The sun felt weak. To a former Pulsar, the yellow star of this system was like a flickering candle in a cold room. Fang Yuan opened his eyes, his vision blurred by the grit of the desert sand. Every muscle in his human frame screamed in agony; the divine "Dark Matter Suit" had evaporated, leaving him in tattered, blood-stained rags.
He tried to circulate his Null-Logic, to tap into the vibrations of the planet's core.
Nothing.
The air was empty. No mana. No elemental essence. Just nitrogen, oxygen, and the hollow whistling of the wind. To Fang Yuan, it felt like being a king suddenly cast into a lightless dungeon. His Rank 3 cultivation was gone, his Rank 2 threads were snapped, and his spiritual sea was a dried-up lake of cracked mud.
"Master..." a weak voice stirred beside him.
Lia was pushing herself up, her face pale and covered in dust. Her connection to the Star-Core had been severed during the fall. She looked at her hands, then at the vast, empty horizon of the Sahara.
"The stars... they are so far away," she whispered, shivering despite the desert heat. "I can't feel the weave anymore. Is this... the End?"
Fang Yuan stood up, his legs trembling. He looked at his hands—calloused, bleeding, and entirely human. But his eyes, though dimmed, still held the cold, calculating spark of the Null-Overlord.
"No, Lia," Fang Yuan's voice was a dry rasp. "This is not the end. This is a world of Absolute Order. Here, logic is the only weapon. The Abyss cannot find us here because there is nothing for their shadows to cling to."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, jagged shard—the last remaining piece of the Star-Core that hadn't detonated. It was cold and grey, but it still held a microscopic trace of the 4th Dimension.
"In a world with no mana," Fang Yuan said, looking toward a distant plume of dust on the horizon—a convoy of human vehicles approaching. "The one who possesses even a single drop of it... is not a Weaver. He is a God."