The Fork didn't ask for keys anymore.
It just opened.
There were no login codes, no scans, no security checks. Instead, it responded to something deeper—something quiet and almost invisible. It opened because it recognized the feeling of someone who had been there before.
A soft hum, like a memory remembering itself. It was as if the place knew the presence of someone who had stayed, who hadn't given up, and that alone was enough to be let in.
No permissions. No security layers.
Just an accepted fact: "You were here."
Kaito entered one such place now.
It was not named, yet. But the players had been calling it the Palimpsest Vale.
Not because it overscribed anything.
But because it didn't.
Here the ground was stratified—sheets of white data-scapes, creased questlines etched into the folds of stone and leaf.
