Origins

Before any of the work, there was a kid with a notebook and too many questions. I built worlds before I could build anything real: maps for games nobody else played, rules for societies that lived only on paper, backstories for characters who never left my head. It looked like play. It was practice.

Science fiction gave me the first proof that a world could be argued into existence. Someone imagined a future carefully enough, wrote down how it worked, and other people started treating it as a place. That idea never left me. If a world can be described precisely enough, people will move in.

What I did not have yet was a real world worth building in. Everything I made was fiction, and fiction has no stakes. I wanted the notebook and the real economy to be the same object. I wanted the map to be a place you could actually go.

A life is not a resume. It is the trail of things you build, keep, and are willing to be judged by.

That search took years, and it took a few wrong turns before it found the thing that finally held all of it at once. But the instinct was set early: watch how people coordinate, notice what they keep, and build the places where they gather. Everything after this chapter is that same kid, still drawing maps, finally with real ground under them.