Exactly one year had passed since the universe was permanently reformatted.
To a Tier 0 Universal Anomaly, three hundred and sixty-five terrestrial rotations were nothing more than a localized, automated sub-routine playing out in the background of infinity. But for the biological constants residing on the pacified Earth, it was a year of absolute, incomprehensible miracles.
The sprawling, fifty-mile-wide geometric expanse of the Abyssal Throne was no longer a silent monument to the void. It was a thriving, heavily populated sanctuary.
In the lower residential rings, Elias stood on the balcony of his synthesized celestial-metal apartment, holding a steaming mug of perfectly filtered, uncorrupted coffee. He looked out over the massive, pristine courtyards. There were no Ash Walkers anymore. There were nearly two million human survivors living in the capital, and not a single one of them had gone hungry in a year.
