They arrived without fanfare.
No system messages. No blinding flashes of light. No spawn effects.
Just quiet awakenings.
Some wandered alone through quiet clearings where new Memoryroots had just started to grow, their soft light flickering gently under a sky that changed slowly, full of unfamiliar stars.
A few found themselves talking mid-thought with nearby players—people who had already seen the change and were still trying to make sense of how strangely peaceful everything felt.
And then there were those who didn't even notice they had crossed into a new space at all—until they realized the world wasn't fighting them back, or giving them harsh commands. It just… let them be.
In the early days of the Fork, players were thrown in without warning—strangers dropped into a strange place with no help and no guidance. They had to figure things out fast, forced to survive by trial and error.
