The room was shrouded in a cold mechanical glow, and an almost palpable chill settled over his body. He found himself standing before a massive contraption of cogs, wheels, and levers, each interlocking part buzzing with an odd, hypnotic rhythm.
In the surreal ambiance, he noticed a curious phenomenon—from the chaos of rotating gears, a beautiful and intricate pattern took form every few seconds before shrinking away only to reappear after an interval. It was a mesmerizing dance of order borne out of disorder.
As he watched, he could feel the rhythm of gears, the constant shift from chaos to order and back again. It was as if he was witnessing the very heartbeat of existence.
Then suddenly, a cog fell out of pace, bending unrecognizably as it broke off from the contraption. The pattern disappeared alongside it, and a voice emerged, "What is going on?"
The mechanical voice continued to speak, "How could this happen?"
"Ahhh! Why is he naked!?"
But then, suddenly, the whole contraption began falling apart. Cogs came loose and buried him alive as the world faded into nothingness.
"Can you hear me?"
"Don't move one inch, and tell me exactly what is going on."
Vern finally opened his eyes, and a dark brown floor filled his vision. His mind felt very clear, and things started coming back to him.
He was probably still in the library.
Wait. Wasn't that just now one of my explorations of the insight sphere? Which octant was it? Why did it end so abruptly? I need to write it down. I need to write it down!
He pushed himself up, but his head hit something cylindrical and cold, and a chill crept up his spine.
"I told you not to move! If you do, in the name of Ephram, I will really shoot!"
What the hell was this situation?
Vern let his body fall back down and tried to figure out his circumstances. Someone was threatening him at gunpoint. But wasn't this the voice of that contraption? Or was that just the voice of this lady bleeding into his dream?
Anyway, he had to de-escalate first. His heart hadn't even had the time to start beating regularly before it was pushed into a frenzy right after he woke up.
From her earlier words, it seemed like the lady herself didn't know what was happening and was as shocked as him.
The assurance that if things really got out of hand, he could always try something fancy with his observation allowed him to ignore his thumping heart and consider his responses.
"I understand, Miss. I will not move. Can you please stay your hand?" addressing any woman as being a young Miss would only do him a favor in this situation. She sounded young anyway.
"Tell me what is going on right this instant. Who are you?"
"Miss, I am as lost as you're. I am Vern Lockwood, a fundamentalist and member of the Coven of Truth. I recently came to Elmhurst for the annual conference at the symposium."
"Then why are you here? And why were you…uh—invisible?" she asked, her voice stumbling at the end.
Invisible, huh? It must be related to that ethereal form after enlightenment. But she can see me right now. Heck, I can see myself right now. He internally sighed in relief. He wasn't really looking forward to roaming around like a ghost anyway.
"Like I just told you, Miss, I am not a local. So I wanted to witness the majesty of the famous Eleonora's archive with my own eyes, but that was when chaos ensued, and I lost consciousness. I have no clue what happened after that."
Crack his cogs, but he wasn't going to babble all about his experiences to some random lady who was ready to punch a hole in his head. She had no reason to suspect his words anyway. Not when it was obvious she didn't know what she was talking about.
"You were here in the library when dusk fell?"
A puzzled look spread across his face as he replied, "Dusk? No. The phenomenon happened around late evening. As far as I remember, the clocktower had just chimed nine times."
"Uhh—I mean. When people disappeared."
People disappeared? I guess that's how it would have looked like to everyone after the clock was turned back. But is she saying people outside the library disappeared as well? But then, how did she survive? What was the criteria?
"Yes, I was here when that happened, but like I said, I wasn't conscious for very long. So, I don't know what happened to me or anyone else. However, please pardon me for asking, but why did you connect that event to dusk fall?"
"That…that was because Madam Helena referred to the event as Duskfall."
She actually answered that? It might not have to get ugly. She seems reasonable.
"Madam Helena?"
"Helena Von Arden—the head of Von Industries and Arden noble family."
"Ohh, her?" how was any of this related to that unimaginably rich monopolist? A few years ago, she had bought more than three institutes of fundamentalists in a single day, restricting access to all their findings.
"Anyway, don't try to change the topic," she asserted, pressing down the barrel harder on his head. "You won't fool me. I know you are some kind of observer. You must be. There is no way you can turn invisible like that as some ordinary fundamentalist. Tell me exactly what happened here."
Vern's mind reeled in shock at her words. Why does she know about observation? Is she an observer herself?
But she doesn't sound confident in her words. Did observation become common knowledge in one night?
Fuck! Who said it's only been one night? How long has it been? If some random person knows about observation, then months could've passed, and he wouldn't know better.
But if she knows so much, I can't let this situation go on.
His element of surprise wouldn't be worth a cog if he didn't do something about it right away. I need to take control. I can always answer her questions once I have the gun.
So he imagined the balance of the most useful concept he had figured out as of yet. Gravity
Before his vision could fully take the expected shades, he envisioned the hand of the woman that must be right above him to be connected with a dark thread that stuck to the floor. This would jerk her hand with such force that she won't be able to react, and in this brief moment of confusion, Vern would get up and snatch the gun.
So he overlaid the vision onto reality—
"Argh!!!"
He felt like his innards were being pulled down, and his body felt heavy. Immeasurably heavy. His vision distorted, and the world curled and bent. Then what seemed like a cold hand reached inside his skull, whispering, "Vorptex slythium noll grinxel prathon zelth"
Another voice joined in, quietly murmuring, "Lethrosh zyvren opthaleon qyrth ubroxis drath"
They wormed their way in his mind, their whispering static threatening to drown out his sense of self. More and more voices chimed in, whispering their sweet promises in his mind, growing prominent by the second.
"Ephrodis vrang oplinthian molux strintholum tervex"
"Quinzorflar plorvix ulmexthar spheridox zythralan"
"Azulianthra triloxthor zephyrianth malanthro"
"Loximorphis xyrinthar galaxtris phantosynx"
They sheared his thoughts the moment they formed, tearing them into tiny notions that quickly scattered into ether. But even in this turbid collage of senses, the whispers conveyed one idea.
To see everything as everything.
Vern clutched at his head and writhed around. He was losing it. There were no two-ways about it. He was losing it.
.
.
.
But on further thought, it wasn't worth defying.
This was his calling. His duty—to become part of something higher than himself. And why shouldn't he heed these calls? It was knowledge. Something he yearned for day and night. He can't deny that—not in his right mind.
So he followed the lead and let the whispers guide him, "Frothnix velk orblinthus zarth yxilothran phex"
The fog squirmed, and the shadows lengthened. The ground seemed to breathe, and a metallic taste filled his mouth.
Whispers said first was the existence, second was the creation, next came the preservation, fourth was—
SNAP!
A shudder went through him, and everything ceased. It was as if a thread of knowledge, taut with immeasurable tension, was snapped in half as the whispers abruptly died off—turning into a noisy buzz. Then, in his distorted senses appeared two inverted triangles in every form—as sounds, as shapes, as feelings, as things he couldn't even put a name on.
The symbol suddenly shone, buzzed, cried, and a wave of searing hot razed his conscious, all stray thoughts evaporating in its wake like shadows under Bluelight—and he jolted awake.
Haaaah.
Like a drowning man that just reached the surface, he gasped for air, flailing his hands. His heart which had almost stopped began to beat again, and warmth spread in his body.
He didn't know how much time had passed before his thoughts churned and ideas began forming in his mind. Library took shape, and his sight cleared up.
A graceful lady, dressed in all blacks, was sitting on her knees to his side as he lay there, unnerved. Her ungloved hand rested on his forehead as raven locks fell to either side of her rosy face. Eyebrows drawn together and lips pressed into a thin line, her abyss-like eyes gazed at him with intense focus.
However, before he knew it, the warmth abruptly disappeared from his forehead as she said in a fluster, "I was just checking your temperature. You were as cold as a block of ice. Are you okay?"
Still feeling hazy, he shook his head and managed to utter, "Please give me a few minutes."
A lot had just happened. He had failed his observation miserably and almost…lost himself? But what was that? What were those sounds? What was that pull? Those thoughts? It was indisputable that he would have lost himself if not for that burden of Cryptic Constructor.
It hasn't even been a minute since I woke up, and I have already triggered the trap that Hensen set for me. But he was thankful. If not for that symbol, it wouldn't have been pretty. It was better to be alive than feel ecstatic about those self-destructive notions as he slowly lost himself to the whispers.
There was a lot to be unpacked here, but he needed time. Too many things were happening, and he needed a blasted notepad to jot it down.
However, one thing he didn't need any notepad to remember was to not fuck around with Observation. Not until he understood more about it. He would bet all his coven badges that this lady in front of him knew more about observation than himself.
Yes, he had used it without any restraints last he remembered, but something had changed. And it was such a radical change that it almost got him killed for who knows what.
It looked like his previous assumption of there being some cost to the process of Observation was right. Still, it wasn't as straightforward as he imagined it to be.
The lady rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small water canteen. Opening the lid, she extended it towards Vern.
Using both his hands, he somehow succeeded in bringing the canteen to his mouth and drank it all.
That was rude of him. Really rude of him, given how he wanted to snatch her gun and threaten her not long ago.
He closed his eyes and organized his thoughts before speaking, "Thank you, Miss. I apologize for my earlier actions."
A puzzled look appeared on her face before it quickly turned into one of realization, "I knew it. I see what all those warnings were about. You really are an observer. You were thrashing around because you tried to observe something you don't comprehend, right?"
Something I don't comprehend? That was peculiar.
However, her expressions were like readings on a pressure gauge, shifting radically every second. This time it turned into one of indignance.
"You were going to use that vision on me?" she took out a gun-like contraption from a holster on her thighs and aimed it right at him.
Vern shook his head, "I can only beg your pardon. Please consider my situation. I lost consciousness during that mess, and the second I woke up, someone had their gun cocked and aimed at my head. How am I supposed to react to all this?"
But after saying that, a cheeky grin appeared on his face, and he pressed his head against the chamber of the gun, "However, I doubt you can actually do something to me with this."
Her dynamic expression, which was just starting to soften down, turned grave in an instant, "You really have gone mad. I should've ended you when you were wriggling like the vermin you are. It's really my fault for hoping you fundamentalists might actually be humans. You think I can't shoot?"
"One more word, and I will not hesitate to pull the trigger."
Vern pulled his hands back and chuckled, "I jest. I jest. I say that because you haven't ignited the vapor chamber of this gun of yours. It won't shoot anything even if you pulled the trigger."
He might not have seen this exact prototype, but he very well knew how they worked—and how they didn't.
She looked at him skeptically with a tinge of hesitation before she used her other hand to support the dud firearm and stabilized herself. "Sorry, but some naked barbarian can't tell me what I can and can't do."
The room was shrouded in a cold mechanical glow, and an almost palpable chill settled over his body. He found himself standing before a massive contraption of cogs, wheels, and levers, each interlocking part buzzing with an odd, hypnotic rhythm.
In the surreal ambiance, he noticed a curious phenomenon—from the chaos of rotating gears, a beautiful and intricate pattern took form every few seconds before shrinking away only to reappear after an interval. It was a mesmerizing dance of order borne out of disorder.
As he watched, he could feel the rhythm of gears, the constant shift from chaos to order and back again. It was as if he was witnessing the very heartbeat of existence.
Then suddenly, a cog fell out of pace, bending unrecognizably as it broke off from the contraption. The pattern disappeared alongside it, and a voice emerged, "What is going on?"
The mechanical voice continued to speak, "How could this happen?"
"Ahhh! Why is he naked!?"
But then, suddenly, the whole contraption began falling apart. Cogs came loose and buried him alive as the world faded into nothingness.
"Can you hear me?"
"Don't move one inch, and tell me exactly what is going on."
Vern finally opened his eyes, and a dark brown floor filled his vision. His mind felt very clear, and things started coming back to him.
He was probably still in the library.
Wait. Wasn't that just now one of my explorations of the insight sphere? Which octant was it? Why did it end so abruptly? I need to write it down. I need to write it down!
He pushed himself up, but his head hit something cylindrical and cold, and a chill crept up his spine.
"I told you not to move! If you do, in the name of Ephram, I will really shoot!"
What the hell was this situation?
Vern let his body fall back down and tried to figure out his circumstances. Someone was threatening him at gunpoint. But wasn't this the voice of that contraption? Or was that just the voice of this lady bleeding into his dream?
Anyway, he had to de-escalate first. His heart hadn't even had the time to start beating regularly before it was pushed into a frenzy right after he woke up.
From her earlier words, it seemed like the lady herself didn't know what was happening and was as shocked as him.
The assurance that if things really got out of hand, he could always try something fancy with his observation allowed him to ignore his thumping heart and consider his responses.
"I understand, Miss. I will not move. Can you please stay your hand?" addressing any woman as being a young Miss would only do him a favor in this situation. She sounded young anyway.
"Tell me what is going on right this instant. Who are you?"
"Miss, I am as lost as you're. I am Vern Lockwood, a fundamentalist and member of the Coven of Truth. I recently came to Elmhurst for the annual conference at the symposium."
"Then why are you here? And why were you…uh—invisible?" she asked, her voice stumbling at the end.
Invisible, huh? It must be related to that ethereal form after enlightenment. But she can see me right now. Heck, I can see myself right now. He internally sighed in relief. He wasn't really looking forward to roaming around like a ghost anyway.
"Like I just told you, Miss, I am not a local. So I wanted to witness the majesty of the famous Eleonora's archive with my own eyes, but that was when chaos ensued, and I lost consciousness. I have no clue what happened after that."
Crack his cogs, but he wasn't going to babble all about his experiences to some random lady who was ready to punch a hole in his head. She had no reason to suspect his words anyway. Not when it was obvious she didn't know what she was talking about.
"You were here in the library when dusk fell?"
A puzzled look spread across his face as he replied, "Dusk? No. The phenomenon happened around late evening. As far as I remember, the clocktower had just chimed nine times."
"Uhh—I mean. When people disappeared."
People disappeared? I guess that's how it would have looked like to everyone after the clock was turned back. But is she saying people outside the library disappeared as well? But then, how did she survive? What was the criteria?
"Yes, I was here when that happened, but like I said, I wasn't conscious for very long. So, I don't know what happened to me or anyone else. However, please pardon me for asking, but why did you connect that event to dusk fall?"
"That…that was because Madam Helena referred to the event as Duskfall."
She actually answered that? It might not have to get ugly. She seems reasonable.
"Madam Helena?"
"Helena Von Arden—the head of Von Industries and Arden noble family."
"Ohh, her?" how was any of this related to that unimaginably rich monopolist? A few years ago, she had bought more than three institutes of fundamentalists in a single day, restricting access to all their findings.
"Anyway, don't try to change the topic," she asserted, pressing down the barrel harder on his head. "You won't fool me. I know you are some kind of observer. You must be. There is no way you can turn invisible like that as some ordinary fundamentalist. Tell me exactly what happened here."
Vern's mind reeled in shock at her words. Why does she know about observation? Is she an observer herself?
But she doesn't sound confident in her words. Did observation become common knowledge in one night?
Fuck! Who said it's only been one night? How long has it been? If some random person knows about observation, then months could've passed, and he wouldn't know better.
But if she knows so much, I can't let this situation go on.
His element of surprise wouldn't be worth a cog if he didn't do something about it right away. I need to take control. I can always answer her questions once I have the gun.
So he imagined the balance of the most useful concept he had figured out as of yet. Gravity
Before his vision could fully take the expected shades, he envisioned the hand of the woman that must be right above him to be connected with a dark thread that stuck to the floor. This would jerk her hand with such force that she won't be able to react, and in this brief moment of confusion, Vern would get up and snatch the gun.
So he overlaid the vision onto reality—
"Argh!!!"
He felt like his innards were being pulled down, and his body felt heavy. Immeasurably heavy. His vision distorted, and the world curled and bent. Then what seemed like a cold hand reached inside his skull, whispering, "Vorptex slythium noll grinxel prathon zelth"
Another voice joined in, quietly murmuring, "Lethrosh zyvren opthaleon qyrth ubroxis drath"
They wormed their way in his mind, their whispering static threatening to drown out his sense of self. More and more voices chimed in, whispering their sweet promises in his mind, growing prominent by the second.
"Ephrodis vrang oplinthian molux strintholum tervex"
"Quinzorflar plorvix ulmexthar spheridox zythralan"
"Azulianthra triloxthor zephyrianth malanthro"
"Loximorphis xyrinthar galaxtris phantosynx"
They sheared his thoughts the moment they formed, tearing them into tiny notions that quickly scattered into ether. But even in this turbid collage of senses, the whispers conveyed one idea.
To see everything as everything.
Vern clutched at his head and writhed around. He was losing it. There were no two-ways about it. He was losing it.
.
.
.
But on further thought, it wasn't worth defying.
This was his calling. His duty—to become part of something higher than himself. And why shouldn't he heed these calls? It was knowledge. Something he yearned for day and night. He can't deny that—not in his right mind.
So he followed the lead and let the whispers guide him, "Frothnix velk orblinthus zarth yxilothran phex"
The fog squirmed, and the shadows lengthened. The ground seemed to breathe, and a metallic taste filled his mouth.
Whispers said first was the existence, second was the creation, next came the preservation, fourth was—
SNAP!
A shudder went through him, and everything ceased. It was as if a thread of knowledge, taut with immeasurable tension, was snapped in half as the whispers abruptly died off—turning into a noisy buzz. Then, in his distorted senses appeared two inverted triangles in every form—as sounds, as shapes, as feelings, as things he couldn't even put a name on.
The symbol suddenly shone, buzzed, cried, and a wave of searing hot razed his conscious, all stray thoughts evaporating in its wake like shadows under Bluelight—and he jolted awake.
Haaaah.
Like a drowning man that just reached the surface, he gasped for air, flailing his hands. His heart which had almost stopped began to beat again, and warmth spread in his body.
He didn't know how much time had passed before his thoughts churned and ideas began forming in his mind. Library took shape, and his sight cleared up.
A graceful lady, dressed in all blacks, was sitting on her knees to his side as he lay there, unnerved. Her ungloved hand rested on his forehead as raven locks fell to either side of her rosy face. Eyebrows drawn together and lips pressed into a thin line, her abyss-like eyes gazed at him with intense focus.
However, before he knew it, the warmth abruptly disappeared from his forehead as she said in a fluster, "I was just checking your temperature. You were as cold as a block of ice. Are you okay?"
Still feeling hazy, he shook his head and managed to utter, "Please give me a few minutes."
A lot had just happened. He had failed his observation miserably and almost…lost himself? But what was that? What were those sounds? What was that pull? Those thoughts? It was indisputable that he would have lost himself if not for that burden of Cryptic Constructor.
It hasn't even been a minute since I woke up, and I have already triggered the trap that Hensen set for me. But he was thankful. If not for that symbol, it wouldn't have been pretty. It was better to be alive than feel ecstatic about those self-destructive notions as he slowly lost himself to the whispers.
There was a lot to be unpacked here, but he needed time. Too many things were happening, and he needed a blasted notepad to jot it down.
However, one thing he didn't need any notepad to remember was to not fuck around with Observation. Not until he understood more about it. He would bet all his coven badges that this lady in front of him knew more about observation than himself.
Yes, he had used it without any restraints last he remembered, but something had changed. And it was such a radical change that it almost got him killed for who knows what.
It looked like his previous assumption of there being some cost to the process of Observation was right. Still, it wasn't as straightforward as he imagined it to be.
The lady rummaged through her bag and pulled out a small water canteen. Opening the lid, she extended it towards Vern.
Using both his hands, he somehow succeeded in bringing the canteen to his mouth and drank it all.
That was rude of him. Really rude of him, given how he wanted to snatch her gun and threaten her not long ago.
He closed his eyes and organized his thoughts before speaking, "Thank you, Miss. I apologize for my earlier actions."
A puzzled look appeared on her face before it quickly turned into one of realization, "I knew it. I see what all those warnings were about. You really are an observer. You were thrashing around because you tried to observe something you don't comprehend, right?"
Something I don't comprehend? That was peculiar.
However, her expressions were like readings on a pressure gauge, shifting radically every second. This time it turned into one of indignance.
"You were going to use that vision on me?" she took out a gun-like contraption from a holster on her thighs and aimed it right at him.
Vern shook his head, "I can only beg your pardon. Please consider my situation. I lost consciousness during that mess, and the second I woke up, someone had their gun cocked and aimed at my head. How am I supposed to react to all this?"
But after saying that, a cheeky grin appeared on his face, and he pressed his head against the chamber of the gun, "However, I doubt you can actually do something to me with this."
Her dynamic expression, which was just starting to soften down, turned grave in an instant, "You really have gone mad. I should've ended you when you were wriggling like the vermin you are. It's really my fault for hoping you fundamentalists might actually be humans. You think I can't shoot?"
"One more word, and I will not hesitate to pull the trigger."
Vern pulled his hands back and chuckled, "I jest. I jest. I say that because you haven't ignited the vapor chamber of this gun of yours. It won't shoot anything even if you pulled the trigger."
He might not have seen this exact prototype, but he very well knew how they worked—and how they didn't.
She looked at him skeptically with a tinge of hesitation before she used her other hand to support the dud firearm and stabilized herself. "Sorry, but some naked barbarian can't tell me what I can and can't do."
