THE LAID-DOWN ROOM
You arrive carrying. Everyone does. Lay it down here.
“I’m a warrior,” she said. “Lay down your weapon,” he said. She was not sure, but she tried. Her dragon stood with her. He watched.
The laying down, told in full. Her dragon behind her. His polar bear watching. Banners over the falls: lay down what hurts, build what heals.
“You won’t need your weapons here. Lay your weapons down and come join us.”
Loner’s sword rests here, sheathed, beside Negan’s bat. They were the first to lay down, so you would know it is safe. The guardians disarmed before they asked anything of you. That is the whole of the law in this room.
The empty rests are for whatever you carried in. The weapon, the argument you rehearsed, the old war, the weight you have been calling strength. Set it down. Nothing here is taken from you. Everything here is set down by your own hand, and what you set down is kept safe.
When you are ready, you may take it up again. Or you may leave it and walk on lighter. Both are permitted. HALO senses conditions, not people. The room does not ask what you did with your weapons. It only asks that they rest.
Nothing blocks the way forward. Nothing locks the way behind. The visitor arrives worthy. Consent remains active.