An ingenium eye that once belonged to someone. After being expelled from its owner's body, it is now completely useless.

In the dim, chaotic dreamscape, she always dreamed of the brightness she had seen in those few days. Thousands of acres of eucalyptus trees swayed gently, and petals fluttered in the breeze. The indigo waves beat against the rocks and turned into scattering white jade. Flying birds spread their silver wings and disappeared into the green bamboo forest.

She was always searching for someone else in her dreams, the one who should have enjoyed the scenery with her.

But all she could see was a blurry figure. She remembered clearly the short, silky hair and the eyes like black jade stones, but her memories were faded into a maze constructed by her nervous system, and she always woke up with a start just before seeing the face clearly. In a daze, she touched her prosthetic eye that had caused her so much pain. With the help of the false eye, she no longer needed to piece together a blurry figure by sound, smell, and touch.

“It's no longer of use,” said the Emanator of the Ruin Author. She heard the sound of the swaying hand fan and the flitting laughter of the Emanator. “Soon, you'll be able to see everything you want to see — with your own eyes.”

“This is my own eye,” she chuckled. “Besides, never will I have the chance to see the scenery it once witnessed again.”

An ingenium prosthetic limb made specifically for long-life species. Requires no invasive procedure to use.

Applying protective gel to her underdeveloped arm stump, attaching the neural signal receivers tightly to her skin, and adjusting the tightness to firmly fix the ingenium wooden hand to her body — this has been her morning ablutions every morning for hundreds of years.

The wooden hand has brought her unwanted attention, but she neither wanted to invite trouble nor seek sympathy.

Despite possessing unrivaled talents and holding the reins of an entire Commission in her hands, the alienating attitude others showed towards her as a broken person never changed. Cowardly bullies eventually scattered to the winds, only to be replaced by flattering hypocrites with pretended pity who gathered like flies around her and gave fake praises to “the amazing blind and one-armed Incomplete One.”

She heard variations of this sentence thousands upon thousands of times in the past, and each time it made her want to puke. Now, as she faces these fawning faces begging for her mercy, she only feels disgust.

She unconsciously places her left hand onto the boiling cauldron. A sharp pain instantly shoots through her body. She quickly withdraws her hand, and sees the blister in her palm healing rapidly.

“Sometimes, I feel the old wooden hand is more useful.”

A feather garb made according to old scrolls. Its owner was either a demon reviled in the pages of history or a savior of humanity.

A pair of silk boots with soles as thin as cicada's wings. Its owner must not have walked on their feet for a long time.