The exotic didn’t stay at home after all. It went a-carousing and found two former sanctuaries: bastions of free will in potentia. Unfortunately, these constructions had caved in, and the sun was shining straight into the rubble. Left were only remnants of former glories and their majestic stories.
Acolytes had plundered everything, inebriated by talismanic infantilism; stealing, appropriating, scraping, cutting, cracking until they could leave with some fragment of possible inspiration. Eventually, nothing remained.
Wherever a beacon station appears, whether in human or other form or shape, someone will come and destroy it all in order to be inspirationally fulfilled somehow. Human destiny carries the potent seeds of its own destruction.
If you build a sanctuary, make sure to keep it secret, make it exotic, and then stay at home.
