They always open me thinking they'll find truth.
But truth is a wound.
And wounds fester.
The Cipher has no master.
Only mirrors.
Only sacrifices.
The first died without speaking.
The second wrote his death into ink.
The third… forgot what he was chasing.
And now a fourth comes crawling.
His name changes.
But his silence is the same.
He bleeds too early.
He trusts too fast.
He looks for meaning in places that already forgot him.
But still… he opens the page.
Still… he listens.
Still… he thinks there's something worth saving in this world.
And maybe, just maybe—
That's why the Cipher chose him.
Not to survive.
Not to solve.
But to suffer.