Fenrir sat cross-legged atop his obsidian tower, the void-like sky behind him flickering between dusk and dawn.
Below, the world moved—not in chaos, but in rhythm. The once-savage realm had changed.
Small villages dotted the land now—crude shelters of stone and hide, fire pits glowing through the night.
Smoke curled lazily into the air. In the distance, freshly tilled fields lined the riversides. The people—his people—had begun to settle.
Fenrir rested his chin on his palm, eyes narrowing.
"System. Can I interfere yet?"
The familiar orb of light blinked into existence beside him.
[Negative. You have no remaining karma. You expended it entirely to accelerate development. Direct intervention is not permitted.]
He sighed.
"So what can I do?"
[Indirect influence remains possible. You may observe, nudge, or inspire. By guiding your civilization's progress—within the bounds of natural development—you may earn karma again.]
The system said.
