The victory over Nova Aether was a quiet, profound one. It was not celebrated with feasts or songs, but with a collective, weary exhalation. The ghost had been banished, not by force, but by truth. The world had glimpsed the sterile perfection of the copy and had instinctively recoiled, turning back towards the warm, flawed, and vibrant original. The shares in Nova Aether became worthless, a cautionary tale in the financial districts. Finnian's most ambitious project had collapsed under the weight of its own emptiness.