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It wasn't a standard zodiac graphic. It was a minimalist, deep-navy canvas featuring the Sea-Goat, etched in lines of shimmering silver light. To Elias, a true Capricorn, it was more than an image; it was a mirror. The goat’s front hooves were planted firmly on a jagged mountain peak, while its coiled fishtail disappeared into a misty, cosmic ocean below. It represented the duality of his life—the relentless climb toward a career in architecture and the deep, often turbulent emotions he kept submerged.

"Patience," a voice whispered, not from the room, but from the hardware itself. "The summit is earned, not given."

The mountain peak on the left side of the started to grow. The Sea-Goat didn't just sit there; it breathed. A soft, hummed vibration emanated from the laptop speakers, a sound like grinding stone and deep-sea currents.