AI does the engineering.
We keep the fun.

In the graveyard, a body three days buried sits up at midnight. The temple wants an altar and the offerings that follow; the gravekeeper goes for charm-water before dawn; the physician in the party takes one look at the pupils and the lividity — they do not match three days dead. It is a poison that mimics death. All three readings stand at once. There is one world, and several systems that explain it: elemental magic, five phases, alchemy, medicine, mechanism, theology — each good at something, each with a blind corner.

You lead a cross-civilisation party along the old trade road, but play none of them. The truth is frozen before you set out; how much of it you can read depends on who in the party knows what — learn toxicology, and only then can you see through that resurrection. One departure to one close is a journey. The traveller you saved turns up again; the bridge you burned is still burned. What is left behind is the echo.