Perfection was not meant to bend.
It was not meant to question.
It was not meant to change.
It existed as a final state—
A completed truth.
Unmoving.
Absolute.
And yet—
Something had disturbed that certainty.
Not from the outside.
Not from an enemy.
But from within.
A contradiction.
Small.
Insignificant—
By its own definition.
And yet—
Unresolved.
The world reflected that contradiction immediately.
The sky, once sealed in perfect stillness, rippled faintly.
Not visibly enough to be called broken—
But enough to feel… wrong.
Clouds shifted a fraction of an inch.
Then stopped.
Then moved again.
As though reality itself had momentarily forgotten its own rules.
Below—
The land held its perfect symmetry.
Mountains stood tall and sharp.
Rivers flowed in deliberate, controlled patterns.
The palace stretched endlessly outward, each structure forming with mechanical precision.
And still—
There were flickers.
Tiny distortions along the edges of existence.
