I have something I brought back from Equilibria.

More than memory. More than change. Something physical, hard…and grounding.

I held that little shape in my hand today—the one they call the Gömböc. It looks like nothing special. Just a smooth, oddly cut stone. But when I placed it down crooked on the table, it shivered once, then—almost stubbornly—tipped itself upright.

No matter how I set it down, it always found its way back.

And something in me ached watching it.

Because I know what it feels like to be tilted. To be spun by grief or fear or confusion until all your angles feel wrong and your balance is lost. I’ve seen entire villages like that. Systems like that. People who never believed they could come back.

But the Gömböc doesn’t fight the tilt. It doesn’t panic.
It just remembers.
It carries its center like a secret. And no matter how the world tosses it, it returns—not because it wants to, but because it was shaped to.

That’s the lesson I think the Keepers were trying to show us.

We spend so much time trying not to fall, as if failure were final. As if imbalance means brokenness. But what if the real strength isn’t in staying upright?
What if it’s in learning how to rise, to stand again and again, until balance isn’t luck—it’s design?

The world that’s building in Equilibria won’t always stand straight.
But if it is shaped right—if we shape ourselves right—it will always know how to return.

I want to be like that little shape.

Not unbreakable.
Just unlosable.

~ Olivia