Some kept old symbols. Some drew new ones. But Elara kept hers: the circle with a line through it. Not as emptiness. As the right to say no — and in that refusal, to find what yes truly meant.

A perfect circle. And through its center, a single straight line.

She wandered beyond the city walls, into the rust-eaten ruins of the Old World. There, on a cracked stone floor, she found a faded mural. It showed people holding the same symbol — circle, line through it — but not as a mark of rejection. As a shield.

Below it, words in an ancient tongue: “The null set is not empty. It is the container for all possibilities.”