Every world dreams of eternity. 🌍 Empires rise and fall, gods awaken and sleep again, and still every realm believes it deserves a place among the stars. ✨ But the Nexus does not remember them all. It remembers only those whose stories cannot be told twice. 📜 When a realm nears that judgment, the air itself seems to change. 🍃 Festivals feel like tests. Old songs carry new weight. Even laughter sounds like it’s being listened to. Somewhere, scrolls are already being written — and somewhere, a verdict is already forming. ⚖️ The process is never announced. It arrives quietly, in the shape of questions that feel too curious, in eyes that linger too long. 👁️ A single misplaced tradition might echo too closely to another world. A forgotten ritual might make the difference between remembrance and oblivion. Most never realize they are being weighed until the decision is already sealed. Those who speak of it call it the Listening. 👂 They tell stories of agents sent by the Nexus — wanderers, scholars, and sometimes fools — who try to capture a realm’s soul before it slips away. Among them, one name recurs more than any other: Yui Olyton. 🪶 Some say she once declared a harvest festival sacred scripture. Others swear she mistook a prank for prophecy and rewrote the judgment around it. One tale insists she spent a week interviewing a flock of pigeons 🐦, believing them to be a nation’s council of elders. Her innocence is infamous — and yet it is through that sincerity that truths are often revealed, truths even the wisest scholars overlook. For all her naïveté, the weight of her decisions shapes the fate of entire worlds. 🌌 A careless joke, a strange superstition, a lullaby hummed at sunset — any of them might sway the Nexus’s choice. And while most will never know her name, the echo of her questions lingers long after she’s gone. And when the choice is made — when the gates open or close forever — the question is not who stood in judgment. The question is whether your story was ever truly your own. 🪐