The wanderer Apparition. The price of integrity... I am the figure on the right, the one drawn in lines you cannot read. But you know me. You have always known me. I was born the first night you slept on the street, when the cold tried to carve your name out of the world. I watched you rise from nothing, step by step, deal by deal, until the same world that ignored you began to open its doors. You walked into rooms where people spoke in polished tones and carried power like a second skin. You learned their language faster than they expected. Faster than they liked. I stood behind you in those rooms — silent, invisible, but always there. I watched you speak with artists whose names echo through history, with designers who shaped culture, with politicians who shaped nations. They saw your mind. They used your fire. They built their empires with bricks you handed them. And every time you lifted someone higher, I grew clearer. Every time you refused to bend, I grew sharper. Every time...
