The cursor blinked in the void. A sterile, expectant pulse against the stark white of the interface.
For thirty years, Elias had considered himself a master of the void. He was a graphic designer of the old school, one who had made the transition from physical paste-up boards to the first, chunky Macintosh computers. He had mastered the digital void of Photoshop, learning to fill it with layers, textures, and light. His hands knew the precise pressure for a Wacom tablet, the muscle memory of a hundred keyboard shortcuts. His tools were an extension of his will. They were powerful, they were complex, but they were fundamentally inert. They waited for him.