The Golden Threshold

In a hall of silent, white marble, a solitary figure knelt, his form a small island of devotion in an ocean of stone. Before him, immense doors of polished gold stood closed, holding back an eternity of unseen light, yet a sliver of that brilliance pierced the chamber, cleaving the world into stark day and deep shadow. His prayer was a quiet anchor in the vastness, a whispered word against the cold stone, a bow of humility before a threshold he could only approach in spirit, the echo of his faith the only thing to fill the grand, empty space.