His idea was to view composition as a balance of complexity instead.
Composition was a more abstract concept that couldn't have two well-defined ends to strike a balance between. But complexity, on the other hand, was something that could be balanced while also incorporating the notions of the composition of an object.
So anything that was complex, he would set it to be dark, while everything that was relatively simpler would be assigned brighter shades. This way, he was still Observing the composition of an object in a sense, but now, it could be balanced.
That was a hard one. Can Observers that aren't fundamentalist or researchers of some kind really solve problems like this?
Shaking his head, he focused again. He had only figured out the theory. Now was the time to put it in practice.
Complexity
For starters, he assigned the mirror assembly on the left to be a bright white in his empty perception. After all, it was a very simple setup—they were just a few mirrors rotated in pre-defined angles.
Next, he looked at the middle compartment that housed both the gemstones that provided the light for projection. This had a few spokes and gears that rotated the mini-enclosure, which held the said gems—so he allocated a slate gray to the compartment as a whole, but he wasn't too sure about the gems.
In the sense of 'artificial' complexity, the only refinement done to them was grinding them to fit the shape of the compartments, so maybe a silver white would do it justice?
But he didn't go into too much detail after this, or he would have to assign a different shade to each and every little component in the whole contraption. He remembered from his experiments back in the library that being too precise while Observing wasn't really the best idea, nor was it great to leave things too vague. Strike a balance. Like usual.
It delighted him every time he identified the concept of balance in random things.
Nevertheless, he moved onto the rightmost compartment and assigned it a heavy dark. Relative to the whole device, this had to be the most sophisticated aspect of it. Hundreds of different gears of various sizes came together in a plexus of force distribution network that effectively wound the three springs—made of the ever-twisting alloy literally named Cranksteel.
But this threw him for a loop.
Wasn't everything black when he started as well? That was to say, the whole room was also black in his perception, but did that really mean that they were as complex as that winding mechanism? No way.
That would make this whole methodology a bust. So he tried to focus just on the Lumenscope, hoping to ignore the rest of the room.
And the ambient and ever-present black was gone like it never existed.
Perfect. It seems like it's more of a representation of nothingness than being really 'black.' That worked out flawlessly for him. A welcome change amidst his ever-present setbacks as an Observer.
On the note of successes, another factor of Observation that was panning out better than he had expected was the assignment of grays themselves. Just a few hours ago—when he was trying to assign grays to represent the 'Light' in his room, every gradation that he designated was a monumental task in and of itself. This time, however, it was as easy as a walk in the park.
Hmm, there could be two reasons behind this ease. One could be that I have a better understanding of the concept of 'complexity' than 'light,' while the other possibility is that it has something to do with the thoughts that filled my mind after reading that first Vision on the parchment.
Or it could be both. Who knew?
But this is good. Now the real question is, how do I manipulate this and make it worth all the effort?
Cryptic Constructor's Vision was called 'Instability Inducement,' and it also mentioned that one had to find the flaws in the composition and then expand them.
What was the flaw in this Lumenscope? There were many.
Yes, the springs used were called ever-winding, but if they were displaced from their enclosure even a little bit— with all that force, they would launch the whole gearbox out of the contraption at a breakneck pace, shattering more than a few vital components and collapsing the whole device internally.
CrankSteel was a great alloy, but it was just as deadly. A small over-coiled Cranksteel, if used without its safety measures, could throw a four-people carriage around like a rock.
Another flaw in Lumenscope was the fact that the contact edges between gears and cogs were prone to wear and tear. If something went wrong with them, it would stop the whole mechanism from functioning, and one wouldn't even know what went wrong unless they dismantled it.
But as he thought about all these flaws, an inkling appeared in his mind. A notion. Focusing on where the spring would be located inside that glassy contraption made the notion even more significant.
A notion with which, if he engaged, would lead to something…something greater.
And he wanted to know.
So he guided his thoughts to perceive that notion.
His mind flitted through a series of ideas, and a gap appeared around the back end of that shaded Lumenscope.
CRACK
"NOOO!"
He was jolted out of his reverie as he lost all focus, and he cried out—albeit a little too late.
A dozen broken gears and cogs launched out of the top of the winding chamber of the Lumenscope, blasting a hole open in the device. A crack ran down the circumference of the contraption around the housing of the Cranksteel.
More gears, bearings, and tiny flywheels spilled out of the cylinder as Vern looked on in horror.
"Crack my fucking cogs! That was more than a hundred Regalia!" he yelled, slamming his fist on the desk, which sent more sprockets and springs from within the shell tumbling down the floor.
Vern took a deep breath and stood there for more than a minute, his eyes closed.
How the hell was he going to peer into fundamentals without a Lumenscope? Who the hell would be selling one in this situation? Even if someone was, he wouldn't have the Regalias to pay them. That thing cost him half a fortune when he bought it.
Taking deep breaths, he walked to the dining table and poured himself some water from the jug. Chugging two glasses one after another, he finally heaved a long sigh.
Time to look at the bright side, I guess.
He had just used a Vision! And he didn't trigger any horrifying voices which would have forcefully activated the burden! On top of all that, it wasn't even a simple Vision. It needed a lot of sophisticated thinking and deep knowledge. Nothing like the free lunch he had eaten back at the library.
This was supernatural! No human could do that with just his thoughts. Yes, fundamentals enabled men to do feats that were deemed impossible just a few decades ago. But their results were external and didn't belong to the user. The wonders borne from Fundamentals made use of what already existed in reality, nudging it to do their bidding.
But this was changing the fundamentals themselves!
Vern looked around the room and thought to repeat his success. But this time, he wouldn't dare Observe something so expensive. He didn't know that perceiving that notion would trigger and destabilize the flaws instantly.
I should have predicted it! I was observing the Lumenscope, after all.
After a short while, his breathing calmed down and he reconsidered the situation.
He wasn't a control freak, and beating himself over something that was unintentional would be pushing it too hard, especially when it was just a contraption, not something irreplacable.
Or unfixable.
He probably didn't have the exact components that broke off or were chipped away, but he could always try some spares and modify the whole design a little. This was a few years old model, so there were more than a few blueprints of it floating around among Fundamentalists which he could use for reference. But that was for when he got in touch with the coven.
It was just like his master said, 'A balanced mind is the key to stable progression.' He might not be able to anticipate everything that would go wrong, but as long as he learned from it and did his best not to muck it up, he should be fine.
So yeah. Never try new Visions on Personal equipment.
Finally, at a little peace with himself, he surveyed the room for things to induce instability into. He first discarded observing the gun or the Insight sphere. He had enough losses for the day. He didn't want to mess with chairs or books because he had no clue what their 'faults' were in terms of complexity.
He could maybe half-ass something, but it might take him another hour or so to ponder. Except, he was getting sleepy, and there was a lot to do tomorrow. Like, find some way to get into inner districts and surprise Ari.
A mischievous smile played on his face as he turned to the quiet ticking coming from the other side of the room. Hmm, that wall clock looks quite complex.
Nodding, he gave its flaws a quick thought. The clock had a common flaw with the Lumenscope. If even one of the cogs or gear was abrased, the whole thing would stop working.
Complexity.
He couldn't see through the face of the clock to peer into the mechanism behind it, but he had fixed more than his fair share of clocks in the name of training. So even if he didn't have the exact image in his mind for this specific variant, he could hazard a few guesses on the complexity of it.
Also, being too exact would only make it impossible for him to find flaws in the whole structure.
So he shaded the dials and the face of the clock a bright white due to their simplicity—but then he paused. The mechanism is physically behind the face. I can't exactly 'see' it.
But after a short bout of contemplation, he realized it was another one of those thought-provoking questions that were better solved with simplistic logic and vague reasoning.
He was shading his 'perception,' not 'sight.' So he just perceived the complex mechanism to be beyond the face of the clock.
And as expected, he could 'feel' every change he made to his perception, not just with his eyes but through his thoughts.
So he rapidly assigned a dark cloudy gray to all the gears he assumed, alongside a pitch-black to the small winding mechanism that used a simpler spring than Cranksteel.
This time, however, he didn't want to break the clock or have its gears boring a hole within the wall. So when that guiding notion appeared in his mind once again, he focused on the flaw that the gears created in that complex mechanism, and not at the springs.
Then like a compass, it steered his thoughts through the sophisticated composition of the clock. A gap opened up in his perception, and like a tram, it pulled his thoughts on its track.
Then the gap became a proverbial fissure—and the second hand of the clock stopped its relentless march. However, the clock was still ticking since the sound came from the wheel train, not the hand. That was to say, some gear between the wheel train and the 'second hand' was slipping, preventing the gears from turning.
"Yes!" he shot his fist in the air and cheered himself on.
This was finally going somewhere. He could only praise his forgotten self for grabbing that parchment before anyone noticed. This could be a life-saving trick up his sleeve that would help him in navigating this new treacherous reality that seemed to be the new trend.
He settled down and sat on the chair.
.
.
.
This was the most relaxed he'd felt ever since he first arrived in Elmhurst. Every moment he'd spent in the city had been filled with some kind of trouble or anxiety. Anxieties that he was good at managing. But they still occupied his thoughts and made him paranoid. This, however, gave him some confidence.
Observation was indeed something he could personally harness and not some abstract concept that could only be dreamt of. There were still many things that weighed on his mind, but it was good to have the balance of his life shifted back towards control—even if just a little.
Looking at the clock that had stopped, he noticed it was past three already. I really should call it a day…or night.
In a jovial mood, he cleaned up the mess made by his Lumenscope. Piling all the little components in one drawer, he freshened up and turned off the lamps.
Once done, he walked towards the window and looked up at the eerily beautiful sky. The bright moon and the gaping rift hung high, complementing each other's radiance.
Taking in the sight once more, he softly closed the curtains and retired to his bed.
One day. One day, he would uncover it all.
His idea was to view composition as a balance of complexity instead.
Composition was a more abstract concept that couldn't have two well-defined ends to strike a balance between. But complexity, on the other hand, was something that could be balanced while also incorporating the notions of the composition of an object.
So anything that was complex, he would set it to be dark, while everything that was relatively simpler would be assigned brighter shades. This way, he was still Observing the composition of an object in a sense, but now, it could be balanced.
That was a hard one. Can Observers that aren't fundamentalist or researchers of some kind really solve problems like this?
Shaking his head, he focused again. He had only figured out the theory. Now was the time to put it in practice.
Complexity
For starters, he assigned the mirror assembly on the left to be a bright white in his empty perception. After all, it was a very simple setup—they were just a few mirrors rotated in pre-defined angles.
Next, he looked at the middle compartment that housed both the gemstones that provided the light for projection. This had a few spokes and gears that rotated the mini-enclosure, which held the said gems—so he allocated a slate gray to the compartment as a whole, but he wasn't too sure about the gems.
In the sense of 'artificial' complexity, the only refinement done to them was grinding them to fit the shape of the compartments, so maybe a silver white would do it justice?
But he didn't go into too much detail after this, or he would have to assign a different shade to each and every little component in the whole contraption. He remembered from his experiments back in the library that being too precise while Observing wasn't really the best idea, nor was it great to leave things too vague. Strike a balance. Like usual.
It delighted him every time he identified the concept of balance in random things.
Nevertheless, he moved onto the rightmost compartment and assigned it a heavy dark. Relative to the whole device, this had to be the most sophisticated aspect of it. Hundreds of different gears of various sizes came together in a plexus of force distribution network that effectively wound the three springs—made of the ever-twisting alloy literally named Cranksteel.
But this threw him for a loop.
Wasn't everything black when he started as well? That was to say, the whole room was also black in his perception, but did that really mean that they were as complex as that winding mechanism? No way.
That would make this whole methodology a bust. So he tried to focus just on the Lumenscope, hoping to ignore the rest of the room.
And the ambient and ever-present black was gone like it never existed.
Perfect. It seems like it's more of a representation of nothingness than being really 'black.' That worked out flawlessly for him. A welcome change amidst his ever-present setbacks as an Observer.
On the note of successes, another factor of Observation that was panning out better than he had expected was the assignment of grays themselves. Just a few hours ago—when he was trying to assign grays to represent the 'Light' in his room, every gradation that he designated was a monumental task in and of itself. This time, however, it was as easy as a walk in the park.
Hmm, there could be two reasons behind this ease. One could be that I have a better understanding of the concept of 'complexity' than 'light,' while the other possibility is that it has something to do with the thoughts that filled my mind after reading that first Vision on the parchment.
Or it could be both. Who knew?
But this is good. Now the real question is, how do I manipulate this and make it worth all the effort?
Cryptic Constructor's Vision was called 'Instability Inducement,' and it also mentioned that one had to find the flaws in the composition and then expand them.
What was the flaw in this Lumenscope? There were many.
Yes, the springs used were called ever-winding, but if they were displaced from their enclosure even a little bit— with all that force, they would launch the whole gearbox out of the contraption at a breakneck pace, shattering more than a few vital components and collapsing the whole device internally.
CrankSteel was a great alloy, but it was just as deadly. A small over-coiled Cranksteel, if used without its safety measures, could throw a four-people carriage around like a rock.
Another flaw in Lumenscope was the fact that the contact edges between gears and cogs were prone to wear and tear. If something went wrong with them, it would stop the whole mechanism from functioning, and one wouldn't even know what went wrong unless they dismantled it.
But as he thought about all these flaws, an inkling appeared in his mind. A notion. Focusing on where the spring would be located inside that glassy contraption made the notion even more significant.
A notion with which, if he engaged, would lead to something…something greater.
And he wanted to know.
So he guided his thoughts to perceive that notion.
His mind flitted through a series of ideas, and a gap appeared around the back end of that shaded Lumenscope.
CRACK
"NOOO!"
He was jolted out of his reverie as he lost all focus, and he cried out—albeit a little too late.
A dozen broken gears and cogs launched out of the top of the winding chamber of the Lumenscope, blasting a hole open in the device. A crack ran down the circumference of the contraption around the housing of the Cranksteel.
More gears, bearings, and tiny flywheels spilled out of the cylinder as Vern looked on in horror.
"Crack my fucking cogs! That was more than a hundred Regalia!" he yelled, slamming his fist on the desk, which sent more sprockets and springs from within the shell tumbling down the floor.
Vern took a deep breath and stood there for more than a minute, his eyes closed.
How the hell was he going to peer into fundamentals without a Lumenscope? Who the hell would be selling one in this situation? Even if someone was, he wouldn't have the Regalias to pay them. That thing cost him half a fortune when he bought it.
Taking deep breaths, he walked to the dining table and poured himself some water from the jug. Chugging two glasses one after another, he finally heaved a long sigh.
Time to look at the bright side, I guess.
He had just used a Vision! And he didn't trigger any horrifying voices which would have forcefully activated the burden! On top of all that, it wasn't even a simple Vision. It needed a lot of sophisticated thinking and deep knowledge. Nothing like the free lunch he had eaten back at the library.
This was supernatural! No human could do that with just his thoughts. Yes, fundamentals enabled men to do feats that were deemed impossible just a few decades ago. But their results were external and didn't belong to the user. The wonders borne from Fundamentals made use of what already existed in reality, nudging it to do their bidding.
But this was changing the fundamentals themselves!
Vern looked around the room and thought to repeat his success. But this time, he wouldn't dare Observe something so expensive. He didn't know that perceiving that notion would trigger and destabilize the flaws instantly.
I should have predicted it! I was observing the Lumenscope, after all.
After a short while, his breathing calmed down and he reconsidered the situation.
He wasn't a control freak, and beating himself over something that was unintentional would be pushing it too hard, especially when it was just a contraption, not something irreplacable.
Or unfixable.
He probably didn't have the exact components that broke off or were chipped away, but he could always try some spares and modify the whole design a little. This was a few years old model, so there were more than a few blueprints of it floating around among Fundamentalists which he could use for reference. But that was for when he got in touch with the coven.
It was just like his master said, 'A balanced mind is the key to stable progression.' He might not be able to anticipate everything that would go wrong, but as long as he learned from it and did his best not to muck it up, he should be fine.
So yeah. Never try new Visions on Personal equipment.
Finally, at a little peace with himself, he surveyed the room for things to induce instability into. He first discarded observing the gun or the Insight sphere. He had enough losses for the day. He didn't want to mess with chairs or books because he had no clue what their 'faults' were in terms of complexity.
He could maybe half-ass something, but it might take him another hour or so to ponder. Except, he was getting sleepy, and there was a lot to do tomorrow. Like, find some way to get into inner districts and surprise Ari.
A mischievous smile played on his face as he turned to the quiet ticking coming from the other side of the room. Hmm, that wall clock looks quite complex.
Nodding, he gave its flaws a quick thought. The clock had a common flaw with the Lumenscope. If even one of the cogs or gear was abrased, the whole thing would stop working.
Complexity.
He couldn't see through the face of the clock to peer into the mechanism behind it, but he had fixed more than his fair share of clocks in the name of training. So even if he didn't have the exact image in his mind for this specific variant, he could hazard a few guesses on the complexity of it.
Also, being too exact would only make it impossible for him to find flaws in the whole structure.
So he shaded the dials and the face of the clock a bright white due to their simplicity—but then he paused. The mechanism is physically behind the face. I can't exactly 'see' it.
But after a short bout of contemplation, he realized it was another one of those thought-provoking questions that were better solved with simplistic logic and vague reasoning.
He was shading his 'perception,' not 'sight.' So he just perceived the complex mechanism to be beyond the face of the clock.
And as expected, he could 'feel' every change he made to his perception, not just with his eyes but through his thoughts.
So he rapidly assigned a dark cloudy gray to all the gears he assumed, alongside a pitch-black to the small winding mechanism that used a simpler spring than Cranksteel.
This time, however, he didn't want to break the clock or have its gears boring a hole within the wall. So when that guiding notion appeared in his mind once again, he focused on the flaw that the gears created in that complex mechanism, and not at the springs.
Then like a compass, it steered his thoughts through the sophisticated composition of the clock. A gap opened up in his perception, and like a tram, it pulled his thoughts on its track.
Then the gap became a proverbial fissure—and the second hand of the clock stopped its relentless march. However, the clock was still ticking since the sound came from the wheel train, not the hand. That was to say, some gear between the wheel train and the 'second hand' was slipping, preventing the gears from turning.
"Yes!" he shot his fist in the air and cheered himself on.
This was finally going somewhere. He could only praise his forgotten self for grabbing that parchment before anyone noticed. This could be a life-saving trick up his sleeve that would help him in navigating this new treacherous reality that seemed to be the new trend.
He settled down and sat on the chair.
.
.
.
This was the most relaxed he'd felt ever since he first arrived in Elmhurst. Every moment he'd spent in the city had been filled with some kind of trouble or anxiety. Anxieties that he was good at managing. But they still occupied his thoughts and made him paranoid. This, however, gave him some confidence.
Observation was indeed something he could personally harness and not some abstract concept that could only be dreamt of. There were still many things that weighed on his mind, but it was good to have the balance of his life shifted back towards control—even if just a little.
Looking at the clock that had stopped, he noticed it was past three already. I really should call it a day…or night.
In a jovial mood, he cleaned up the mess made by his Lumenscope. Piling all the little components in one drawer, he freshened up and turned off the lamps.
Once done, he walked towards the window and looked up at the eerily beautiful sky. The bright moon and the gaping rift hung high, complementing each other's radiance.
Taking in the sight once more, he softly closed the curtains and retired to his bed.
One day. One day, he would uncover it all.
