Beneath Star Constellation's Immortal Tomb, within a dream array wrapped in fate-threads long decayed, the land spirit fragment dreamed again.
Once, it had been a piece of a great will—wise, cold, unyielding. Now it was only a reflection.
But the dream was not silent. It walked.
A figure of steps without sound. A name it could not recall. A presence that left no imprint—yet reshaped the myth within.
In the dream, the land spirit whispered:
"Who walks where there was no beginning?"
The sky cracked within the dream.
Somewhere, a fragment of Star Constellation's lingering will stirred in defiance. The dream began to warp, not from strength, but from uncertainty.
The land spirit tried to rewrite its dream.
But the threadless figure was already walking through it.