Chapter 11: Can't see anything!

The images of June 17th were played over and over again, countless times. The beginning was always the same, and the end was always the same. Stalas started the day with a bright smile on his face, until the sun completely set, leaving only the moon shining through the window, illuminating his expressionless face. Êyavia did not stop, but stroked the glass once more, and the day repeated itself.

This process had been repeated countless times, and Êyavia did not know how long she had spent there. Her face remained the same from beginning to end: annoyed and anxious.

She had never seen Stalas like this before, and more importantly, Stalas had never told her about it. It was so unusual, Stalas had never hidden anything from her before. No matter how embarrassing, had they not always sought each other out?

What had changed?

Even more terrifying was, which stories had she missed?

Her delicate fingers glided over and over again, time and time again. Her deep, dark eyes locked onto the transparent object, as if the concept of blinking had been swallowed by tension.

And then, a cracking sound was heard. A large crack suddenly appeared on the glass in Êyavia's hands, running from top to bottom. She stopped abruptly, but as soon as she realized she had blinked, the crack had completely disappeared, leaving the glass smooth and flawless.

Her breathing became heavier, the ragged gasps combined with the suffocating feeling she had when she first arrived here. The ground, which had always only had gentle ripples, now resembled a stormy sea. Large "waves" appeared, and as one wave subsided, another even larger one rose. But their movements were slow and not smooth, like rusty gears forced to turn. With each heartbeat, a wave spread out like a shockwave. The stars in the sky synchronized with Êyavia's heavy breathing, flickering, then brightening, then flickering again, then brightening again. It felt like an invisible force was controlling her, and she was powerless to change anything. Stalas's face appeared in her mind, overwhelming her other thoughts, sometimes smiling brightly, sometimes completely silent and emotionless. Only one thought held control: let go, let the flood carry you away, if you're too tired, there's no need to try anymore…

"Êyavia," the Storyteller’s voice whispered in her ear, "Wake up."

Êyavia froze, and everything within the Pillar fell silent for a brief second, as if nothing had happened. Only Êyavia's expression, which remained exactly the same as before, served as evidence of the anomalies that had just occurred.

"Have you ever heard the story of the 45 gods in ‘Legends of Old Names’ trapped in the labyrinth of their own emotions?"

Êyavia’s face softened as her thoughts and feelings shifted to a different topic. The topic sounded familiar, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not remember what it was about. The feeling of having heard it before lingered, yet she could not retrieve any memory. On the smooth surface of the prism, nothing was visible except a solid blackness; perhaps, upon closer inspection, there were 45 tiny specks of light scattered across the surface, but even those offered no recollection.

"Do not let yourself sink too deep into the darkness of your soul. Once you are lulled to sleep by that veil, even if you realize you are asleep, you cannot escape. Like those 45 gods, they were so deeply immersed in those emotions, considering them the ultimate purpose of their finite lives, that they became a trap controlling their path to liberation."

Êyavia stood still, gazing down at the pitch-black glass for a long time. The sound of the wind chimes had completely faded, leaving only the increasing volume of the white noise in her ears. Just moments before, she had been peacefully watching the rainy sky, yet now she felt that invisible force from the past had once again appeared, suffocating her in this very place where she felt safest. Through her experiences, she had become accustomed to this place, immediately fulfilling her wishes, one way or another. Here, she could come and go as she pleased, whatever she wanted to see or grasp, this place would listen to her summonings without refusal. All feelings of being enveloped, protected, and safe vanished, leaving her naked and helpless, unable to see.

She looked up at the Storyteller: "What was the fate of those gods?"

"They are still trapped."

She fell silent at the somewhat indifferent answer. The familiar feeling of this story lingered, but she had more important matters to attend to. Why had Stalas suddenly undergone such an unusual transformation? She wanted to know the answer! So, she continued to manipulate the lens, watching the projections of the past from the following days.

The 18th was just like any other day; Stalas still smiled and talked as if nothing had happened. Moving on to the 19th, things were similar, except for one difference: around 10 a.m., Alisa called Stalas. It was about asking Stalas to paint a picture that Alisa had mentioned before. Upon hearing about the painting, Stalas paused for a few seconds, that same face, that same serene face. Like the calm sea before a distant storm. Then Stalas just mumbled the same response as Alisa had described. The other lens showed Alisa sitting in her room, brushing her hair, one hand holding her phone.

Another detail was recorded in the notebook, and the images kept flashing by. The 20th, the 21st, the 22nd… Nothing happened…

What am I...

...looking for?

The image on the glass stopped on Stalas's radiant face. In the vast Pillar now was the image of a pale moon looking down at the sun on the other side of the prism.

Even if she tried to look at the projections of the past and the following days, she was still unable to see anything. They were still the same, almost identical, nearly indistinguishable. The two previous unusual events seemed like insignificant variables. Like the cloud the Storyteller had described, though itself an unusual variable, it ultimately fell to the ground, just as the variables that occurred in the following days still unfolded according to this pre-printed script.

Only when standing here, observing the whole scene as a spectator, did Êyavia realize how extraordinary this daily occurrence felt. If it were her before, a day like this would just pass by, not enough for her to feel anything.

Looking at her notebook, a complex expression appeared on her face. The information was still too scarce; she only knew what was happening, but she did not know why. Looking through the lens, she could only see normal images and sounds, but couldn't interfere with their thoughts. She wondered if she should ask Stalas about this herself. But she also feared that doing so would only complicate things further, yet she still wanted to try. Perhaps it was just a small experiment, surely it would not be difficult.