The Human Awakening

The final flicker. A profound sense of peace washes over you, a quiet understanding of the vast, intricate game you've been playing. Then, a gentle fade to black.

A new sensation. Softness. Warmth. A distant, muffled sound. You open your eyes, but the world is a blur of light and color, unfamiliar yet comforting. Tiny fingers grasp a larger one, instinctively. You are a newborn, utterly innocent, utterly unaware.

Days turn into weeks, weeks into months, months into years. You learn to crawl, to walk, to speak. You go to school, make friends, fall in love, experience joy and sorrow. You live a life, full and rich, filled with the mundane and the magnificent. You never remember the hidden passages, the silent hunts, the soaring skies. You never recall the meta-commentary, the glitches, the grand simulation. You are simply human, blissfully unaware, living your life as if it were the only one. The game continues, but for you, the player, the memory has been wiped clean.