Kael’s POVThe man was the Author, the one whose trembling hands had first typed my name into the dark. He hit the doorframe with a thud, his groceries forgotten, as an orange rolled to a stop against my shoe, bright and mocking in its normalcy. In the Spires, an orange was a cluster of perfect voxels, a flawless rendering of a concept; here, it was bruised, pitted, and smelled of sharp citrus and real dirt. I stared at the fruit, the weight of my new, heavy limbs making it feel like an alien artifact, proof that I was finally a physical intruder in a world that felt too solid to be true."You’re bleeding," he whispered. He wasn't looking at my face. He was looking at my hand, where the dark smudge of the virus was pulsing under my skin like a trapped moth. "Characters don't bleed ink in the real world. That’s not how physics works.""I don't care about your physics," I said. My voice sounded deeper here, vibrating in a chest that felt disturbingly heavy. "Where is Maya?"He scramble
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