Seventeen years after Jian pressed the Interface Dissolution button, the Transparent Shard had transformed. It was no longer a cosmic experiment or a hiding place for fugitives; it had become a home pulsing with honest life. Its sky remained clear, free from the purple windows of the Readers or the red flashes of the Authors. Here, the sun rose because of physical rotation, not because a narrative required a new chapter to begin.
Han was no longer the fragile "First Boy." At twenty-one, he had the broad shoulders of a laborer and hands calloused from years of wrestling with wood and stone. Yet, his eyes—a legacy of the pure essence he once carried—retained a spark of unquenchable curiosity.
That morning, Han stood atop a cliff overlooking the Echo Valley. In his hands, he held a prototyp
