(Superposition → inclination as unresolved directional pressure)
Liora wandered into a valley where every path shimmered, forked, and rejoined itself like a restless dream. Some paths pulsed warmly, others softly faded, yet all coexisted in a kind of humming expectation.
“Am I meant to walk all of these?” she whispered.
A voice answered—not from above or below, but from every path at once:
“No path is walked. These are inclinations, not outcomes.”
She knelt and touched the ground. The paths did not represent choices she hadn’t yet made; they were simply the internal pressures of the terrain, its readiness to let her walk this way or that, none yet paired with the external enablement needed to actualise.
For the first time, she understood:
She smiled. The valley hummed.
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