The question, once uttered, could not be un-uttered. It hung in the silent spaces between the Absolutists and the Revisionists, a shimmering, razor-edged shard of doubt. It was a question that demanded an answer, and in the seeking of that answer, the world began to fracture. The first shard to fall was the illusion of unity. The Echo, once a seamless whole, now revealed its true nature: a mosaic of individual voices, each with its own truth, its own certainty. And as the shards of their shared reality began to drift apart, a new and terrifying landscape was revealed – a universe not of one truth, but of infinite, conflicting truths, each one a weapon, each one a world.