Tao woke one day to find that two years had passed. His beard had grown, his eyes had deepened, and in his hand was a golden scale he had never seen before. No one knows where he was during that gap.

It is believed he may have spent the time inside The Veil itself — the only Reader suspected of having physically entered the space between worlds. The scale operates on a principle Tao himself does not fully understand. Place a question on one side — not physically, but conceptually, by speaking it aloud while touching the left pan — and the tilt reveals the answer.

What sits on the other side is unknown even to Tao. He has tried placing objects, liquids, even written words on the right pan, but nothing affects its weight. Something already occupies that space, something with mass and presence that he cannot see or identify.

His readings carry an authority the other Readers cannot match, because his answers come from a mechanism beyond human design. He speaks slowly and deliberately, with the measured cadence of someone who has seen time move differently. In Korean philosophy, the principle of gyun-hyeong (균형, balance) — the harmony of opposing forces — defines his practice.

The Taoist principle of wu-wei echoes in his name.

Aged appearance — deep eyes, grown beard. The gap years may have been spent within The Veil. Those who knew him before say he returned quieter, slower, and somehow heavier — as if carrying weight that isn't visible.

The golden scale — place a question on one side, and the tilt reveals the answer. What sits on the other side is unknown even to Tao. His readings are deliberate and carry an almost oracular weight.

A golden scale of unknown origin — found in his hand upon waking. One side holds questions; the other side holds something Tao cannot see or identify. The scale is heavier than its size suggests, and it hums at a frequency just below hearing when the answer is particularly significant.