Years had bled into the wood of the Epilogue, turning the golden twilight into a seasoned, deep bronze. Han’s workshop was no longer just a sanctuary for one; it had become a heartbeat for many. The smells of cedar and pine were now mingled with the scent of sun-warmed stone and the laughter of those who didn't remember a world before the "Great Suture."
Han stood at his bench, his hair now streaked with the same silver as the threads of the Loom. His hands, though still scarred and ink-stained, moved with a fluid, thoughtless grace. He wasn't building for a Guild or a God; he was teaching.
Beside him stood a young girl named Mira. She had been one of the "Unbegun" from the Cold Open, but she had grown up in the warmth of the Epilogue. She held a small chisel with an intensity that remin
