Poto and the Horizon Gate
Poto was drawn to edges long before he understood why. Rooftops at dusk, fences overlooking long stretches of sky, sidewalks that faded into distant glow— he always found himself drifting toward places where the world looked like it might open.
Other cats chased movement. Poto chased distance.
A seeker without knowing the word.
One evening, as the sun slid low and the horizon melted into orange, something shifted. The line between sky and earth shimmered—subtle at first, then unmistakable.
Light folded itself gently, stretching into a soft arc.
The Horizon Gate.
It did not call to him. It merely revealed itself—like a secret that had grown tired of waiting.
Poto’s ears twitched. His tail lifted in that deliberate, thoughtful sweep.
And he stepped forward.
Becoming the Wanderer
Crossing the Gate didn’t feel like transformation. It felt like memory—like arriving in a shape he had worn in dreams.
His form elongated, balanced, sure-footed. The Nexus sky spread above him in ribbons of amber and violet.
A horizon exists to be walked toward—Poto simply obeyed its nature.
The Arc of Possibility
The Gate closed behind him softly, not as rejection but as reassurance. Ahead, the world stretched farther than any map could follow.
A warm wind swept past him, carrying hints of stories not yet begun.
Poto didn’t rush. He didn’t need to.
The horizon waits for those who walk with intention.
The Paths of Others
As he moved forward, Poto began to sense vibrations in the distant air— not sounds, not sights, but impressions:
- A storm-heart crackling with restless fury.
- A calm presence anchored in deep stillness.
- A rhythmic echo that never truly faded.
- And a voice waiting to awaken the ancient core of the Nexus.
They would find their Gates. And he would meet them at the place all paths eventually touched.
Poto lifted his eyes to the trembling edge of the world.
The horizon had opened for him— and he would follow it wherever it led.