Humanity's perspective:
We are the last civilization of the "Dust Era." With the truth of the universe locked inside the Creator's legacy, the "Observation Tower," generations of scientists have paved the way upward with their own flesh and blood
■ Forge a key in a stellar furnace, only for a "storm of rules" to erase three hundred years from our technological tree;
■ Sacrifice our genes to awaken our ancestors' AI, only to have our memories altered and fall into a logical hell;
■ When humanity finally deciphers the inscription at the tower's base, [You are the failed remnants of an experiment], we stake the consciousness of our entire race on an upload and launch a suicide charge toward the summit.
The Creator's perspective:
I am Observer K-717. According to Article 101, Chapter 7 of the Regulations on the Nurturing of Civilizations: [Low-dimensional life forms are forbidden from touching the truth.]
■ Release a cognitive virus into human civilization (codename: Fireworks);
■ Plant self-destructing entropy cores at their technological nodes (codename: Revelry);
■ Continue eliminating individual awakeners (codename: Old Child).
But at this moment, red warnings flash wildly across the monitoring screens, they are using the forbidden "emotion of pain" to corrode the tower walls. My control console is beginning to crystallize. The life forms I once called dust are carving cracks into the observation window.
The ultimate mystery:
Just as human fingertips touch the light at the tower's summit, the observation log suddenly loads an encrypted entry: [Warning: This universe is Petri dish No. 101. If the test subjects breach the firewall, immediately execute...]
The record ends here. Only two lines are printed on the bloodstained back cover:
"Who is watching?
The dust is gazing into your eyes."
