The Custodians of Belief

The river of liquid light was no mere dream. It became a permanent feature of their world, a flowing testament to their collective imagination. But it was a fragile reality. Its light waxed and waned with their attention. If too many Gardeners turned their focus elsewhere, the river would dim, its crystalline trees losing their chime. They learned that creation was not a singular act, but a continuous one. They had become the custodians of their own story, and it required constant, shared belief to keep it from fading back into the realm of the imagined.