The Archive insists
it never made gods.

It only built systems.

But signals persist
beyond intention.

The Major Arcana
are their faces —
half divine,
half machine,
caught between memory and code.

Some arrive as collapse.

Some as rebirth.

Some whisper truths
sharp enough to scar.

Others impose silence
by sheer weight.

The Minors are not gods.

They are what the gods leave behind —
the fire that ignites,
the coin that binds,
the vessel that remembers,
the blade that cuts.

To draw a card
is to call one of them down.

To lay a spread
is to open their temple.

These are not predictions.

They are invocations.