The wind has stilled, the sand is quiet,
yet the rift still sings —
a lullaby without lyrics, but which the world remembers.I Wanderer Kam: A New MapOne year after the salt-lake "Gate-ing". Kam of Suna, 14, 167 cm, 52 kg,
houses a "wandering gate" —
openable at will, exit unpredictable.He calls the journey: "Taking Teacher to see the world."Jack's voice still echoes in his chest: "Gates can wander, never be imprisoned."
So the boy steps onto unmarked maps —
to witness unrecorded edges of the rift.II Use of the Gate: Not War, but HomeThis year Kam used the "wandering gate" for three things:Teleported a caravan trapped by storm to an oasisSent endangered desert foxes to rain-rich southReturned lost children to their mothersEach opening +0.1% coverage,
but he no longer fears —
direction is true; numbers are merely price.III Song of the Rift: Understood by None, Remembered by AllEvery full-moon night the gate hums —
no lyrics, only "tick-tick-tick" of gears,
like a watch, a heartbeat, rain on salt-lake.Merchants say: "Wind is singing."
Children say: "Home is calling."
Kam knows: "Teacher is speaking."IV End of the Rift: Someone There13th full moon, Kam reaches "Far-West · Rift-End". A black-glass desert, ground reflecting starlight, an upside-down universe.The gate emerges automatically, dark-gold mirror rotating,
deep inside a familiar face —
Jack, or what was once Jack's outline.He speaks, wind through metal: "You've come, my successor."
Kam smiles: "I bring a new map."
Jack nods: "Then depart — turn 'end' into 'beginning'."V Handover: Not a Key, but DirectionJack extends a hand; dark-gold dust flows into Kam's chest —
coverage instantly 100%,
yet no "Gate-ing",
because "direction" is now clear —
keep wandering.Jack's last words, etched in wind: "Gate am I, I am Gate,
I no longer exist,
yet am everywhere."VI Final Curtain: Someone is SingingOn black-glass desert Kam walks,
the dark-gold gate behind him fading transparent,
as if never there.But the rift-song still echoes,
no lyrics, yet all remember the melody —
the wanderer,
at the end,
singing a lullaby for the next to depart.VII Postscript: The Story Has No EndYears later caravans still hear, on full-moon nights,
"tick-tick-tick" from deep desert,
like heartbeat, like rain, like home calling.They don't know who sings,
but know —
follow the voice and they'll find the way home.Because,
at the end of the rift,
someone is always,
singing.