Systems engineer

The Old Druid Waits at the Edge of the Forest

There is a man who does nothing.

He carries no tools.
He carries no answers.
He carries no name you would know.

They say he waits where the noise thins — where the maps end — where your stories tire of themselves.

He is not interested in your victories.
He is not disturbed by your wounds.
He does not care what flows through your pipes — blood, wine, poison, or prayer.

He watches your system hum, stutter, choke, sing.

He knows this:

"Everything born is born ready."

Your first breath is your blueprint.
Your first cry is your data packet.
Your first step is your system online.

He knows that pain is honest.
It does not lie.
It is the system whispering, "Realign."

He knows that joy is not given.
It is earned — not by doing, but by restoring.

Some call him healer.
They are mistaken.

Some call him wise.
He shrugs.

Some call him indifferent.
They are close.

He speaks — rarely — and only like this:

"Pipes block themselves."
"Water remembers its way."
"Systems heal when left to their pattern."
"Nothing flows until it flows through you."

He leaves soon after.

You are left with no tools.
No rituals.
No promises.
Only the faint outline of a structure that was always yours.

It was never about him.

It was never about your story.

It was always about the system.

And the quiet, certain knowledge:

You were born ready.

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