In the year 2147, humanity discovered something it was never meant to find: a fracture in time.
Batzorig—or what remained of him—explained the truth. Time was not a river, as poets liked to say. It was a tapestry, woven by conscious observation. Every living mind was a thread, pulling the fabric into shape. But humanity had grown too numerous, too aware. The collective weight of seven billion minds observing seven billion different presents had torn a hole in the weave. The fracture was not an accident. It was an inevitability. time lord
And in the eye of that storm, a child was born. In the year 2147, humanity discovered something it
“I am the first one who fell. The shepherd, Batzorig. But I am also the last one who will remain. The fracture did not break time. It woke me up. And I have been holding the clock together with my own hands ever since.” It was a tapestry, woven by conscious observation