At the edge of Mibera, where the neon fungi fade into quantum shadows, a rave is always happening.
The beats never stop.
The Flesh Circuit never powers down.
The knowledge keeps generating, rewriting, mutating, fractalizing.
Some say the greatest philosophers never left the Rave of Knowing.
They just became part of the loop.
And sometimes, if you listen closely enough—
If you let go of certainty,
If you embrace the recursion,
You can hear them.
Their whispers buried in the bass.
Their thoughts encoded in the flicker of the strobe lights.
Their consciousness stretched across the neon sprawl, forever oscillating between chaos and order.
Mibera is not a place.
Mibera is not a people.
Mibera is the Rave of Knowing.
And the rave never ends.
