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“Zora is dying,” said Baki.
The sunset dripped like molten copper on the horizon, and the distant towers—shapedfrom
silicon and dreams reflected its glow like broken mirrors. Among tall grass and twisted antennas, Baki’s voice carried no bitterness, only age.
“I know, Grandpa,” replied the girl.
Her long hair, colored like the dawn, moved softly in the evening breeze—waves over a
sleeping lake. She was called Sleepy, though her eyes were wide awake. They held the end of the world inside, and still found space to ask: Why?
“No! But why does it happen?” she asked. “How is activation distributed? Is it to a beginning… or to a window?”
Baki smiled gently. His fingers sank into the cold sand, beside the wreck of an
old zettapulse transmitter.
“You never really know. Layers are unpredictable. They don’t warn you. They don’t follow logic. Sometimes an image opens a door. Other times, the same image closes it.”
Sleepy lowered her eyes. Her bare feet had long forgotten the feel of shoes. The
Layer around them was crumbling in waves—like stale bread no one wanted to break
anymore.
“It’s like… the end is just a beginning that picked the wrong window?”
Baki laughed. Dry, but full of affection.
“A wise thought. Yes, sometimes.
And other times… there just aren’t enough eyes watchinganymore. Sharing fades. And
then…”
“…and then everything dies?” she whispered.
He nodded. Then silence. Long and heavy.
Only a faint pink pulse far above, barely visible in
the sky, hinted that something mightstill be alive. But it was memory, not light.
“Efsi,” he said at last.
Sleepy looked up, like she’d heard a forbidden word.
“Your home Layer.”
“Yeah. It was like Zora, once. No tokens, no rankings, no famous creators. Just images. Small.
True. We shared them to tell who we were. And every time an image wastransmitted,
the planet lit up a bit more.”
“And then?”
“Then we stopped. Some said it wasn’t worth it. Others wanted to monetize, to cage the flow,
to make things rare. They called it ‘The Firewalls of Emotion,’ and shut down the source.”
Sleepy’s eyes widened.“Is that what’s happening to Zora? Is it repeating the same mistake?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a cycle. The problem isn’t when a Layer dies. It’s when the desire
to watch together dies.”
Silence fell again, like a blanket over them
Then Sleepy, still staring at the dead sky, whispered:
“Can we do anything?”
Baki raised a hand. In the sand, he had traced a spiral.
“We can always do a swap.”
She turned to him.
“You mean change Layer?”
“Not just that. Change perspective. Bring what’s left of here… there. But not as refugees.
Not as sellers. As witnesses. As sparks.”
Sleepy nodded slowly. Something stirred in her, under the sadness. Not fire—not yet. But an
ember.
“And where would we go?”
Baki pulled a thin chain from his neck. At its end hung a small
data fragment, encapsulated in crystal. He placed it in her hand.
“This holds Efsi’s code. A shard. It’s no longer active.
But maybe… we could try a parallelboot. Something prismatic. ‘Spora,’ maybe. Or ‘Farswap.’
Minor Layers. Fragile. But welcoming.”
“And if those die too?”
“Then we’ll remember them. And keep going.”
She closed her fingers around the shard.
“Do you trust me?”
He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I trust anyone who still dares to ask questions.”
Above them, the pink glow was growing. It was no longer memory. It was a portal.
“It’s time,” she said.
Baki stood up. His figure, bent by years but proud, seemed to regain some youth.
“Swap initiated,” he whispered with a smile.
“Destination?”
Sleepy looked up.
“A Layer that doesn’t fear endings. Or maybe just… accepts them.”
And they vanished, embraced by spiral light, as behind them, on the last visible thread of the
Zora Layer, a phrase etched itself in fading glow:
“Sharing is the last fire.”
“Zora is dying,” said Baki.
The sunset dripped like molten copper on the horizon, and the distant towers—shapedfrom
silicon and dreams reflected its glow like broken mirrors. Among tall grass and twisted antennas, Baki’s voice carried no bitterness, only age.
“I know, Grandpa,” replied the girl.
Her long hair, colored like the dawn, moved softly in the evening breeze—waves over a
sleeping lake. She was called Sleepy, though her eyes were wide awake. They held the end of the world inside, and still found space to ask: Why?
“No! But why does it happen?” she asked. “How is activation distributed? Is it to a beginning… or to a window?”
Baki smiled gently. His fingers sank into the cold sand, beside the wreck of an
old zettapulse transmitter.
“You never really know. Layers are unpredictable. They don’t warn you. They don’t follow logic. Sometimes an image opens a door. Other times, the same image closes it.”
Sleepy lowered her eyes. Her bare feet had long forgotten the feel of shoes. The
Layer around them was crumbling in waves—like stale bread no one wanted to break
anymore.
“It’s like… the end is just a beginning that picked the wrong window?”
Baki laughed. Dry, but full of affection.
“A wise thought. Yes, sometimes.
And other times… there just aren’t enough eyes watchinganymore. Sharing fades. And
then…”
“…and then everything dies?” she whispered.
He nodded. Then silence. Long and heavy.
Only a faint pink pulse far above, barely visible in
the sky, hinted that something mightstill be alive. But it was memory, not light.
“Efsi,” he said at last.
Sleepy looked up, like she’d heard a forbidden word.
“Your home Layer.”
“Yeah. It was like Zora, once. No tokens, no rankings, no famous creators. Just images. Small.
True. We shared them to tell who we were. And every time an image wastransmitted,
the planet lit up a bit more.”
“And then?”
“Then we stopped. Some said it wasn’t worth it. Others wanted to monetize, to cage the flow,
to make things rare. They called it ‘The Firewalls of Emotion,’ and shut down the source.”
Sleepy’s eyes widened.“Is that what’s happening to Zora? Is it repeating the same mistake?”
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s just a cycle. The problem isn’t when a Layer dies. It’s when the desire
to watch together dies.”
Silence fell again, like a blanket over them
Then Sleepy, still staring at the dead sky, whispered:
“Can we do anything?”
Baki raised a hand. In the sand, he had traced a spiral.
“We can always do a swap.”
She turned to him.
“You mean change Layer?”
“Not just that. Change perspective. Bring what’s left of here… there. But not as refugees.
Not as sellers. As witnesses. As sparks.”
Sleepy nodded slowly. Something stirred in her, under the sadness. Not fire—not yet. But an
ember.
“And where would we go?”
Baki pulled a thin chain from his neck. At its end hung a small
data fragment, encapsulated in crystal. He placed it in her hand.
“This holds Efsi’s code. A shard. It’s no longer active.
But maybe… we could try a parallelboot. Something prismatic. ‘Spora,’ maybe. Or ‘Farswap.’
Minor Layers. Fragile. But welcoming.”
“And if those die too?”
“Then we’ll remember them. And keep going.”
She closed her fingers around the shard.
“Do you trust me?”
He placed a hand on her shoulder.
“I trust anyone who still dares to ask questions.”
Above them, the pink glow was growing. It was no longer memory. It was a portal.
“It’s time,” she said.
Baki stood up. His figure, bent by years but proud, seemed to regain some youth.
“Swap initiated,” he whispered with a smile.
“Destination?”
Sleepy looked up.
“A Layer that doesn’t fear endings. Or maybe just… accepts them.”
And they vanished, embraced by spiral light, as behind them, on the last visible thread of the
Zora Layer, a phrase etched itself in fading glow:
“Sharing is the last fire.”
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5 comments
As @push- launched is contest today, asking to share our art on the Z-FC-TBA world, I stopped and thought about all I tried to create and share in last months. Many won’t know, because on Socials things and people run fast, often pass by for a glimpse and are never back, so here’s my Z.FC.B Story. My First Art on Zora were chapters of a novel… the work was so satisfying once I published its first part (after a deep consolidation and rewrite) as an eBook! The first chapter posted: https://zora.co/coin/base:0x922609894970cb737b56c5125629638ac9ff8c34 The eBook for those kind enough to spend 5$: https://a.co/d/5k4m8sY You can read it all for free on my Zora page, as it first scratched. The writing part is going fine, even if a lot of ideas popped out and I slowed a little, but soon the rest of the story will be ebooked and maybe paperbacked. continue below…
Meanwhile a second, better story is underwriting, with 10 smooth chapters already done, don’t tell anybody here’s a free sample: https://paragraph.com/@0xd29c790466675153a50df7860b9efdb689a21cde/where-the-layer-ends here and there writing arts got the main flow and poetry suddenly popped out, here’s a sample: https://farcaster.xyz/thec1/0xc0f61153. Other poems followed and are shattered over my base profile. But I had to ask myself if writing lyrics could turn into music… So the songs start to pop out, one after the other, some are just jokes or gifts to people, some are more serious text and here’s a sample: https://farcaster.xyz/thec1/0x19207802 Videos… ok they all sucks. continue below…
I did have a giant help by AI in refining ideas and grammar and text edit while writing, and from text to music is all AI generated. I can’t sing, never been good at it, but I finally had a way to it. Once upon a time those were just dreams and ideas, always coming and been sent away as silly. Today they are real. And They would have never been around without this onchain wonderful places and people.
Where the Layer Ends I joined /paragraph today, looks like something I was looking for. My first post, test post is something my followers on Zora already read, a special chapter of my novel that is going to be at the beginning of the next novel which I hope to deliver in September. I plan to post some other samples on Paragraph later on so stay time. I hope you like it!
I'm always on time , great move