Chapter 6: Storyteller

Stepping downstairs, Stalas was no longer inside. According to Êyavia's memory, Stalas was probably out playing with his friends. She wanted to find some clues Stalas might have left behind. So, after checking downstairs and finding everything still the same as in her memory, she decided to go into Stalas's room.

The white wooden door of the boy's room was slightly ajar. This meant no one was in the room; normally, Stalas would close his door when he stayed in his room. He only stayed in his room when he wanted to work on a project. The rest of the time, except when the two siblings were watching TV or talking together, he was out with his friends. If the door was open, it meant Stalas was not home.

The four walls of Stalas's room were painted a pale blue, while the ceiling was pure white. Even the furniture inside, if not white, was a light blue. If it weren't for a few other items that weren't in these two colors, the entire room would have been dazzlingly bright, blinding anyone who looked in. Unlike Êyavia's room, nothing there was uniformly colored. The most striking element in this room, aside from the odds and ends, was probably the blanket covering the bed; its deep blue color made it the most prominent feature.

It felt like this was not a room, but a whole sky. The white objects were clouds, and the four walls were the endless expanse of the blue sky. The wide-open window opposite the entrance was a gateway to the sun. There was no land here, only clouds and wind bathed in light. In the distance was the image of a small, bottomless sea, like an abyss locking everything in place, preventing escape. The sea was strangely calm, without a single ripple, silently waiting in a small corner of this vast sky.

By comparison, her room would resemble an autumn forest witnessing a sunset.

Êyavia walked to the pristine white desk, placed under the window that looked like a staircase leading to the sun. His belongings and books were neatly arranged, not a millimeter out of place. Êyavia wanted to see if Stalas had left any clues. But she had underestimated Stalas's "lack of interest in writing"; he had not left any information. No diary, no notes, nothing at all.

Stalas had never been interested in writing before, and his writing only began recently, after his painting career. As for the books Stalas had written, Êyavia had read them before; the content was familiar to her. These are dreams embellished and enriched by Stalas, and although heavily embellished, the content is essentially a collection of stories they shared in the past. Stories of other worlds, completely different from this one, worlds adorned with more vibrant and dazzling colors. These books are not particularly popular with children; the majority of readers are adults. Furthermore, while not a failure, Stalas's writing career has not flourished as much as his current painting career.

As for Stalas's paintings, Êyavia does not find anything wrong with them. None of them is dark or gloomy; only bright and warm colors dance together in the paintings. She feels a sense of freedom, airiness, and… emptiness when looking at them.

Also, they are quite abstract, resembling natural landscapes but not quite matching them. No one knew exactly what those pictures were about because Stalas would never say; he would just smile and stare at them. Even so, they were very captivating.

Êyavia sighed heavily; she could not find anything here. Should she go to the boy's friends? She remembered their faces, but did not recognize any of them, and she was not good at communicating with strangers. Besides, he always put on such a cheerful and healthy act, making it difficult to strike up a conversation with them about this topic.

My head hurts so much! I just want to go back to bed and sleep until tomorrow morning! Êyavia rubbed her face, not knowing what to do next.

Cling-cling~ The wind chimes chimed two or three times before stopping, pulling Êyavia out of her restless state. She was starting to get used to this lullaby-like sound; it was inexplicable how it always urged her to wake up like an alarm clock. It came and went without any warning. Why did it appear, and why her? Would returning to that space now push her further into the distant past?

Wait, how do I get back to that space? Every time before, she had been pulled into it, never having actively flown in. She had not even had time to find out what the conditions were for entering. Thinking back, the sound of the wind chimes only appeared when she was feeling down or focused solely on her emotions.

If she focused on the sound of the wind chimes, could she enter that space? Êyavia tried closing her eyes and concentrating for five minutes, but nothing happened; not even the chimes rang.

She shook her head and turned to go back to her room. She had not had any concrete plans yet; she needed to rest to regain her energy for clear thinking. Just as the thought of resting flashed through her mind, the sound of the wind chimes suddenly rushed past Êyavia's ears from some distant places. A look of surprise flickered across her face, then she fell into deep thought.

Perhaps that space is connected to some desire of hers. What kind of feeling? Tired? Empty? Or giving up? The first time she heard it was the first day after Stalas's death, while she was still fast asleep. The second time was when she unconsciously stared blankly for a long time, her mind wandering in daydreams. The third time was when she was drawn outside by some feeling�"how could she describe that feeling? Was it a feeling of separation, of being abandoned? And all the times after that…

Sleep, dreams, unconsciousness, separation… What do they all mean? Are they related? Could that other space be a place separate from this world, connected only through the subconscious? Just as she was about to rest a little, that sound beckoned again.

Êyavia seemed to grasp something, and she closed her eyes and relaxed her body. She wanted to try an experiment!

For someone like Êyavia, who always keeps her thoughts to herself without speaking them aloud, trying to stop thinking is not easy. She tried to chase away the miscellaneous thoughts and focus on a single thought: "I want to rest". She repeated that phrase in her head so many times that she started to get a headache. She kept it going until all the sounds she heard were just echoes of that thought in her mind. And then, following that echo, a familiar, melodious sound emerged. That sound danced everywhere as if alive, sometimes near, sometimes far, sometimes hidden, sometimes visible. After a long while, Êyavia opened her eyes. It was that endless, dark, gloomy land, and the starry sky with the Milky Ways stretching across it.

She succeeded!

This was the first time she had voluntarily set foot in this place. Not only that, but it was also the first time she had appeared here without being in a dazed and exhausted state. She calmly surveyed her surroundings. She had seen this place before, but only fleetingly, never had the chance to explore it as she did now. No longer haunted by the fog in her mind, she truly felt the atmosphere. Though dark and desolate, she felt neither fear nor loneliness, but a strange sense of peace. It felt like this place was protecting her; the wind chimes seemed to soothe her, whispering that nothing could harm her here. Though neither warm nor cool, it was incredibly pleasant. Moreover, it felt strangely familiar. Not just from having been here a few times before, but from intangible, long-held memories.

She walked on this "land" of gently lapping waves, feeling incredibly light. Each soft wave gently lifted her foot and then embraced it with each step. At that moment, Êyavia looked like an innocent maiden frolicking on an endless road. She did not know how long she had been enjoying that feeling, but suddenly she remembered something and froze, looking towards the "eyes" that had been staring at her ever since she first appeared here. Those eyes were always there, motionless and wide open.

"We have met so many times, and you’re still afraid?" A soft voice, almost imperceptible, emanated from those "eyes". The voice did not sound like it came from one person, but rather two different voices speaking in unison�"both gracefully feminine and warmly masculine.

Êyavia remained seated on the ground, stunned. It took her five or six seconds to swallow, cautiously asking, "Who are you?"

"I have traveled to many worlds, and the inhabitants have called me by different names. But ultimately, they all share the same meaning. You can call me the Storyteller."