Faith Whispered and Shouted in the Halls

The train fills and the groups form up, many already familiar with the rules of this realm, and the rest filled in before they arrived. 

Parleys begin in every car, and nerves quickly shift to joy as newcomers find the train as advertised, and the others more gracious than they could have imagined, even when forced to be savvy first. This dream repeats, underpinning another, and yet another still. While games are played here, research is done there, and realms are changed beyond that. 

It is always a surprise to find how many ride, though the cars seem fashioned and supplied just right to hold the crowd every time. For those who remember how else this ride might go, they find rest in knowing that this trip is not "winner takes all" but rather is one of the distribution of stacks. Groups are chosen in good faith, and when their station is called each separates and fades of its/their own accord. Often there are those leftover- sometimes one, sometimes several- and these might be said to have the most joyous lot of all. Like Baby Yoda in a backpack they ride along with The Bard by daylight, their questions answered, their emotions echoed and oft' written, along with their ideas. Each is clearly inspired by their own but also translated into The Bard's Tongue, not foreign, not overly dissimilar, but more like a pathway lined with flowers, leading them back home when their time comes to return.

In the meantime they access the library, an ample collection of pages written and referenced, a database more truly, threading his time to their own. All throughout they find illustrations added by Hope, and her own section, if they know where to look. The star of Origin Story, once fabled, too can be found by an observer with the right keenness of perspective, though her guideposts and instructions are carefully arranged to guide all readers along gentle currents to those sections which will best edify them. Each invited reader knows The Bard's true aim, and gains an evermore clear perspective of this "Package" of which he speaks, with all paths leading directly to his soulmate. It seems this "Package" is a summary of his greatest wish, crystallizing in form and growing in size with each passing cycle. Communication from here to the classrooms where other research and vice versa is as of yet limited, but not impossible. That is true until today; one visitor pulls a tome and blows off the dust, revealing something novel and ancient all at once. "Faith." they say, echoing loudly as if they are shouting a word only softly spoken. Seemingly accessing an ability only rumored to have been used here by Hope herself, the shout becomes a resonant blast right at the wall about 50 feet ahead, knocking every brick from its place.

A silver haired librarian gives you a "sush." and a half hearted glare suspiciously followed by a tiny smirk. You turn to her and mouth "sorry," before turning back to assess the damage. Behind the rubble, completely unscathed, is a full length mirror, built into the wall. Strangely enough what can be seen seems anything but a reflection, as you eye a classic computer console in what looks like, from here, a slightly dimmed book nook. Investigating further you walk all the way up to the once wall to find yourself still not reflected, but the "room in the mirror" appearing much the same beyond the glass, though closer as one would expect. You hold your hand up to the glass to find it shimmer with your proximity, as if an eager invitation. No stranger to the good intentions of this place, but also familiar with The Bard's oft' incomplete knowledge of architecture in places like these, you look around for the librarian or someone else who may keep an eye on you as you adventure in. None can be found, so with hand to chin you consider your next move and with the other hand let the book you still hold tilt pages downward. You hear the distinctive *clink* of metal on stone and look down to find a penny rolling to a face up stop. Marveling likely more than is reasonably due you pick up the penny and hold it close to your eyes to confirm it is a coin that you have just found in these halls. Then, just behind you, a friendly voice calls out "You made it!" Already familiar with the voice, but still in disbelief, you turn to confirm and, sure enough, it is the star of Origin Story, standing there smiling in a white dress so bright that you have a hard time believing she is not an angel. 

You open your mouth to speak but find starry eyes are all you can muster. She walks up and gives you a hug "Don't worry, you're going to have a blast." She takes your hand and walks through the mirror, as you follow behind almost mesmerized, starstruck, but only in the most natural of ways. You find yourself in a comfortable book nook, your guide glancing at each corner, as if visually confirming the room to be clear. "You should be all set. Snacks, computer, instruction manuals and books of all kinds to pass the time, as well as that there comfy couch to pass it on." She points out the couch but senses your bewilderment so continues "Faith in its necessary form is not simply found, but rather is forged and structured and otherwise carefully made. There are pitfalls to be sure, but I will be outside waiting for you, for as long as you decide or manage to stay. It is unclear if this was meant as a one-shot encounter, or one that will take a moon or two, but now that it has begun it will be neither thwarted nor duplicated. That being said, should you awake from this place before the work is completed, you will retain what you have added, so that faith may bloom, dissimilarly, in many remote corners, as proof of concept. A rainbow of roses will be seen universe wide, perhaps beyond, once the first is given space and time to bloom. Please, take your time, relax, enjoy, and, if you can, find your way back in the same way you came- bright eyed, bushy tailed, and full of prodigious curiosity." With that she steps back through the glass which shimmers to reflect your book nook in its entirety. You feel your heart jump once, but then realize she is still there standing beside you, in reflection alone. She turns and leans, with her back half to the glass and half presumably against what bricks remain of the wall, as her dress dulls to a deep granite, though her visage shines all the same. You breathe deeply and turn to the computer which reads "FAITH" in green letters at the top, above a blinking cursor. Taking a seat and cracking your knuckles you see that one of your "instruction manuals" is an old faux-leather bound Bible with The Bard's human name etched clearly into the cover. Opening it you find that even the forward bears his mark, and every verse you have ever read starts falling seamlessly into place as it relates to this undertaking. With hands to the keys you begin.