucent ceiling, a membrane of pure potential.