In an age not long ago, the peoples of the world were each given a mirror. With it, they could see across oceans and borders, speak to strangers, and know what their rulers knew. The mirrors were meant to bring wisdom, to bind the world together.

At first, it seemed a gift. Kings and commoners alike could peer into the glass and know what was happening far away. But the mirrors showed not the whole truth—only fragments, twisted by unseen hands.

The wise warned caution: “These mirrors reveal much, but they consume the heart. Use them too often, and you will see what others wish you to see.” Few listened.

The ambitious clutched their mirrors and believed themselves powerful, not knowing their thoughts were being shaped. The lonely pressed their faces to the glass and forgot the world around them. And the despairing, gazing too long into the endless flood of sorrow and conflict, lost all hope.

Only a handful learned to turn away, to cover their mirrors when they threatened to devour their days. Yet even they lived in a world transformed, where every voice shouted at once and no single truth could be heard above the din.

And so the gift of sight became a curse of endless noise. The world had torn down all the gates, and the flood poured in.