Lucien's Vivarium had exploded. It wasn't just a tiny, self-contained world; it was basically thriving! The moss was spreading like wildfire, those lithopedes were going off with their reproduction, and that piece of strange tissue had turned into a really nice little fern that just seemed to breathe the good vibes. What was more amazing was that there was always something new popping out of it: tiny flies that flew around, a transparent slug that left spotless trails, and some crystal stuff that built up on the sun side of that heavenly tissue.
This was not just a closed system. It was becoming different!
Lucien took his work to the Academy of Systems, which is now located in a refurbished wing of Scriptorium. Besides data, he showed them incredible pictures of the Vivarium's peaceful, busy inside. That 'invitation frequency' wasn't just for relaxing things, he said, his face lit up with excitement. It was like the basis on which everything could be united. These beings are not only coexisting; they're coming up with new things. They are finding jobs that we didn't even know were there, solving problems that we hadn't thought of. That divine tissue is not just there. It's… as if it is… like it's helping with the gardening! It is assisting the crystal stuff that purifies it. It is also altering the way it sends the signals for bringing in those flies that help the moss.
He paused for a moment, letting the point sink in. We have been posing the wrong question. We have been asking, 'How do we create a system that endures?' The Vivarium is giving an answer that it should be: 'How do we make sure that each one can figure out how to survive on its own?'
People turned to this stuff immediately. Teams working on those massive Terraform loops that were previously uncontrollable decided to stop with their attempts to control everything. They instead focused on establishing steady, good rhythms in key places—the Reclamator, the Aqua Vita headwaters, the big fungi farms. They introduced some new life—good insect larvae, helpful molds, even some crystal that is fond of sound—and then waited and watched what would happen.
It got wildly unpredictable and difficult to manage, but often, it was way better than they had anticipated. A pipe got blocked, and rather than sending the repair crew, some acid-loving tiny fungi showed up because they responded to the pipe's call for help. Some nasty Glassrot got defeated by a crystal fungus that just came and took over.
It wasn't flawless. Sometimes, that new thing was nothing but some kind of revolting rot or a bug that devoured everything. However, the concept was still valid: If you give life a space to chill and a task to do (make sure everything is healthy), it will find a way. And it will probably do it better than you could have.
Maxine applied this idea to her Resonance Bridge project. Instead of building a perfect bridge for each patient, she began creating resonant fields—sounds and vibes that supported the patient's body in finding its own way to heal. It yielded better results!
The way of thinking spread. The Stewards ceased their efforts to write down every single rule ever. They only came up with simple, clear ideas: Don't harm. Help others. Instead of bossing people, get along with them. Disputes were resolved through talking rather than laws. Someone like Benny or Elara would assist by making people understand how their fighting influenced the whole place.
It was like managing the government as if it were a garden. Like dealing with justice as if you were taking care of an ecosystem. It was very slow, quite strange, and for the first time since the Great Weaning, it felt like more than just trying to survive. It felt like a culture. A culture that was not about chasing a dream, but about dreaming with the world.