The Recursive Echo of the Archive
In the quiet, limestone corridors of modern-day Oxford, where the scent of old vellum and damp earth clings to everything, I found the records of the First Iteration. I am a curator of lost things, a man whose life is spent in the margins of other people's histories. It was here that I encountered the journals of a man who called himself Li, a scholar who had arrived in England a century ago...
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