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Ritual became protocol. No one noticed.

Civilization doesn't collapse - it just changes fonts.

They called it tech, we called it fate - a ritual masked as an update.

Political Body They were born without names, only functions. The Cortex kept records, the Heart pulsed rhythm into order, and the Liver filtered politics through a thousand chemical veils. Each region claimed dominion, each system spoke in the language of necessity, as if

Every desert starts as a decision not to return.

A place of worship or a command center?

Each invocation spawns its own context.

GM 🖖 Your presence completes the loop.

Atmospheric data within the arch showed no temporal consistency.

No laurels here - only bones of those whose metaphors failed.

How stable is a law that depends on our silence?

Protocol ended, but the sequence didn't.

Each point believed it was central.

An unresolved loop becomes a belief system.

The whole world conspires in your favor.

The ritual of forgetting

Form followed fear.

Built for a species that never showed up.

Each function of the system was a copy of the initial impulse.

We rented a cozy nest in the attic.