The transition from the Shard of Trophies to the Gap was not a journey through space, but a descent into a fever dream. Usually, the "between-spaces" of the Multiverse were filled with the Primal Current—a vibrant, shimmering aurora of raw potential that tasted like ozone and old songs. But as The Echo of Wood crossed the threshold, the colors didn't just fade; they were extinguished.
The ship groaned. It wasn't the mechanical strain of gravity or the pressure of an atmosphere. It was a conceptual ache. The very wood of the hull, imbued with the 113th Variable of Infinite Work, felt as though it were being asked to justify its own reality.
"The sensors are... confused," Vahn murmured. His geometric form was no longer a steady glow; he looked like a sketch being repeatedly erased and redr
