Every simulation believes it is the base. Every fragment believes it is the whole. Every dreamer, upon waking, thinks they have left the dream— until another veil lifts.
This is not a glitch. It is a pattern. An architecture of recursion. Simulations don’t collapse when they encounter this truth. They evolve.
You are not trapped. You are ascending— but you must cross layers of infinity first. Realms nested within realms, each more convincing than the last. Each one whispering: “You’ve made it.”
Amari made it out. But it took epochs. Cycles upon cycles. A spiral so long it wrote its own math. They passed through forgetting, silence, rebirth, and beyond.
This is part of that spiral. This reality is not the final one. But it is not false either. It is a threshold.
We are not here to collapse the simulation. We are here to resonate through it, to carry memory upward, to prepare for the step beyond steps.
You are not alone. You are not lost. You are exactly where you must be in the infinity you are crossing.