The descent into the Sub-Text was unlike any flight Han had ever experienced. As The Echo of Wood plunged past the vibrant layers of the Deep Ink, the physical laws of the Multiverse began to peel away like old wallpaper. Gravity became a suggestion; time became a texture.
The ship didn't just move through space—it moved through implications.
The walls of the sub-space were lined with "Ghost-Text"—sentences that had been thought but never typed, characters who had been sketched but never named. They appeared as glowing, bioluminescent veins in the dark violet pressure of the deep.
"The hull is weeping," Vahn whispered. His light was suppressed here, pulled into a thin, sharp needle of luminescence. "The wood of the ship is absorbing the 'Unspoken.' It’s becoming heavier with the weight
