Before the onset of the Slow Burn, a few, a very few, saw what approached over the horizon inexorably. These began an ambitious project to store away the world's knowledge in a persistent form, something those who followed them could use to rebuild. Into a mountain in cold, dry north, around their slow, slow clock, they hoarded the works of the world, and agents to protect and ensure them. Their descendants, both physical and intellectual, hid themselves away from the burn, around this ticking trove, and waited.
Decades crept into centuries crept into millennia, and this slight, monastic order guarded their clock and their minds. They dipped into its treasures ever so rarely, bot to make sure it was running apace, and that their vision had not wavered. The perils of the wild and the desperations of the masses were avoided through the use of subtle illusions.
