Near Mother Earth—a sprawl of docks, arcs, and lattice platforms settling into a final blueprint. It's trading rings grafted anonymous, then coded in never ending transactions. Sky-borne activities meet in its busy cul-de-sacs; black markets here are not merely criminal, they are experimental-where prototypes, fragments, and intel knowledge circulate before any world admits them. Selected Eiyás arbitrate flows, stabilize scaffolds, and keep the ledger of bargains no one else will write. Il's beauty is its incompletion: a hinge-realm whose profit is possibility, where every unfinished edge is an invitation to build, deal or acquire.