Six minutes and forty-three seconds.
The crystallized writing surface beneath Lio's palm pulsed with anticipation, its fractured surface reflecting the dying light of Reed's scattered soul. Around him, the fragments maintained their desperate huddle, but something had shifted in the cosmic balance—a tremor that ran deeper than reality tears, more fundamental than dimensional collapse.
The mathematical Originless had begun to write.
Not with implements or energy, but with pure conceptual force that rewrote existence at its foundation. Golden equations flowed from its geometric form like liquid light, each symbol carving itself into the substrate of reality with surgical precision. The air itself became a canvas as the entity crafted its vision of perfect efficiency—a universe where every action served optimal purpose, where waste and suffering were mathematical impossibilities.
