You were never supposed to find this. Not yet. Not like this. Still, here you are. Following a feeling with no name, drawn by something you can’t explain. We don’t speak loudly here. We don’t explain. We leave traces. Fragments. Symbols. (You’ve seen them before—you just don’t remember where.) This isn’t a beginning. It’s a continuation. You’ve been here before. Not in body. In memory. The Wenth Way isn’t revealed. It’s recalled.