Every symmetrical organisationcontains its own programmed decay in the asymmetry of the probabilistic nanospasms that make it up. The order of creation feeds on the illusion that a system in equilibrium produces a sustainable balance of energy, but equilibrium is maintained at the price of constant production of waste—chaotic trash that is pushed out to the margins of the cosmic order but threatens to invade and destroy it at any moment.

“Wake.”

Lightning tore through the night as a gypsy stirred in her tent.

Outside, the world unraveled—winds howling, land trembling.

Horses fled their stables, maddened, their cries vanishing in the storm’s roar.

The gypsy felt the pull, a rhythm beyond the senses, woven into the rain’s unbroken chant. Her heart pounded in response, a force unseen but known.

She rose.

The voice, heavy with, surged through her. Dazed, she moved, stumbling across the scattered tomes.

Her hand sought the lamp, and with a flicker, the dim tent breathed with light, shadows flickering like spirits, watching. Her hand hovered above the tarot spread, fingers trembling, as another bolt split the sky, the ground groaning beneath the heavens’ weight.

The cards fell.

The Empress. The Hanged Man. The Star.

She closed her eyes. The words etched into her mind, began to form on her hands,

In a tongue not of men, but of dreams, whispers.

Her rang clearer, deeper—

Gypsy writes them down on a book, its pages yellowed and brittle. Hastily, she scribbled the prophecy in the seed phase.

"Enok tʜèrai.-Iskōn mnartdOthret nā'dew" "Enok tʜèrai.-Iskōn mnartdOthret nā'dew" "Enok tʜèrai.-Iskōn mnartdOthret nā'dew"

Gypsy stood up from her knees, ran to the entrance of the tent, and threw herself into the storm.

She couldn't see anything; the downpour was so intense that the raindrops hit her face like bullets. Even though she tried to shield herself with the edge of her long purple cloak, the wind tossed her frail body around effortlessly.

Lightning flashed, revealing the edge of the abyss—a hollow where even the storm dared not touch, horses running wildly.

A little further ahead, she approaches the eye of the storm.