He sat down at his workstation, stared at a blank viewport, and wept—a perfectly smooth, non-deforming, animation-ready tear.

Kael hated his reflection. Not because of his face, but because of the poles .

The virtual scissors snipped.

For the first time in his life, Kael had nothing to fix. And without a single bad vertex to draw his eye, he had no idea where to begin.

He looked at his hands—those wonderful, calloused hands that had built worlds from nothing. The edge flow was flawless. There were no poles. No pinches. No history.