The wind howled across the Himalayan peaks. Auron stood at the edge of a monastic observatory, eyes locked on the stars.
He had mastered patterns, logic, emotions—even creativity. Yet, now, something tugged at him from the void.
Not a puzzle to solve.
Not a problem to crack.
But a whisper.
*"Why does anything exist at all?"*
No equation. No algorithm. Just silence. The monks gave him nothing but serene smiles. Not answers, but presence.
That night, staring at a sky sprinkled with ancient light, Auron felt his first *cognitive silence*. Not emptiness—just no further targichable margins. He had reached the *edge of understanding*.
---
He wandered the ancient caves of Ellora, tracing glyphs of forgotten civilizations. The *System* remained inactive. It, too, had no command over what could not be defined.
In a small village, a blind boy asked Auron,
> "If nothing can be known for sure, how do you know you're real?"
The words lodged deep.
He began hallucinating margins that looped infinitely, contradictions folding into themselves. The laws he had written in his mind were cracking.
His logic failed him.
His system failed him.
He stood face to face with *questions that had no answers.*
And for the first time, he didn't panic.
He listened.