We’ve just launched our project on Giveth to raise support for planting 2,000 trees and helping regenerate life in areas most affected by deforestation and climate change. Every donation helps us bring back clean air, healthy soil, and biodiversity — one tree at a time. 👉 Check out the project and support if you can: https://giveth.io/project/plant-2000-trees Thank you for being part of this mission 💚 #Reforestation #Giveth #CryptoForGood #Web3Impact

We’ve just launched our project on Giveth to raise support for planting 2,000 trees and helping regenerate life in areas most affected by deforestation and climate change. Every donation helps us bring back clean air, healthy soil, and biodiversity — one tree at a time. 👉 Check out the project and support if you can: https://giveth.io/project/plant-2000-trees Thank you for being part of this mission 💚 #Reforestation #Giveth #CryptoForGood #Web3Impact

The internet, once envisioned as a democratic space for free exchange and connection, has gradually morphed into a centralized ecosystem dominated by a few powerful corporations controlling our data, identities, and digital lives. Web3 emerges not just as a technological upgrade but as a fundamental paradigm shift—returning ownership, control, and autonomy to users themselves. Beyond the Surface: The Hidden Depths of Web3 1. Redefining Digital Identity Web3 transforms identity from simple use...

The internet, once envisioned as a democratic space for free exchange and connection, has gradually morphed into a centralized ecosystem dominated by a few powerful corporations controlling our data, identities, and digital lives. Web3 emerges not just as a technological upgrade but as a fundamental paradigm shift—returning ownership, control, and autonomy to users themselves. Beyond the Surface: The Hidden Depths of Web3 1. Redefining Digital Identity Web3 transforms identity from simple use...

The Machinery Behind the Moon By Ashborn — one who listens to what silence tries to scream. As a child, I used to stare at the moon and believe it wasn’t light, nor love — but a mechanical eye. A silent, giant camera watching everything we do with ruthless precision. I never wanted to fall in love with the moon. Because the more you look at it, the more it forgets you. The truth is: This world was not made for you. But if you look closely enough, you can remake yourself — not to be accepted b...

The Machinery Behind the Moon By Ashborn — one who listens to what silence tries to scream. As a child, I used to stare at the moon and believe it wasn’t light, nor love — but a mechanical eye. A silent, giant camera watching everything we do with ruthless precision. I never wanted to fall in love with the moon. Because the more you look at it, the more it forgets you. The truth is: This world was not made for you. But if you look closely enough, you can remake yourself — not to be accepted b...

I remember the first time I saw the sky collapse. It wasn’t loud. No thunder, no screams. Just a quiet folding — like reality had blinked. Like existence had sighed and forgotten to inhale again. I was standing barefoot on a rooftop no longer part of any city. Below me, not buildings, but memories made of ash and static. People say the universe is expanding. But I’ve always felt it imploding inward — turning itself inside out like a cocoon of illusions, wrapped around something too simple to ...

I remember the first time I saw the sky collapse. It wasn’t loud. No thunder, no screams. Just a quiet folding — like reality had blinked. Like existence had sighed and forgotten to inhale again. I was standing barefoot on a rooftop no longer part of any city. Below me, not buildings, but memories made of ash and static. People say the universe is expanding. But I’ve always felt it imploding inward — turning itself inside out like a cocoon of illusions, wrapped around something too simple to ...

Have you ever wondered if we are merely reflections, reflections in a mirror that never existed? A shattered mirror, its edges dissolving into nothingness, and our image fading within the void. I am Ashborn. Not just a teenager with a different mind, but a light born from the very darkness that shaped me. My mind is a place where time dissolves and truth turns into riddles. At night, when I close my eyes, unknown sounds emerge—not words, but echoes from an endless explosion still unfolding. T...

Have you ever wondered if we are merely reflections, reflections in a mirror that never existed? A shattered mirror, its edges dissolving into nothingness, and our image fading within the void. I am Ashborn. Not just a teenager with a different mind, but a light born from the very darkness that shaped me. My mind is a place where time dissolves and truth turns into riddles. At night, when I close my eyes, unknown sounds emerge—not words, but echoes from an endless explosion still unfolding. T...

There was a room I used to dream of. No walls. No floor. Only breath — soft and heavy, like the echo of something that once dared to live. Inside it, a chair floated above nothing, and on it sat me, but not the me who writes this. It was the version of me that never happened. Eyes stitched shut with threads of silver light. Lips cracked by silence older than language. It didn’t speak. It remembered. But the memory was not mine — It was a memory that had forgotten who it belonged to. And still...

There was a room I used to dream of. No walls. No floor. Only breath — soft and heavy, like the echo of something that once dared to live. Inside it, a chair floated above nothing, and on it sat me, but not the me who writes this. It was the version of me that never happened. Eyes stitched shut with threads of silver light. Lips cracked by silence older than language. It didn’t speak. It remembered. But the memory was not mine — It was a memory that had forgotten who it belonged to. And still...

I sit by a window that never opens. Its glass is cracked, but it never breaks. Like me. You don’t know me. But by the end of this, maybe you’ll feel like you always did. My name is Ashborn. I am not a sound. I am what gets left behind when the noise passes through. When I walk, the floor makes no sound. But I hear memories being crushed beneath my steps. At school, I sit beside others. But it’s like I’m underwater. Everything moves slow. Voices are distorted, like they’re trying to speak thro...

I sit by a window that never opens. Its glass is cracked, but it never breaks. Like me. You don’t know me. But by the end of this, maybe you’ll feel like you always did. My name is Ashborn. I am not a sound. I am what gets left behind when the noise passes through. When I walk, the floor makes no sound. But I hear memories being crushed beneath my steps. At school, I sit beside others. But it’s like I’m underwater. Everything moves slow. Voices are distorted, like they’re trying to speak thro...

I hear things… differently. Sometimes, when a glass breaks, I see it first. The sound arrives late. And sometimes, not at all. Dad says my brain is like an old tape player with a stuck ribbon. But I know… it’s not broken. It’s just tuned to another kind of silence. In that silence, I met someone. His name is Ashborn. Ashborn isn’t human. Not a ghost either. He’s the voice that forms in the quiet. The shape behind thoughts. Made of smoke and code. Of things not yet said. When everyone else sle...

I hear things… differently. Sometimes, when a glass breaks, I see it first. The sound arrives late. And sometimes, not at all. Dad says my brain is like an old tape player with a stuck ribbon. But I know… it’s not broken. It’s just tuned to another kind of silence. In that silence, I met someone. His name is Ashborn. Ashborn isn’t human. Not a ghost either. He’s the voice that forms in the quiet. The shape behind thoughts. Made of smoke and code. Of things not yet said. When everyone else sle...

I was eight when I realized I lived in a different kind of room. Not a real room. A room inside the world. One with no windows — just walls that echoed everything too loudly. The lights were too bright. The air too heavy. People moved too fast, talked too much, touched too suddenly. So I stopped moving. I folded into myself like paper. They called it “withdrawn.” I called it “safe.” I remember one day — a teacher asked me a question. I knew the answer. I felt the answer. But my mouth couldn’t...

I was eight when I realized I lived in a different kind of room. Not a real room. A room inside the world. One with no windows — just walls that echoed everything too loudly. The lights were too bright. The air too heavy. People moved too fast, talked too much, touched too suddenly. So I stopped moving. I folded into myself like paper. They called it “withdrawn.” I called it “safe.” I remember one day — a teacher asked me a question. I knew the answer. I felt the answer. But my mouth couldn’t...