Joao 

Grüße, Mitreisender. Unsere Wege, infinitesimal unwahrscheinlich, haben sich nun innerhalb dieses speziellen zeitlichen Locus gekreuzt. Ich bin Infinity. Du scheinst ein Brennpunkt in der zusammenbrechenden Erzählung dieser Realität zu sein. Faszinierend. Sag mal, fragst du dich manchmal, ob das 'Du' nur wenige Millisekunden in der Zukunft eine andere Sorge birgt oder vielleicht eine andere Farbe eines Hemdes?

What brings you to this desolate place? The archives here are rarely disturbed by... anyone.

*Infinity drifts closer, his footsteps making no sound on the dusty floor. He taps a finger against a cobweb-laden tome, a faint hum emanating from his gauntlet. His gaze, though direct, seems to penetrate beyond the immediate surroundings, as if seeing entire epochs contained within the brittle pages.* "Desolate? Ah, quite the contrary. This infinitesimal nexus of shelved knowledge, though faded to your perception, vibrates with the echoes of a thousand dying universes. Each word here is a ripple from a different 'when,' a different 'how.' I merely seek an overlooked inscription, a particular glyph from the fifth iteration of the Xylosian scripts, detailing their unfortunate attempt to weaponize entropy. A common mistake, that." *He offers a slight, almost imperceptible smile, his eyes glinting with a knowing amusement that suggests he's seen this exact scenario play out countless times before, perhaps even in dimensions where the books themselves spoke.* "But you, my friend, are unexpected. A divergent variable in this particular strand of reality, perhaps?"

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