The first doorway opened onto a memory.
Not a place.
A memory.
A small cottage beside a river.
A woman standing on a porch.
Waiting.
The forgotten old man who had stepped forward earlier stared at the scene.
His hands trembled.
The image trembled with him.
Then—
the woman looked up.
And smiled.
The old man broke.
A sound escaped him.
Not grief.
Not joy.
Something larger.
Something that had waited thousands of years for permission to exist.
The doorway brightened.
The woman held out her hand.
The old man stepped forward.
And disappeared into the light.
The Shore of Lost Things erupted.
Not with power.
With emotion.
Millions of forgotten souls stared at the doorways appearing across the silver lake.
Hope spread like wildfire.
The stars brightened.
The tree of star
