Chapter 131 - Thy Gaze

  "Why me?"

  The strips constricting her arms tightened at his words, and an aura of melancholy emanated from her. When he observed the very runes he’d made, he cursed himself.

  They weren't just words; they were intent. His paranoia, suspicion, fear towards this being—all of it was imbued within them, and this was her reaction to those terrible feelings.

  For a moment, he wanted to retract the harshness within them, but what was done was done.

  As much as observing this entity in such a pitiful state—chained on a proverbial stake all alone in a void—saddened him, he just didn't feel worthy to pity them.

  Soon, the softest of the whispers emerged—a coherent one among the ravings, and myriad emotions assaulted him.

  "Boundless one," she began, and an inexplicable sorrow gripped him from simply hearing that title.

  "Thou fail to observe thy own singularity."

  "Thou witnessed the origin—the dissolution of the First." There was pain in those words. Pain he had a hard time understanding for how vast and all-encompassing it was.

  What First? The First observer? The invitation last night said that the confluence would be held beyond the gaze of this First observer. What does she mean by dissolution, then? Is the First observer dead?

  Yet, she kept going, "Thou bear the mark of an Elden as well as Everflux itself."

  He understood the mark of Elden, but what was a mark of Everflux? Each of her words implied so much he had a hard time keeping up.

  "Thou studied the ethos of the First and molded thy thoughts to their ideal."

  Now, he was just lost. When did he study anyone's ethos? Much less First observer’s.

  "Thou alone engaged with mine own weft—seeking an understanding of our perspective."

  A what? Weft? A weaving of threads?

  But a realization struck him in the next instant when he searched his mind for things he'd tried to understand. Only one of them really aligned with the idea of a network.

  The Convergence Note. It definitely created some form of connection between people, allowing them to communicate. She said that was her 'own' perspective.

  This…

  Things began coming together. He was growing baffled over how she knew so much without intrusively rifling through his mind as Yharl Ballin did.

  If she was the weft of convergence itself—

  However, that's when the intensity of her voice amplified significantly. The emotions pierced through his very soul, and the lines forming her body shivered as she declared, "Thy perspective, thy intent, thy ideology, thy kindness—thy singularity rivals the First."

  She stopped, and one of those strips wrapping around her arms unfurled before floating towards him. He had no form in this realm, yet when the outline neared, something magical happened.

  The random slew of lines floating all around him rushed towards the origin of his perception, constructing a very crude, almost smoothed outline of his body.

  A novel sensation washed over him. It was like finding sunlight after a lifetime of freezing. Like being recognized by someone you'd always longed for. And soon came a touch, an imperceptible caress of that strip, and his mind blanked.

  She whispered, "Thou alone sensed mine plea."

  "Thou alone affirmed mine existence."

  "Yetst thou wonder why we long for thy gaze?"

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  He was speechless.

  Perplexity washed over him, and he did his very best to digest all this. It was—hard. She seemed to know more about him than he did himself.

  The silence stretched among them, as deep as the darkness of the void itself, before she shattered it again.

  "Whence the First lost thine singularity, we had prepared ourselves to never be observed again."

  His thoughts wavered. It almost felt like she was talking about life and death. As if never being observed signified an end.

  His focus lingered on the outline of her eyes, and the void seemed to cage him as he felt the weight of those words press on him.

  Before he could muster up the courage to finally reply, she continued in a voice that became softer and more intimate with every sentence.

  "Not unless we allowed the objectivity record to fall in the hands of those who seek to retread the old paths—the ones foredoomed to failure."

  "So, we held on—seeking, wishing, hoping to let our realm stand to see the morrow. Yet mine weft and record combined are naught but a cheap imitation of First's gaze."

  Vern's mind reeled, and his thoughts turned chaotic. She was talking about the cause and effects of Duskfall, wasn't she? Fuck! Just who is she? And what is this Objectivity Record?

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The name suggested some kind of record that kept a log of objectivity itself. Not that it made much sense to him. What he did understand was that she was replacing the gaze of First using her weft and this record.

  I—I…

  Words reached his tongue many times, but he failed to will them into reality. It was just too…absurd. He didn't know how to process this. Were they like the architect of reality itself?

  This is too fucking surreal.

  If he understood her correctly, it wasn't that he was the only one who could have 'affirmed' her existence, but rather that she would have to give up the Objectivity record had she asked for aid from others who met the criterion.

  Hmm, is it because she's not strong enough to contend against those observers? Maybe she could, but not while sustaining reality at the same time? And I am acceptable because I am weak?

  She didn't outright say this, but it seemed…plausible.

  Ironically, this line of thought made him feel far better than anything else she'd said. It made this whole situation make sense. It grounded things back to a semblance of equivalent exchange. A sensible balance.

  He liked that.

  What he didn't like was being asked for help by an entity of immeasurable insight and knowledge under the premise of being lucky or the chosen one, for there were no free lunches in this world.

  This, he could work with.

  That's when her whisper echoed in his conscious one more time, "So, Boundless one. Wouldst thou think of us? Help us?"

  "Gaze at us like the First did. Gaze at us like the First wished."

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  Vern stood there, incapable of responding. The idea of balance he'd just conjured shattered into fragments, and his mind failed to catch up. Those words held so much…longing, pain, and hope; he just didn't know how to reciprocate.

  He didn't feel his heartbeat, but if he could, he was sure it'd be trying to rush out of his chest right about now. His emotions, which were already in turmoil, had oil poured on them, and those words lit them on fire as if they were a spark.

  It was pure chaos. In that instant, the whispers of Everflux that should've been stripping him of his sanity felt more like the words of wise instead.

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  When he managed to calm down, he realized the silence had stretched for far too long. He had enough sense to know when to stop being ungrateful. If he understood this right, she was the one holding the reality together ever since Duskfall.

  He owed her his very existence, much less a gaze of affirmation.

  So he willed the only words he could conjure, "What shall I do to help you, eminence?" imbuing each letter of the rune with his regret and silent apology.

  The overwhelming amount of grief in her every sentence had done a number on him. He regretted his selfish question and was hoping his true sentiments would do something to mend the hurt he might've caused.

  Soon, a jumble of emotions erupted from her. They were far too…raw and unfiltered for a being with such insight and means.

  Or maybe they're like this exactly because of what she is?

  He didn't know.

  Her fingers moved, but the moment they did, the straps around them tightened, and she grimaced before whispering, "We only wish for thy affirmation. Thou tread the path of First's ideal—the eight fundamentals, and we seek nothing more than such a gaze."

  A thunderclap went off in his mind, and he gasped. That's what she was talking about earlier!? The Fundamentals? So First's ethos is Fundamentalism?

  Wait, wait, does that mean the Insight Sphere, which combines these fundamentals, is the First's ideal? Like an ideal viewpoint?

  Wow! It all started to make sense. When she said his thoughts matched the First's ideal, she was referring to his thought space, wasn't she?

  A sigh left her mouth, "First spent ages to nurture, groom, steal, destine, and whatever thou can imagine in hopes of finding one that can embody the ideal, yet perspectives art a fickle thing. Even the greatest sins First trained only ever managed to embody seven out of eight fundamentals."

  This…

  "Yet, we've observed thee. Thou art yet to walk far, but thy perspective of balance is all-encompassing, all-harmonizing. If thy wished, and put effort, thou could form any ideal in existence."

  "Yet, we'd wish you not to stray from thy current path. For even though First's ideal maybe far from perfect, it's the closest we've ever reached."

  Rustle

  Another one of those strip unfurled from her arms and moved towards him. He stood there, confused by the excitement bubbling within him to feel more of her—be observed by her.

  "And we wish thou wouldst gaze at us through each one of these fundamentals." Both the straps held the outline of his face, and he felt like he would melt.

  "So, Boundless one, affirm us with such a gaze. Affirm that were alive still. Affirm that we've not lost ourselves to the whispers. Affirm us that there's yet a world to see.

  "For thou are all we have."

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  As much as her words encouraged him, an inexplicable pressure also settled down on his shoulders. The…eight fundamentals… That had to be the core concept of each of the eight octants of Insight Sphere.

  Ever since reading how others advanced down their shade sequence, he'd indeed been perplexed over how to handle his ascension to the next shade. After all, he had no sequence to follow.

  Her words implied he go for a wider approach.

  That's when something jerked him back. Wait, no! He knew this feeling. It was the same pull as before. Shit. I barely understand anything.

  The outline of her eyes drooped, but there was also acceptance. She further extended those strips to keep his face within their cradle, but they did nothing to stop the pull.

  A sense of urgency welled up within him, and he scribbled out, "Does eminence propose I tread down a different fundamental for each shade?"

  However, against his expectation, she shook her head, "Thou mustn't consider any of our insights but mere passing thoughts, for doing otherwise would taint thy path forever. Even one as desperate as us couldn't bear to commit such a heinous crime."

  Ahh…? Vern lost his train of thought. That sounded severe. How exactly am I supposed to help her, then? Not letting the bliss from that gentle caress numb his mind, he pushed himself to fall into his usual calculative headspace.

  He wasn't about to give up this opportunity just like that. So assuming my last conclusion was right…

  "Then, eminence, how would I shade my perception with these varied fundamentals? I have no shade sequence to follow."

  She wasted not a breath and responded, "Thou art more than equipped to forge thy own path, Boundless one."

  Am I, though? He vehemently shook his head. I know how Visions work under the hood, but that's about it. I don't even know if I can replicate that without the land of the dark sun.

  Another tug, and he was pulled farther away. Vern smiled bitterly, willing for runes to form.

  "Eminence, I am flattered by your trust, yet I must remind you that I am but a mere speck of dust in this vast cosmos. My strength amounts to nothing even if my perspective is unique."

  She remained silent for a breath, but his origin continued to be flung back into the void, away from her sight.

  Then came her words, full of sorrow, "It shames us to no end, yet we haven't much else to offer thee, for thy path is thine own, and we aren't fit to guide thee. However..."

  The force pulling his whole consciousness doubled, but luckily, the mad ravings had also quietened down, allowing him to focus on what she said next.

  "Mine weft is thine to peruse and utilize as thou see fit. We shan't taint thy perspective by helping thou comprehend it, yet neither will we bar thee from doing so. Thine next destination is a nexus of our weft, if thee attempts, it may support thee in thy endeavours."

  Oh? Umm…I…okay. That was great, but he had more things to ask!

  "Farewell, boundless one. We await thy return—thy gaze."

  Ugh, damn it! He willed all his imagination, but his focus was in tatters, and the runes came out incomplete, "Who a-e y-u, eminence? H-w w—ld I g-ze at y-u in fut-re?"

  She smiled, and her form destabilized, exploding into lines preceded by her final whisper, "Sylphina," and the pull came, hurling him off to his original destination.

  August gripped her palm tighter as both of them stared down the horizon, their pace down the stairs growing slower with each step.

  Thump, echoed footfalls of her bare feet in this oppressive silence, and he tried to match her pace—her rhythm. It fell short. He fell short.

  Words bubbled up to his lips, but there was no way he could turn them into sounds— they were supposed to be beyond that. So, she pulled him, and he flowed. She stopped, and he mirrored her.

  Yet, every little detour was just that—a detour. Their descent down the iridescent stairs never stopped. August did his best to numb himself. To fall in the same pattern he had ever since she'd ascended to godhood.

  To let her whims dictate their path. It was, after all, a sweet dream. Even if August knew this day would come, he had no intention of waking up.

  At least, not until today.

  Suddenly, a soft tug pulled at him, and a rebellious thought of resistance birthed in his mind.

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  I…

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  He sighed and quashed it, drifting along as usual. Those soft black eyes of hers sparkled as she pointed at the spirits that resembled the fireflies—her favorite from their previous lives.

  Her ethereal blue dress whipped behind them in the wind she controlled as she dragged him to these spirits. Then to the giant trees of light, and finally to her beloved spot—the only one where the sun filtered down from the endless canopy.

  Her beautiful lips expressed a range of emotions he couldn't believe existed. Yet she managed to convey it all without a single word—as usual. For, gods didn't need words to communicate.

  Right?

  Yet, no matter how much he focused, how much he tried, he didn't understand. Her touch spoke of millions of words that were left unsaid, but they failed to answer one question.

  Why?

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  Before he knew it. They were descending the stairs once again. Yet, this time, the horizon was almost upon them—The Edge was almost upon them.

  And as usual, she pulled him along without even an ounce of hesitation, almost as if she couldn't even fathom a reality where he would refuse. After all, everyone agreed that he understood her the best.

  His heart grew heavy as the deep abyss beyond the edge stared back, and she actually…turned back. A smile blossomed on August's face as he stared back at his beloved.

  However, his expression faltered the next instant when he realized that her eyes reflected everything but him. It was as if he was there but not. She recognized his existence, but her gaze went far…far beyond him.

  After what felt like an eternity, she closed her eyes…content. The glass beneath her feet rippled as she began moving once again, her step dangerously close to the edge.

  It was supposed to be the spot closest to the sun, yet a chill unlike that of their first winter together permeated his whole body.

  A creeping fear…something that he'd long forgotten as a god himself, peeked up after millennia, and he shuddered, a single thought running in his mind. Please don't go.

  Please don't do it.

  Yet, she was like a force of nature, or it was something within him, he just flowed with her.

  No! he screamed, resisting the very nature of what made him—him.

  Thump! he stomped, extricating his palm from hers and grabbing her soft wrist instead.

  Her left leg, hovering over the dark abyss beyond the edge, came to an abrupt halt as she turned towards him, her eyebrows scrunched together in a terrified mess, as disturbed as the day they'd met as mortals eons ago.

  She tried to pull her wrist away, but August gripped it harder than ever, knowing full well she could sunder the whole realm if she wanted to.

  After a while, she shook her head, her eyes pleading.

  Why? August asked himself, rifling through everything he had about her.

  Where exactly had things gone wrong? Why was she willing to go to such lengths?

  Moments that might as well have been eras passed by, as her attempts only grew fierce, her expression exhausted and her eyes lost.

  August tried. He tried. Like he'd done for so...so long. To try and get to her. To reach her. To speak to the girl he'd fallen for. Yet, her growing resistance was proof enough of the extent of understanding between them.

  She tugged, pulled, lulled, plead, but August still didn't get it. Why?

  Feeling a surge of what had died down during this life of divine pumping through his veins, he pulled her towards himself with all his strength, and she naturally fell in his embrace.

  A shudder went down his spine, but he steeled himself. If he didn't do this—break their vow of silence, it would all be over. All for…what?

  Resting his chin on her shoulder, he did it—whispered, "I love you."

  A body that he thought he knew every inch of suddenly melted in his arms, and a faint whimper echoed in his ears. A pure wave of ecstasy washed over him as her scent filled his mind, and her warmth overwhelmed him.

  She…she listened? he stammered.

  He…he had done it! Said it. How long—

  Yet, before he could revel in this bliss any further, something changed. His hands betrayed him, and so did his body. His eyes refused to close while his arms failed to keep her in his embrace.

  Her soft lips came incredibly close and caressed his own, and before he knew it…it was over.

  She escaped from his grasp, and her palm pushed his paralyzed self away—sending her own body recoiling backward.

  August screamed, but even his tongue betrayed him as she spread her arms wide beyond the edge before gravity laid claim to her, and she began her real descent. An irreversible one.

  She didn't scream, she didn't flail—she simply stared back at him in what looked like…acceptance? Pain? He couldn't tell—as usual.

  One moment, she was there. Next, the abyss swallowed her. She had left him behind—as usual.

  His body, which should have been petrified for a few years from her curse, shuddered, and the glass staircase exploded.

  Yet, gravity refused to pull him, and the abyss denied him darkness. For even it knew August had no wish to die.

  Aria did.