Three hundred and three.

None of them felt like much when they landed. Another jack-in, another faint glow, another small rare thing dropped into the pile like it was nothing.

It's only when I stop and count that it hits me. A hundred and forty-four decks. A hundred and fifty-nine relics. Three hundred things that exist, in this number, nowhere but in my pockets.

I built a hoard without once feeling like I was building anything.

The Vitrine's going to be crowded. I jack back in.