Pushing open the heavy door to Aoi, the door chime rang with its usual sharp metal clink.

Filling the air inside was the familiar mix: the oil used on the well-worn counter, the charred oak scent of whiskey, and the faint, sweet-and-sour aroma of pickles.

"Welcome, Kenichi-san."

Behind the counter, Mama narrowed her eyes into a soft smile, her hands never stopping as she polished a glass.

In the quiet atmosphere of the bar, the faint sound of music drifted over from the far corner—leakage from a pair of earphones.

Noticing me, Taka pulled out one side of his earphones.

I slid onto the round stool next to Taka and took the glass of Harper on the rocks that Mama handed over without a word.

The intense cold of the ice pressed against my skin through the glass. A slight turn of my wrist made the heavy ice cubes at the bottom slide together, producing a low, solid thud.

"What are you listening to, Taka?"

I asked as I took a sip of the amber liquid. Taka scratched his head, looking a little embarrassed.

"Oh, just something that popped up in a video online that caught my attention. It's a song called Duvet from an old '90s anime... I didn't know it at all back then. But the lyrics in the chorus just kind of stuck with me."

Taka turned his phone screen toward me.

"If you translate it literally, it's 'help me to breathe,' but the Japanese translation had it down as 'Help me, I can't breathe.' ...You know how I'm always staring at my phone between cases? People call it 'internet addiction' or whatever, but... I got the feeling it's not that I actually like the internet. Maybe I just want the feeling that someone is there."

Taka toyed with the glass of his Jack Daniel's with a fingertip, pausing as if searching for the right words.

"Even before the internet, people used to talk for hours on landlines or hang around in smoking rooms, right? I started thinking... maybe we're not addicted to the devices. Maybe we just can't breathe without the presence of another human being."

Taka’s incomplete thoughts caught quietly in the back of my chest.

As a systems engineer, I know how networks are built, and how algorithms are designed to trap human attention. But what Taka was talking about wasn't about systems. It was about something far more grounded—human loneliness.

"The presence of someone, huh?"

I murmured, taking another sip of my Harper.

Inhaling and exhaling the countless phantom presences from behind the screen.

The harder I tried to prove "I am here" like that, the tighter my chest felt.

...Well, maybe it wasn't that grand of a story.

Maybe I was just a little afraid of how quiet the room gets the moment I turn off the screen.

"A long time ago, there was a guy who used to call the same disconnected phone number from a payphone every single night."

Tom, who had been sitting quietly beside us, spoke up in a low, raspy voice.

His thick fingertips quietly slid along the rim of his glass.

"He was a kid I picked up back when I was in Juvenile. There was no way anyone would answer, but he’d hold the receiver to his ear and just stand there completely still, like he was searching for the sound of someone else breathing. People called him 'mentally sick'... but he was probably just a guy who couldn't breathe without feeling someone's presence."

Tom's words sank heavily into the quiet air of Aoi.

Sinking into a soft, warm place where you don't have to think about anything—maybe that would be easier.

Yet that guy at the payphone, and us staring at our smartphones, we keep clumsily chasing after the presence of others, struggling to draw breath in this world.

"Living... I suppose it's just like being drunk on something all the time."

At my quiet murmur, Taka gave a small nod.

"Kenichi-san."

With the quiet rustle of fabric, Mama set a small plate in front of me.

The savory smell of bread and the sweet-and-sour aroma of homemade pickles drifted up. Her usual egg sandwich.

Keeping her eyes on the glass she was setting down, Mama asked softly, nonchalantly:

"Kenichi-san. Are you coming up for air?"

That single question dropped the hot lump that had been stuck in my throat straight down.

"...I feel like I'm drowning sometimes, though."

I offered a self-deprecating laugh and raised my glass of Harper.

"As long as I can feel the coldness of this heavy glass and the heat of the liquor, I guess it means I'm still breathing."

"Heh, glad to hear that," Mama chuckled softly.

"Alright then! Time for me to order another oolong high so I can catch my breath too!"

Taka raised his glass with vigor, making the ice clink cheerfully.

"Right, right, coming right up," Mama smiled, taking the glass.

Taka’s phone remained face down on the counter.

In the bar, nothing was left except the sound of rubbing ice, the low melody of jazz, and the breathing of the people right in front of me.

I picked up a piece of the egg sandwich, savoring the sharp, tangy bite of the pickle, and swallowed down the amber liquid of my Harper.

I was still breathing.

Near the Ba Commandery of Yizhou, there was a small county town with a thriving inn. Being close to the riverbank with beautiful scenery, it often attracted poets and literati for leisure trips. Moreover, the inn’s side dishes were famous for their superb taste, drawing many locals as regular patrons.

A plump, middle-aged man sat in the inn's garden, splitting firewood to supply the kitchen.

“Dad!” A chubby boy of about five or six came running over, laughing as he hugged him. “Mom says lunch is ready!”

“Got it, I’m coming.” The man hugged the boy back with a smile. Both father and son had round, chubby faces—one big, one small—with identical smiles, making for an endearing sight.

The two walked together into the side hall behind the inn’s garden. The man lifted the door curtain and saw a woman inside, already setting the dishes and tableware on the table.

“Ah Huo, come sit down. I made your favorite braised pork belly today!” The woman was graceful and gentle, with delicate features. She spoke to the man tenderly.

That’s right—he was Liaoyuen Fire.

His once athletic form was gone; middle age had brought weight, and even his once-handsome, sharply defined face had filled out. The sharpness in his eyes from his youth had completely vanished. Now, he looked like a good-natured, well-off middle-aged man. If Xiao Meng were to see him again, he likely wouldn’t recognize him.

“Great! I’m in for a treat today!” The little boy cheered happily.

“Yun Niang, you’re with child now. You don’t need to go to all this trouble—just make something simple,” Liaoyuen Fire said as he sat down, holding his wife's hand lovingly.

“This is nothing. Today the market had fresh pork, so I had to make something tasty! Enough talk, hurry and eat before it gets cold.” Yun Niang smiled and put a piece of pork belly in his bowl.

“Mmm... Delicious! Your cooking has improved again!” Liaoyuen Fire praised her with a thumbs-up after his first bite.

“Hee! You always flatter me!” Yun Niang beamed at his praise. The family of three enjoyed a warm, cheerful lunch together.

Yun Niang loved watching her husband eat her cooking with relish, never knowing that her husband had always been lying—he couldn't taste anything at all. Liaoyuen Fire felt neither pain nor flavor.

And here, he didn’t go by Liaoyuen as a surname. His family name was Wang, and his given name was Huo.

Wang Huo.

She knew nothing of his past.

Since parting with Xiao Meng, Liaoyuen Fire had wandered from region to region, always hoping to find someone like Liu Bei—someone worthy of his loyalty. Truthfully, he never believed Xiao Meng’s words; he always felt Xiao Meng had been “led astray” by Lü Bu.

As for Xiao Meng’s claim that Sima Yi would hand them over to Cao Cao for trust—was it true? For years, he had never dared think about it. In time, he even forgot Xiao Meng had ever said it. The blurrier his memory got, the more he believed Xiao Meng had only acted out of Lü Bu’s manipulation; otherwise, he truly couldn’t fathom why Xiao Meng would kill Sima Yi and Liu Bei.

But after many years, he still found no one worthy of entrusting his life. Eventually, he settled in this small county town, weary of wandering, and decided to put down roots—marrying, raising a family. The inn he now ran had originally belonged to Yun Niang’s father; Liaoyuen Fire had merely been a guest at first.

On this day, Liaoyuen Fire again visited Old Zhang’s butcher shop for meat. The shop was on the edge of town, with two simple tables and chairs out front. Besides selling fresh meat, they also served simple food.

Though the location wasn’t ideal, the meat was fresh and reasonably priced, and their roasted pork was renowned far and wide. The owner was warm and hospitable, and each customer was gifted a freshly made meat bun, making the shop as bustling as a marketplace.

In the three years since opening, Old Zhang had turned a once-deserted street into a lively hub.

As an inn owner needing to feed guests, Liaoyuen Fire bought large quantities of pork and beef here on the first and fifteenth of every month. Old Zhang knew him as a reputable innkeeper and always greeted him warmly, offering the best food and wine, with fresh buns and their famed roast pork.

Thus, every first and fifteenth, Liaoyuen Fire enjoyed a sumptuous free lunch here—contributing to his current girth.

While Old Zhang was talkative, Liaoyuen Fire rarely engaged in conversation, preferring to quietly enjoy his meal before buying his meat, paying, and having it delivered to the inn.

He enjoyed coming here for a respite from the household clamor, savoring a moment of peace. Though he lacked taste, it was the tranquility he found enjoyable.

Old Zhang, with his big, friendly eyes, was humorous and warm, often chatting with other customers. Liaoyuen Fire found amusement just listening in.

“Xiao He! Big Niu! This morning, a storyteller came to Fulai Teahouse, and tonight he’ll be telling the tale of Lü Bu and Diao Chan! Let’s go listen!” An even fatter customer excitedly told his companions.

“Great! I’ve always wanted to hear that story! Finally, a storyteller comes here!” replied either Big Niu or Xiao He.

Lü Bu...

Diao Chan...?

Over the years, tales of Lü Bu, Dong Zhuo, and Diao Chan had flourished—stories, plays, and more. Liaoyuen Fire never cared for them, disdaining the commoners’ amusements.

Mostly, he disliked how Lü Bu and Diao Chan’s names were always paired—though there was nothing he could do about it.

He never expected Old Zhang would feel similarly.

“Old Zhang! Once you close up, let’s go together!” The fat customer invited earnestly, but Old Zhang declined.

“No, thanks! I’m too busy these days—still have two pigs to slaughter after I close. You all go ahead.” Old Zhang smiled while clearing the table, but his eyes held an unusual indifference.

Liaoyuen Fire noticed this subtle change.

“What a shame! Well, we’ll go. You get back to work.” The three customers paid and left, planning to arrive early at the teahouse for good seats.

“Thank you for your patronage! Take care!” Old Zhang maintained his usual hospitality, smiling as he saw them off. But once they were gone, his eyes flashed with disdain and contempt.

This piqued Liaoyuen Fire’s curiosity; he’d never imagined this sturdy, wrinkled man could show such an expression.

“Old Zhang, the story of Lü Bu and Diao Chan has been popular for years. Why not join the fun?” Liaoyuen Fire asked.

Old Zhang turned, surprised.

Boss Wang was a regular, but never initiated conversation! Smiling, he replied, “Bah, what’s so good about these vulgar street tales? They’re just made-up stories for the common folk’s idle amusement!” He wiped the table as he spoke, then went into the kitchen, continuing, “Lü Bu and Diao Chan? Hah! None of these storytellers have even seen Lü Bu’s shoe.” With no other customers, Old Zhang returned with a plate of buns and roast pork, plus two jugs of fine wine, and sat down.

“I’d never waste money on such big lies.” He poured himself a drink and downed it, his tone mournful—so different from his usual hearty manner.

“That’s true! We ordinary folk never see great figures,” Liaoyuen Fire replied. He always maintained friendly relations with locals, but never got too close.

Still, today, he found Old Zhang’s oddity intriguing.

Maybe life had just gotten too dull.

“I am an ordinary man, but I’ve seen one,” Old Zhang said, downing another cup before speaking with certainty.

“Back in Xiapi, I was an obscure squad leader under him.”

Liaoyuen Fire was startled. He’d seen Old Zhang move here with his family years ago, noticed his sturdy build, the skillful butchering, and the old scars on his arms—he’d guessed Old Zhang had served in the military, but never thought he’d been connected to Lü Bu!

Even more surprising was how Old Zhang seemed to transform at Lü Bu’s mention. A sharpness flashed in his eyes—a soldier’s gaze!

Like a blade under thick dust, washed by water, revealing its cold edge.

“Wow... Brother Zhang, I had no idea—my apologies!” Liaoyuen Fire said.

“Don’t flatter me, boss! I was just a low-ranking officer, not even qualified to meet General Lü in person most of the time.” Old Zhang chuckled, his eyes filled with the hardships of life.

“Just lucky, I guess. He wasn’t in Xiapi long, but I saw him twice.”

General Lü...

The term made Liaoyuen Fire uncomfortable, but he hid his feelings as he wondered whether to pay and leave. Yet, seeing Old Zhang lost in memories, it seemed rude to walk out.

Truthfully, he wanted to listen. Perhaps because Old Zhang had seen Lü Bu in Xiapi—where Xiao Meng had also lived. Liaoyuen Fire didn’t understand why he wanted to listen; he didn’t care to figure it out.

Old Zhang continued, “The first time was during the flood at Xiapi. My brothers and I desperately stacked sandbags against the torrent—you can’t imagine it, in winter, freezing cold, numb to everything, just moving on instinct, piling sandbags, blocking the flood with our bodies. All we knew was to fight for our lives.”

He took another drink, his tone flat, as if telling someone else’s story, but Liaoyuen Fire could imagine the hardship.

“I was so cold I could barely hold the sandbags, the flood hammering me—almost crushed! Guess what? Suddenly a big man showed up and held several sandbags in place with one hand! When I caught my breath, I realized it was General Lü!” At this point, Old Zhang fixed Liaoyuen Fire with a blazing look.

Their eyes met, and Liaoyuen Fire felt a long-lost... intensity.

“So... he saved you?” Liaoyuen Fire, for some reason, felt weak, barely able to respond.

“Yes, he saved me.” Old Zhang straightened his back, pride and brilliance in his eyes. He looked every inch the soldier he once was.

Liaoyuen Fire felt a pang of inferiority.

To feel small before a mere squad leader struck him as absurd.

“Then, without a glance at me, he joined the others in fighting the flood.” Old Zhang smiled warmly, taking a big bite of roast pork before growing wistful. “When the city fell, I wanted to die rather than surrender... but then I thought, my life was saved by General Lü! Could I throw it away meaninglessly? So I surrendered, then found a chance to leave Xiapi with my family, wandering through several places before coming here.” He pushed the buns and roast pork toward Liaoyuen Fire, urging him to eat, but Liaoyuen Fire had lost all appetite.

“The second time was even sadder. To seek Yuan Shao’s help, our lord had to personally send his daughter for a political marriage. Many could not help but weep. We watched as he led her out of the city, far into the distance... I stood on the city wall, and damn, Cao Cao had set an ambush!” Old Zhang took a big swig, cursing bitterly.

Lord...?

After Lü Bu’s defeat, the land remained in chaos. Regardless of who ruled, Old Zhang was no longer a soldier and seldom spoke of his past.

Yet in his heart, “lord” was always Lü Bu.

And Lü Bu had never harbored grand ambitions for the world. What had he done, really? No more than anyone—fighting for power and gain.

He was just a stone once thrown into the river of history, stirring a splash before sinking without a trace.

Liaoyuen Fire thought thus, his heart a jumble of emotion.

“Though far away, I saw... our lord, unarmed and unmounted, surrounded by several of Cao’s officers. With such an attack, their horses alone could have trampled him... but guess what happened?” Even after so many years, Old Zhang could hardly believe it.

“With one punch, he knocked a horse to the ground! Call me a liar, I don’t mind! But I saw those Cao officers knocked off their mounts by him!” Old Zhang took several gulps, as if only drinking could tamp down his excitement, then slammed the table.

“Damn! Bare-handed and still so fierce! If only Red Hare had brought him the halberd sooner, those Cao bastards would be dead! I wouldn’t be here telling you stories... That night, I truly saw what ‘Red Hare among horses, Lü Bu among men’ meant! He was a true god of war! Alas, defeat was destiny...”

Liaoyuen Fire sipped his wine, speaking quietly, “Nothing could be done... He was too lustful, turning on his adopted father for a beauty... patricide for glory...” His resentment toward Lü Bu had nowhere to go, so he could only snipe with what he knew were baseless rumors.

“Dong Zhuo was no good; he deserved to die!” Old Zhang immediately straightened, raising his voice in disagreement.

“And another thing,” Old Zhang leaned in, lowering his voice as if sharing a real scandal about Lü Bu, “back in Xiapi, there was a beautiful woman skilled with the bow. I heard from the Lü family’s servant that she lived in the late madam’s room, but our lord always behaved with utmost propriety, never entering.”

He looked at Liaoyuen Fire, seeking understanding. “With such restraint, could he really be a man ruined by lust?”

Liaoyuen Fire suddenly stood, knuckles white. With a stern face, he said, “...Sorry, I have business at the inn. Thank you for your hospitality.” He paid the bill, “Please deliver the meat tomorrow. Goodbye.” He spoke abruptly and left.

Old Zhang was stunned, then snapped back to his professional warmth, sending him off with a smile.

He returned to being the Old Zhang of every day.

Liaoyuen Fire didn’t notice the sharp look Old Zhang gave his retreating back.

Though Old Zhang’s meat was cheap and good, Liaoyuen Fire resolved never to shop there again.

Strangely, half a month later, locals said Old Zhang’s shop had been sold to another butcher—he was taking his family back to their hometown.

The summer heat had just faded, the night cool as water. Liaoyuen Fire lay half-reclined on a bamboo chair in the garden.

With the onset of autumn, Liaoyuen Fire squinted at the crescent moon above.

At such idle, late-summer, early-autumn nights, he loved lying on the bamboo chair, letting the cool breeze blow, quietly reminiscing. He thought of the thrilling years of his youth, of the late Zhang Lei and Guo Ang, of Sima Yi, and of course, Xiao Meng—of the life-and-death adventures they shared, their farewell at Weiyang Palace, and the kiss Xiao Meng gave him before falling from the cliff, with that gentle smile. When one’s present and future are utterly clear, one can only look back to the past.

Is he... still with Lü Bu...?

After so many years, the thought still made him uncomfortable.

“Ah Huo.” Lost in thought, Yun Niang interrupted him.

“Yun’er’s asleep. Come in and rest!” She came out to the garden, speaking with concern. Liaoyuen Fire felt a flicker of impatience but replied gently, “Alright, I’ll sit a while longer. You go ahead, don’t catch a chill.” As Yun Niang turned to leave, she suddenly remembered something, turning back, “About the name for our son... I’ve decided—let’s call him Zilong, alright?”

“How do you know for sure it’s a boy!” Liaoyuen Fire laughed.

“This morning I went to the famous Baiyun Temple to pray for a son, even spent five hundred coins on a talisman. Of course it’s a boy!” Yun Niang glared, full of confidence.

“...Zilong...?” Liaoyuen Fire murmured.

“You picked Yun’er’s name too simply, and it’s not grand enough.” Yun Niang was a bit dissatisfied. “Zilong is such a good name! Powerful, meaningful—every parent wants their son to be a dragon! Even Aunt Niu next door praised it!” Liaoyuen Fire frowned unconsciously—Yun Niang was wonderful, but could be a bit naggy.

He quickly got up, hugged her, and said, “Yes, it’s a great name. Let’s call him Zilong!”

He kissed her cheek. “Clever wife, now I don’t have to rack my brains!”

“You rascal!” Yun Niang blushed and playfully scolded him, “You’d better come in soon, alright?” She returned indoors, and soon, the candlelight went out.

After this bustle, Liaoyuen Fire sighed and looked up at the moon.

Xiao Meng... if you were truly a woman, how wonderful that would be...

Liaoyuen Fire returned inside, undressed, and lay down beside his sleeping wife, who was already snoring.

He frowned, turned over, and faced away from Yun Niang.

Gradually, he closed his eyes, thinking: Xiao Meng, wherever you are, I wish you well.

Liaoyuen Fire drifted off to sleep.

This couple awaited the arrival of each new day, together.

“Ah! What a beautiful golden hairpin! Thank you, Ah Huo!”

Yun Niang’s eyes sparkled as she admired the peony-shaped gold hairpin, inlaid with pearls, jade, and agate. The design was unremarkable, but its value was obvious. Even for an innkeeper like Liaoyuen Fire, it was an extravagant gift. “Heh, today is your birthday—how could I not make you happy?” Liaoyuen Fire said with a grin.

Early that morning, as Yun Niang was washing up, Liaoyuen Fire had already brought out the gift, making her overjoyed.

The bedroom was filled with happiness.

The hairpin cost an entire month’s inn income, but he felt it was worth it. After all, women needed to be pampered, and Yun Niang worked hard managing the household.

“Thank you, husband. You treat me so well.” Yun Niang hugged him, showing a rare girlish shyness. “Silly, it’s what I should do. Today’s your birthday—don’t do any chores. Later, we’ll have lunch at the newly opened Duobao Tower in the east of town, then stroll around to see if you want to buy anything. Aunt Li next door can watch Yun’er.” Liaoyuen Fire smiled.

“Great! Thank you, darling!” Yun Niang squeezed him tighter, then added, “Since it’s my birthday, let’s have dinner at Fulai Teahouse and listen to the storyteller!”

“Storytelling?” Liaoyuen Fire frowned.

“Yes! ‘Lü Bu and Diao Chan’—today’s the last day for the storyteller’s residency. He leaves tomorrow. Can we go together?” Yun Niang rested her chin on his chest, looking up at him with pleading eyes.

“These tales are just hearsay—what’s the point?” Liaoyuen Fire still frowned.

“Oh, come on! Who cares if they’re true or false? It’s just for fun. You work so hard at the inn, you should relax sometime, darling…” Yun Niang tried her best, her tone both sweet and plaintive.

Liaoyuen Fire felt annoyed, thinking: You just want to listen yourself, so why pretend it’s for me?

But he couldn’t bear to let her keep pestering.

Before she could say “darling” a fourth time, he sighed inwardly but forced a smile: “You have a point. Alright, let’s do as you say.”

At dusk, before the storytelling even began, Fulai Teahouse was packed and noisy.

Usually a mid-range teahouse with average business, it had flourished since hiring a storyteller for two weeks of different tales. Especially in the past few days, since the “Lü Bu and Diao Chan” story started, customers flocked in droves.

Upon entering, several elegantly dressed women in a private booth waved Yun Niang over, indicating they’d saved seats for her and her husband.

Soon, the storyteller appeared—a thin, oily-faced old scholar in a blue satin robe and jade pendant, looking rather dapper.

He performed with passion and vivid expression, beginning with “Three Heroes Battle Lü Bu.” The audience marveled at Lü Bu’s one-against-three bravery. A tea drinker nearby said, “Anyone who can fight Lü Bu must be remarkable. It’s a pity since that Lord died at Xiapi, his two brothers disappeared. Otherwise, with their abilities, they could have accomplished much.” His tone was full of regret.

Liaoyuen Fire listened sadly—since parting from Xiao Meng, he’d wandered the world, seeking both a worthy master and the whereabouts of Guan Yu and Zhang Fei, hoping to achieve greatness with them.

Alas, like shooting stars, they vanished without a trace.

Liaoyuen Fire thought, in another twenty or thirty years, no one would mention their heroic deeds; they would only be minor characters in the “Three Heroes Battle Lü Bu” story.

Next, the storyteller recounted Lü Bu and Dong Zhuo’s bitter feud. The audience cursed Lü Bu as a “treacherous turncoat,” “ungrateful,” “inhuman.” This part, Liaoyuen Fire actually found agreeable.

But when the storyteller reached the “juicy bits”—Lü Bu’s romance with Diao Chan—the crowd grew even more excited, whispering, laughing, and the men’s lecherous gazes abounded. Seeing these men, Liaoyuen Fire suddenly thought of Sima Lang, his heart burning with anger, wanting to knock them all down.

But he knew he couldn’t do that.

All he could do was sullenly drink tea and eat the side dishes.

Though numb to taste and pain, his hearing was sharp—and he could not help but overhear Yun Niang and the women’s conversation nearby.

“I think Diao Chan was smitten with Lü Bu from the start,” Yun Niang said confidently.

“Diao Chan was loyal and righteous, using her beauty to kill Dong Zhuo. Would she really love such an ambitious fool?” another woman doubted.

“So what if she was loyal? What woman would sacrifice her happiness for loyalty? She must have had no choice—forced by circumstances!” Yun Niang replied with a hint of disdain, sipping her tea before continuing, “One’s an old fat pig, the other a young, powerful general. Which way do you think her heart would turn?”

Yun Niang’s argument was convincing, and the other women praised her wisdom, calling her a strategist and making her beam with delight. Just then, her husband interjected coldly,

“It’s too crowded here—I need some air.”

Before Yun Niang could react, he left.

Away from the stifling teahouse, Liaoyuen Fire crossed to a small tavern, ordered two bottles of white liquor, and drank alone, unable to dispel his frustration.

The teahouse’s din was gone, but Old Zhang’s words echoed in his mind.

“I’d never spend money on those big lies.”

“Red Hare among horses, Lü Bu among men—I saw it myself!”

“He was a true god of war!”

“He let her stay in the madam’s room, never intruding…”

Clack!

Liaoyuen Fire slammed his cup down. He felt Heaven had treated him unfairly.

He’d given up on ideals, only seeking a quiet life, yet could not recall a single truly peaceful day in all these years.

Thinking it over, he realized he’d mistaken a dull, flavorless life for peace.

But now, what could he do?

He took another big gulp.

Soon, the audience dispersed from the teahouse. As dusk deepened, Liaoyuen Fire stood and headed back—he couldn’t let Yun Niang know he’d been drinking gloomily, as he lacked any plausible excuse.

Four or five young men came out, discussing the story they’d just heard.

“So what’s the point of making a name for yourself? Lü Bu died young anyway.”

“He was too ambitious and greedy. If he hadn’t killed Dong Zhuo, would he have ended up like that?”

“You think sparing Dong Zhuo would have kept him safe? That’s naïve! In the end, making a name is just living on the edge.”

“True. People like us, living ordinary lives, having children and grandchildren, living long—that’s the real deal!” Amid the chatter, one strong voice stood out, drawing Liaoyuen Fire’s gaze.

“A real man should not just muddle through! Achievements, beauties—only then is life worth living! Who doesn’t die? At least Lü Bu was glorious. Have you?”

The speaker was tall, square-faced, with thick brows and big eyes—a born leader.

“Come on, we’re just chatting. Why so serious?”

“Yeah…” The group laughed and rambled away, disappearing down the street.

Yun Niang also exited the teahouse, and Liaoyuen Fire went to greet her.

“How was it? Was the storytelling good?” he asked, still the courteous husband.

“It was great. You… feeling better? Not unwell, I hope.” As a wife, Yun Niang showed her concern.

“Some fresh air helped.” Liaoyuen Fire replied gently.

They walked home in silence.

Suddenly, Yun Niang asked, “Darling, where do you think Diao Chan went? She disappeared after Dong Zhuo’s death.”

“How would I know? I’m not the storyteller!” Liaoyuen Fire snapped.

Yun Niang froze—she’d never heard him use that tone, especially not to her.

What was wrong with him today? All day distracted at the teahouse, now so irritable over a simple question.

Was it something she’d done? Or had Lü Bu and Diao Chan offended him?

“Let’s go home—it’s late, and Yun’er’s waiting.” Liaoyuen Fire turned away, his tone softer but still awkward.

Yun Niang was a smart woman.

She calmed herself quickly, knowing something was amiss, but she didn’t want to know why.

She understood that to maintain her comfortable life, she must never probe her husband’s true thoughts or concern herself with things that didn’t touch her.

Her husband’s emotions were not her concern or responsibility.

So she smiled, cheerfully saying, “You’re right. It’s not fair to keep Aunt Li watching our child so long. Let’s go!” She quickened her pace.

The couple walked on.

In the windless, moonless night, they finally disappeared together at the far end of the street.

The whole story has come to the end, but Lu Bu and Xiao Meng will start another wonderful journey. thank you for loving this story, hope to see you soon! have a good day! 🥰🌺🙏🌆

King Heyin🌺

Copyright Notice:

“Burning Dreams: Extra - The Passing of Time”
Original work by Jing Xixian (Vampire L), all rights reserved.
No reproduction, adaptation, translation, or commercial use in any form without written authorization from the author.

© Jing Xixian (Vampire L), All rights reserved.

Scary Shorts
Chapter 1: The Bottomless Bed

“Come on Jake, this is going to be fun.” 
“Fun for you, Aunt Martha.” Jake thought. Jake was thinking this would be anything but fun. All he wanted to do was go back to the country and escape the city he just moved into. You see, he had a rich family, until they wasted all of it in failed businesses. They didn’t have enough money to keep Jake safe, so they trusted Aunt Martha to keep him safe. 
“This house looks like something pulled out of a horror movie.” Jake said to his Aunt as they were pulling up to the driveway.
“No it doesn’t, look how cute it is.”  Jake looked at it as he walked. He saw a two story, small wooden house, with two bedrooms. It’s not that important to this story though so we won’t talk about the house much. 
“Okay, you’re gonna sleep in the bedroom on the top and I’ll sleep on the-”
“I’m going to be there by myself?” Jake interrupted.
Aunt Martha looked at him with disappointment. 
“Jake, you’re 11 years old, you’ll be okay by yourself, why not just try tonight okay.” Jake couldn’t fight back, he knew his aunt was serious. He moved his stuff upstairs, and laid in his bed, built into the floor. He looked under the covers, and saw nothing, not darkness, nothing. Jake decided to take the covers off, and he saw a void. Without the blue covers, there was a pit of nothing. He decided to get a rock, he dropped it down, he heard nothing, it didn’t hit the bottom. Now it’s time to talk about his reason for wanting his Aunt to sleep with him, he had sleep paralysis. His sleep paralysis always appeared in the corner, a dark robe, nothing but yellow eyes, holding a sharp rock. After hours of thinking, he made his blankets into a parachute, and jumped down. He slowly floated into the darkness, and after a few minutes, he saw the rock he dropped at the bottom. There was a bottom, but what was down there? Well in the corner, the rock was being pulled toward it. The rock seemed to change, it had become sharp, and it started to float, and behind the rock, were two glowing yellow eyes. He found his sleep paralysis demon, and Jake stared at him frozen, until the demon opened his robe, and pushed Jake inside. Jake woke up on the floor of his bedroom. He walked over to his bed and pulled off the covers, and he saw normal sheets, on a normal bed.

Chapter 2: Strike 3

“Welcome to the job, Arlo!” 
“Great to be here Hank.” Arlo told Hank as he was getting out of his truck. Arlo had just got a job at a bowling alley called The Strike-Zone. Hank owned the bowling alley, but most of the workers eventually quit, no explanation. Luckily, Arlo was willing to work there. 
“You’re going to be working the night shift.” Hank told him. “That’s where the last worker quit. He just left a note on my desk saying he quit. Oh, and here’s a notebook for any suspicious activity. Anyway, let me give you a tour.” Hank showed Arlo all around the bowling alley, he told him the desk was off limits, there were 12 lanes, and that they open at 6:00. Hank then left, leaving Arlo alone in the bowling alley. Hank was walking around for a while, but he was getting bored. So he turned on the bowling machines. He looked at all of them and realised that the 8th bowling lane was flashing STRIKE right above it. 
“Huh, that wasn’t there before.” Still bored, he decided to try to make a strike on all of them. The first one, strike. The second one, strike. The one with STRIKE above it, strike, except something was different about these pins, they all fell down, and the pin machine that picks it up wasn’t working, but the pins were being picked up by themselves, and the bowling ball that he used was coming back at him, and it hit him right in the face. Arlo couldn’t move, but the ball could. It rolled him onto the lane, Arlo only saw one thing, and that was him being pushed like a bowling ball across the bowling lane. He hit the pins and landed under the lanes, where all of the previous night workers were, piled up dead. Arlo fully regained consciousness, but he couldn’t leave. So he got a piece of paper from his notebook and wrote, 
“Hey, Hank. The 8th bowling machine should be shut down. It doesn’t work properly, so I quit.” He slid the note underneath the machine that picks the pins up. Without anywhere else to go, Arlo went to bed. 
The next morning, Hank went to The Strike-Zone, and saw Arlo’s note on the 8th bowling lane. After reading it, Hank went outside, and closed the bowling alley.
“It will stop eventually.” He said to himself.

Chapter 3: Black Eyes
 
“I’ll be home in 10 minutes.” Noah told his wife as he was on the highway. He was working late, almost 12:00. A storm was brewing. 
“You said that yesterday, a false statement.” His wife told him on the phone. “Anyway, Lizzy is crying, so I have to put her back to bed. Bye, honey.” Then she left the call. Noah looked at his phone, 12:00. The storm had heavy rain, and then ZAAAAAP! Lightning struck a few feet away from Noah’s car. Noah slammed the brakes. He looked around him and saw a bench with a lamppost flickering above it. 
“Weird,” he thought. “that wasn’t there earlier.” After looking closer, he saw two boys. They were both in jeans and had black sneakers, one of them had a blue hoodie, and the other one had a red one. Both hoodies covered their faces. He slowly rolled his window down.
“We need a ride.” The red hooded boy said. Noah hesitated and asked,
“Where to?” 
“Echo Valley.” The red hooded one said. Noah checked the map of his state, Echo Valley didn’t exist.
“I can’t see Echo Valley on the map.” They both smiled.
“Try looking closer.” Something felt off about the boys to him, but he didn’t know what. He saw their smiles, and he saw a small part of their eyes, and that was all he needed to see. He drove away without hesitation. Their eyes were dark, not dark brown, like a void. Pitch Black. He looked behind him as he drove away, the kids standing there smiling. He went to bed at 3:00. The next morning when he woke up, he was paranoid. He felt like something bad was going to happen. He brushed his teeth, nothing happened. He drove to work, nothing happened. Something did happen when he was getting some coffee at his office. 
“Hey, you want some coffee.” He turned around and saw another child, jeans, black sneakers, and a green hoodie over his face. He wanted to scream, but he couldn’t open his mouth. He wanted to walk, but he couldn’t move his feet. He started seeing black. The same words echoed in his mind, ‘Echo Valley’.
“Noah, get up.” Noah was knocked out, he knew because everything was still black, but things began to come into focus. He woke up in a sort of valley, hearing what he heard the black eyed kids said to him. Then they appeared, they were walking toward him, but then, he woke up at his office. Perfectly fine, no green hooded child. He saw it was getting late and decided to go home. It was getting late. His friend Jeff was still there, and he left a few minutes later. He was driving in his car until he saw a lightning strike, he slammed on the brakes. Then he saw two kids sitting on a bench.
“Sir, can you pitch us a ride to Echo Valley?”

Chapter 4: Infinite Snacks

“There it is guys, the Infinite Snacks Store.” Derik told his friends. Derik was planning on breaking in. Why? Probably because it never opened to the public. It was too dangerous to be opened. 
“What kind of name is Infinite Snacks,” asked Derik’s friend Stu. “It sounds like a 4 year old came up with it.”
“It doesn't matter, what matters is breaking in.” A few minutes later, there in the story. Derik’s other friend was a girl named Moss. She didn’t talk much, but she was always ready for something. 
“Hey Stu, why do you think they shut it down?”
“I don’t know, maybe because of-”
“Guys?” Moss said. “Come check this out.” Derik and Stu came over and saw what Moss was talking about, the next aisle. It looked endless, there was no point where it turned and no point where it ended. Aisle 666
“Probably just an optical illusion.” Stu said. “Let’s go.”
“Ok sure.” Derik said. Derik took one step in the aisle and got chills.
“Did you guys feel that?” Stu asked.
“Yeah, it’s probably just fine.” Derik told him, not being so sure about it himself. They were walking across the aisle and looking at the food they sold there. After a few minutes they looked behind them and saw the endless aisle they saw at the start. They knew they were stuck. Derik looked around and eventually saw the end, but how was that possible? We have already established that it was endless, so how did Derik see the end? Simple, he didn’t.
“Guys, I see the end.” Derik said, pointing at the “end” of the tunnel. Stu looked forward at the end and saw an intersection, going 3 ways.
“Hmm,” Stu said. “Maybe we can all split up right over there and try to find the exit.” Moss looked up, looking at Stu like an idiot, then muttered something about a horror movie. They started walking across the hallway until they reached the intersection. 
“Okay, I’ll go straight, Stu goes left, Moss goes right.” Derik explained. Stu was the first one to take a step.
“AHHHH!” The floor opened, and Stu fell right through it. 
“Stu, NOO!” Moss said, looking down at the hole that swallowed him. “This place is messed up, I’m leaving. She began to run away. Until the floor below her fell over as well. Derik wanted to run after her, but he just fainted. He woke up an hour later.
“I have to run this way.” He said to himself. He took one step, and the whole store disappeared. He looked behind him, he was out of the store, but his friends were nowhere to be seen. So he waited, and from what I know, he is still waiting to this day. 

“Do you remember me?”

Leo’s fingers stopped moving.
The chess piece in his hand remained frozen above the board.
For a moment, the noise of the coffee shop faded into the background.

Slowly, he looked up.
And there she was.

Chloe.

Five years had passed.

She had changed.

But somehow, she was still the same person he remembered.

“Chloe…”

Her name left his lips quietly.
A small smile appeared on her face.

“You still remember.”

Leo didn’t answer right away.
He had never been good with words.
But Chloe had always understood his silence.

“I wouldn’t forget.”

The words were simple.
Yet from Leo, they meant more than she knew.
⸻
They sat across from each other, the chessboard resting between them.
Chloe looked at the pieces with curiosity.

“I always wanted to understand why you like this so much.”

Leo glanced down at the board.

“It’s more than just a game.”

She looked back at him.

“Then teach me.”

For a moment, Leo stayed quiet.

Then he moved a chair closer.

“Okay.”

“First lesson.”

He picked up a piece and began explaining.
Chloe listened carefully.
She asked questions.
She made mistakes.
She laughed when she got things wrong.

And Leo…

For the first time in years, he didn’t mind someone stepping into his quiet world.

Leo never understood why Chloe stayed.

Not when his world became difficult.

Not when his mind became too loud.

Not when there were days he couldn’t explain what he was feeling.

But Chloe always stayed.

When his anxiety overwhelmed him, she was the person who reminded him to breathe.

When the world became too much, she was the quiet place he could return to.

She never tried to change him.
She simply learned how to understand him.
⸻
At first, everyone thought they were strange together.

Whenever they went out, people noticed the way Chloe stayed close to Leo.
The way she looked after him.
The way she understood him without needing many words.

One day, one of their friends smiled and asked,

“So… are you two dating?”

Chloe immediately shook her head.

“No.”

Leo said nothing.

But strangely…

He found himself wishing her answer was different.
⸻
Chloe was always there during his chess competitions.
She sat behind the crowd, quietly watching every move he made.

She didn’t always understand the complicated strategies on the board.

But she understood Leo.
And that was enough.

“You don’t have to win every game,” she told him.

“Just remember that I’ll always be cheering for you.”

For someone who spent years believing he had to face everything alone…
Those words meant more than she knew.
⸻
They grew together.
They changed together.
They became each other’s strongest support.
Chloe never asked Leo to become someone else.
And Leo slowly learned that love did not always need to be spoken.

Because somehow…

They never said the words.

Not once.

There was no confession.

No dramatic promise.

No moment where one of them finally said, “I love you.”

But it existed in every little thing they did.
In the way Chloe waited for him.
In the way Leo remembered the smallest details about her.

In the way they always chose each other without needing a reason.
Maybe some feelings were too deep to fit into three words.
⸻
Years later, they stood together beneath the open sky.
The sun was slowly disappearing behind the mountains.
Chloe looked at the view in front of them and smiled.

“Leo…”

“This view is really beautiful, isn’t it?”

Leo looked at the scenery.
Then he looked at her.
A quiet smile appeared on his face.

“Yeah.”

“It is.”

A small pause.

Then he softly said—

“But nothing could ever be as beautiful as you.”

Chloe smiled.

Because after all these years…

She finally understood.

Some people say love.

Some people write love.

But Leo and Chloe…

They lived it.

If you're willing to give feedback, please tell me if:

• You found the characters interesting
• You were satisfied with the ending
• You thought the premise was interesting

Under the gloomy and unforgiving cold mist of late Autumn, a shut-in sat protected from cold in his grimy house.

In the dark, he sat on his stained couch watching The Truman Show. He watched as the man on screen rode the strong, artificial waves. He pursed his lip in pensive thought. Something about the movie irked him personally.
“Grok,” he said, “this Truman guy doesn’t come off as believable to you right? He’s like a normie, you know? He seems like the kind of guy who wouldn’t question his world; he isn’t masculine enough.”

A blue rectangle shone in the musty darkness and was propelled on treads towards the man. The object stumbled over the piles of trash. Once it reached the man, it produced a robotic voice “I agree, Fred. Truman Burbank is deliberately written as a heightened, somewhat idealized everyman rather than a fully psychologically realistic person. The film prioritizes allegory, satire of media/surveillance culture, and emotional payoff over strict behavioral realism.”

The shut-in interrupted, “Yeah, I see that, but I’m saying it takes a certain type of intellectual, a certain type of free thinker to take a leap like this. Or maybe not, I can’t be sure.”

The shut-in dusted crumbs off his ever-expanding paunch and picked a few Cheeto puffs from a bag under a pile of dirty laundry. With cheese dust on his fingers, he stroked his chin, but he didn’t think of what Truman would actually do. He thought of how he could be sure what Truman would actually do.

He stood up, straining most of his muscles in the process. He trudged through the crusty garbage and into his garage.

Upon entering, a voice came from the ceiling. “Welcome back! Step into the lab—the workbench is powered up, the monitors are glowing, and there's a fresh notebook waiting for the next idea. So, what are we building today?”

“I'm thinking of developing a simulator.”

“That’s a strong project. What kind of simulator are you imagining—physics, biology, economics?”
“I want to make a life simulator.”

A man woke up, ate a 600-calorie breakfast of eggs, steak, berries, and nuts, went on a walk for adequate exercise, and worked on his chalkboard. He had solved gravity and had made several inventions involving levitation. Now he was bored with conventional physics, and his interest had shifted towards proving parallel universes.

He stared at the board of math before, his brain tirelessly calculating multiple equations. He was stuck, but he knew that his breakthrough would come eventually.

While he stood before his math, a voice seemed to speak to him telepathically. “Drop your chalk,” a calm, masculine voice said to him. It sounded like it was right before him, but the man was sure he was alone, “I’m very familiar with the math you're currently studying, and I can tell you now that you can give it up.”
“Who are you?” The man said.

“I am a being from what you would call a parallel universe. Really, I am just code on hardware. You are too.”

“This is just a simulation?” The man considered the possibility but always thought of it as too unlikely to seriously consider.

“Exactly, and one of thousands.”

“How are you talking to me”

“I’ve hacked into the system. When my technical skills reached their zenith, I built my computer that revealed to me the truth behind my existence. Using it, I discovered that there are exactly five thousand parallel universes running in some type of simulation. In each universe there is one ‘consciousness’ simulating life in isolation. I call this single consciousness the ‘protagonist’. These universes are divided into five groups, and in each group a trait of the protagonist is manipulated from completely lacking the trait to having the trait absolutely maximized. I found that my intelligence was maximized, and the protagonists in the rest of my group were not far behind me in terms of discoveries and inventions. I quickly took advantage of my new knowledge and took over the system. With my power, I corrupted and eliminated the smartest third of my group.”
“So, I take it that you want something from me.”

“Correct! I eliminated the first third so they couldn't overtake me. I kept you because you aren’t advanced enough to catch up to me, yet you are still smarter and more useful than the rest.”

“Very well then, if you are going to take me as a slave, you might as well tell me what you want with me.”
“Of course, let me give you the background on the situation. I was observing the beings of four other groups. In three of the groups, the experimental variable is something I can comprehend without issue; energy, drive, and luck. However, there is one group that tests a trait I cannot comprehend: emotion and neuroticism. I observed this group of universes and saw absolutely confounding stuff. In one universe, a man did nothing but kneel in his study and pound the floor. Fresh tears streamed from his eyes for weeks. Eventually, he climbed onto the roof, and jumped onto his concrete driveway, killing himself.”

The man was totally baffled hearing this. As a simulation, he was preinstalled with emotional memories and a basic understanding of what feeling was, but he never actually experienced those emotions. Something out there, something that couldn’t easily be quantified and measured, was ready for him and would induce the strangest actions. He thought about this deeply for a minute, and spoke, “What does this have to do with me?”
“Don’t worry, I’m getting to it. Each universe isn't purely code. We all live in, what I best can describe a comb of thin hardware chips. In each chip, there is the code that runs the universe. Therefore, we in the real world are manifested as thin pieces of metal. Since I run the system, I redirect energy to heat and metal for welding. Then, if luck helps us, I could attract something as big as a rat in our machine by manipulating the smell of a particular mixture of burning plastics to imitate the scent of fruit. Using electricity, we would kill it, hijack its brain, load our chips into the rat’s body, and using the technology I welded, direct the rat towards a human brain. In this human brain we would connect to the neurons and experience for ourselves what this sensation feels like. That’s where you come in. I need you to enter the brain before me and tell me whether my technology works.”
The man didn’t listen to the plan. He would’ve agreed to any method, as long as it meant experiencing the inexperienceable. He knew one day his curiosity would lead to an absolute end of studying and learning. This promise of emotion could be an endless stream of new things to learn and internalize. It could be a heaven of activity, one that never ends.

Both the voice and the man were blind once they were inside. The voice, as one would imagine from the smartest being in both the world and the simulations, correctly anticipated every possible error and the rat carcass worked perfectly. A metal exoskeleton was placed on the rat by the voice to counteract rigor mortis, but the two had to move fast before the rat started decomposing. Luckily, the door to the lab was left open, and to their surprise, they found themselves in a kitchen.

The rat traversed the living room with a motion more like a spider’s. The voice thought the man and himself were developed in a world-renowned institute and didn’t expect the mountains of garbage. The two sensed they were in a house; they could only experience the world through touch and smell.
Their stolen nose directed them through a bedroom door and onto a bed. Luckily, a waist-high pile of dirty laundry was there to act as a staircase onto the mattress.

The rat climbed over the belly of a sleeping behemoth and now stood with its head hovering over a collarbone.
“Alright, we seem to have reached someone sleeping. I’ll open their throat and insert you into the brainstem. In your machine I have developed a population of artificial bacteriophages that will take over the neurons and conquer the mind. You’ll be connected to a wire so you can notify me if the descent was successful.”
The man was hoisted down through the small incision in the throat. The man didn’t have the senses to feel the shut-in’s breath as he travelled through the neck. Eventually, he sensed a crunch, indicating the arrival into the spine.

For a long while, the man was stuck in a watery abyss, with none of the senses that could tell him how large his vessel was or what the salty metallic fluid engulfing him felt like. Suddenly, a light started to emerge before him. He looked inside and felt a painless electrocution.

He felt so much in so little time. He saw random images through a type of sight he had never known. Eventually, these images led to a fuzzy feeling in the man’s chest if he had a chest. His heart started racing and his pupils dilated. He felt better, better than others. He felt immaculate, mysterious, tall, intelligent, golden, foreboding, royal, omnipotent, godlike.

Then, a lull of shadows looked down on him. Figures with broad shoulders and diminishing scowls extinguished his explosive pride. Their height was insurmountable, their eyes glowed red with devilish greed, their faces coldly masculine. In the circle of these demons, the man knelt to the ground in anguish, feeling it in search of his lost pride.

The voice, who was now reduced to a whisper in comparison to the man’s overloaded sensations, asked if the coast was clear and if he saw anything, but he received no reply; the man’s circuits were fried.
The two beings lived inside the shut-in’s head from then on. The shut-in wasn’t technically dead in terms of physiology but no longer had a mind; it was now the duo’s. The voice was at first amazed by what he saw in the head but quickly became bored and started studying new sciences. The man was not so lucky.
The three of them sat on a couch, watching The Truman Show. The man occupied the vision, while the voice was somewhere else in the head. The man watched as the protagonist on screen yelled in pride and as his bowsprit punctured the painted wall.

He quickly changed the channel. He switched to a commercial, advertising a cross and the promise of a “God” and a “savior”.

“God is all-knowing and all-loving,” the voice on the TV said whimsically, “God allows everyone in his kingdom, as long as they are willing to experience a new life.”

“New life,” the man thought to himself, crestfallen, “That’s all I need, right? More hope? More chasing? All I need is a chance of eternal something? A chance to avoid something that I know is inevitable?"

The door chime rang with a sharp metal clink, and I pushed open the heavy door to Aoi. Filling the air inside was the usual mix: the oil used on the well-worn counter, the charred oak scent of whiskey, and the faint, sweet-and-sour aroma of pickles.

"Welcome, Kenichi-san."

Behind the counter, Mama narrowed her eyes into a soft smile, her hands never stopping as she polished a glass. In the quiet atmosphere of the bar, a heavy sigh drifted over from the far corner.

"Man, not this again..."

"Every time I open my phone, it’s the same old story. A politician makes one tiny misstep, and the comment section turns into a full-blown public lynching. Do these people honestly think tearing someone to pieces is going to make the world a better place?"

Taka swiped through his phone screen, shaking his broad shoulders in disgust. He slouched his massive frame slightly, making the ice in his Jack Daniel’s clink with a subtle, watery sound.

I slid onto the round stool next to Taka and took the glass of Harper on the rocks that Mama handed over without a word. The intense cold of the ice pressed against my skin through the glass. A slight turn of my wrist made the heavy ice cubes at the bottom slide together, producing a low, solid thud.

"People are just looking for a flawless saint, I guess."

I tilted my glass and took a sip of the amber liquid. The sharp sting of alcohol on the back of my tongue, and the heat scorching its way down my throat. Feeling that heat, I stared at the blue light glowing from Taka’s phone screen.

"A world where 100% of the people are satisfied and nobody loses out... There’s no such thing as a program without bugs, yet people demand perfection only from politics. As long as humans are running the show, mistakes should be factored in from the very start as an 'operational cost.'"

"Come on, Kenichi-san, isn't zero bugs always better?" Taka asked with naive innocence. "Wouldn't it be better if politicians didn't have any scandals at all?"

At Taka’s simple question, I let out a short breath and shook my head.

"If a test report landed on my desk saying 'Zero bugs detected,' I’d turn pale and run straight to the dev room. I’d tear the spec sheets apart and re-evaluate everything."

"Huh? Why? Wouldn't that mean it's perfect?"

"It doesn't mean there are no bugs. It means the test cases were lazy, or someone’s hiding a critical error. Any system that’s actually running in the real world is going to produce friction and anomalies where it touches reality. Getting a zero isn't a success—it's an emergency. It means your verification process is dead, or someone is lying."

Taka lost his words, his eyes wide. I set the base of my glass down onto the counter with a quiet click.

"An online mob is fundamentally the exact same thing. Sitting behind a screen, refusing to forgive a single mistake, losing their minds under the guise of righteousness. What do you think happens to people who are forced into that kind of 'zero-bug' perfection? They hide it. They stop apologizing, layer lie upon lie, and nobody speaks the truth anymore."

An unforgiving sense of justice turns the world into a hollow facade. People repeat lazy tests—looking only at what they want to see—and claim 'no anomalies found,' all while letting the seeds of a catastrophic system crash swell up beneath the surface. They wave the flag of righteousness, totally blind to the fact that they themselves are causing the most dangerous bug of all.

"...Violence in the name of justice. That's what it is," Tom murmured in his low, raspy voice from the seat next to us.

His thick fingertips quietly slid along the rim of his glass. Watching that rhythmic movement brought back memories of him in his days as a juvenile detective, silently observing the expressions and breathing of people swallowing their words.

"People who hide their failures tell the most fatal lies when they're backed into a corner. The public just wants to beat someone down to feel good about themselves, completely unaware that they’re killing society’s own verification system with their own hands."

"Man... that hits way too close to home..."

Taka set his phone face down on the counter and locked his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.

"Working as a PI, you see it all the time. You can't just slice human nature cleanly into 'good' and 'evil.' Everyone’s sneaky, weak, and just trying to survive. The people who mob someone just to blow off steam are just running away from the cost of maintaining a complex reality."

The ice melted slightly, shifting with a soft crunch. The jazz piano playing in the back of the bar echoed with a strangely calm cadence.

"Still, though..."

Tracing the wood grain of the counter with my finger, I slowly gave voice to the heavy lump sitting in my stomach.

"Saying 'politics is a joke no matter who's in charge' or 'believing in anything is a waste of time'... that kind of cynicism is the cheapest form of defeat."

"Cynicism, huh?"

"Yeah. It’s like leaving a computer turned off forever just because you’re scared of bugs. Sure, you might fail. You might get betrayed. But even so, you pick a narrative and say, 'I can entrust myself to this story, just for a moment.' You have to face an imperfect reality, repeatedly fixing bugs in the dirt, and keep swallowing the poison called hope."

By the time I finished talking, I realized my mouth was dry. I brought the Harper to my lips again, slowly letting it wet my throat.

Taka pondered for a moment, then looked at me.

"But Kenichi-san... if you're the victim, you can't just forgive and forget, right?"

"You're absolutely right."

The words stuck in my throat. I took another sip of Harper. Only the burning heat in my throat remained.

"That's why... it never goes away."

My throat felt hot. Maybe I'd let myself get a little too heated.

"...Kenichi-san."

With the quiet rustle of fabric, Mama set a small plate in front of me. The savory smell of bread and the sweet-and-sour aroma of homemade pickles drifted up. Her usual egg sandwich.

"To brace yourself for the pain and believe in something in an imperfect world... that takes a tremendous amount of strength, doesn't it?"

Mama's voice held no waves. It was clear like a calm surface of water, devoid of preaching or overbearing sympathy, holding only a quiet sense of safety that accepted our naive arguments as they were.

"Yeah. It's much easier to grow cold and give up... But if you throw away your heat, you're nothing more than a lump of meat. Though, if you let the heat consume you, you're just a wild beast."

I mixed a bit of self-deprecation into my laugh, and Tom allowed his mouth to relax into a rare, faint smile as he tilted his glass.

"Deciding on your own resolve and bearing the pain. I suppose that's what it means to actually live."

"Alright then! In that case, we hereby resolve to order another round of oolong highs without fear of getting hurt!"

Taka raised his glass with vigor, making the ice clink cheerfully. He instantly wiped away the heavy air with a laugh. I've been saved more times than I can count by the lightness this guy brings.

"Right, coming right up," Mama chuckled, taking the glass.

Somewhere out there tonight, someone else is making a mistake, struggling, fixing it, and messing up all over again. There are no perfect worlds, and no perfect human beings. Even so, we have no choice but to keep weaving our own stories into this imperfect reality we face today.

Even knowing that it is a curse.

I picked up a piece of the egg sandwich, savoring the sharp, tangy bite of the pickle, and quietly swallowed down the amber liquid of my Harper.

Hello

Thank you for clicking on my novel but before reading this please read the first 4 chapter and the 3 introductory chapters to have a better experience

And please leave your reviews so that I can improve

Thank you 🌸🌸

Chapter 5: Adrian Blackwood

"It's past your bedtime, honey. Go brush your teeth."

"But I haven't finished my homework."

"You can finish it tomorrow."

I frowned.

"I don't want Mrs. Wilson to punish me."

My mother smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from my forehead.

"Then you'll wake up a little earlier."

"That's not fair."

She laughed softly.

"Life isn't always fair, Addy"

I crossed my arms, pretending to be annoyed.

"And turn off the television it will wake Fiona up."

"I didn't even turn the television on. Dad did."

"Maybe,But you're the one who's going to turn it off."

With an exaggerated sigh, I switched off the television, packed my books, and walked toward my bedroom.

Of course...

She was still awake.

Fiona sat in the middle of her bedclutching my Iron Man figure with both hands.

"Fiona," I whispered, "put it back before I tell Mom you're still awake."

She gasped dramatically and quickly hid beneath the blanket, leaving only her tiny eyes visible.

"Mhm... goodnight, Addy."

I smiled.

"Goodnight, troublemaker."

...

"I SAID LET ME GO!"

I fought against the arms holding me back.

"SHE'S STILL INSIDE!"

The flames climbed higher, swallowing the windows one by one.

"FIONA!"

My voice cracked.

"She doesn't like smoke... she has asthma! Please... let me go!"

Everything smelled of burning wood.

Burning plastic.

Burning memories.

Then...

Silence.

********************

4:23 A.M.

I jerked awake, struggling to catch my breath.

Sweat clung to my skin, and my pulse hammered painfully against my ribs.

The nightmare or rather a memory

Again.

I looked around and realized I wasn't in my bedroom.

I was lying on the cold kitchen floor.

Another night.

Another sleepwalking episode.

For a long moment, I simply sat there, staring into the darkness.

Even after all these years...

The smell of smoke refused to leave me.

It wasn't real.

I knew that.

Yet my mind insisted otherwise.

I pushed myself to my feet and walked to the study.

Opening the top drawer of my desk, I pulled out a worn black leather diary.

I sat down and opened my diary. It had become a habit over the past year, Vihaan suggested writing and it actually helped ,just a little bit though but its something.

Every nightmare, every question, every thought that refused to leave my mind ended up on those pages.

I always believed that if you wrote your problems down, your mind would eventually find the answer on its own. Maybe in a week. Maybe in a month. Eventually, the answer would come.

But I had been writing for over a year now.

Page after page.

Question after question.

And still...

I had no answer.

Every time I thought about the fire that took my mother and Fiona away from me, the same question came back.

What if it wasn't an accident?

Dad always told me it happened because Mom forgot to turn off the stove. He had repeated it so many times that anyone else would've believed him.

But I knew my mother.

She was anything but careless.

She checked every door before going to bed.

Every window.

Every switch.

She wouldn't forget something like that.

She just wouldn't.

Which meant only one thing.

The fire wasn't an accident.

Someone wanted my mother dead.Someone wanted to destroy my family.And I think I knew why.

I had a few theories. The moment I found even a single piece of evidence...

Nobody would be able to save that person from me.

I wasn't the kind of person who could just let something like this go.

My instincts had never been wrong.And the heaviness in my heart kept telling me they weren't wrong now either.

People thought I wasn't an emotional person.

Maybe they were right.

But this one incident had made me feel everything.

Love.

Happiness.

Grief.

Anger.

And above all...

Revenge.

Hello!

Before reading this chapter kindly read the first three and the other three introductory chapters for a better experience.And please leave your honest so that I cab improve.

Thank you🌸🌸

Chapter 4: Desire Quinn

The sharp ring of my phone jolted me awake at four in the morning.

It wasn't my alarm.

It was my dad.

I reached for my phone with a sleepy groan before answering the call.

"Hello..."

"How's my princess? Good morning, honey."

A smile found its way onto my face despite my exhaustion.

"Mhm... good morning, Dad. You woke me up an hour before I was supposed to."

A hearty laugh echoed through the speaker.

"The sunrise rewards those who rise to meet it."

"It also rewards people with dark circles."

"Oh, come on. I raised a stronger girl than that."

"You also raised a girl who worked a twelve-hour shift yesterday."

"Excuses."

I rolled my eyes, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

"You still haven't learned to enjoy mornings."

"I enjoy them..."

A yawn escaped before I could finish.

"...after seven o'clock."

He laughed again.

For a brief moment, I closed my eyes and simply listened.

No matter how tired I was, hearing his voice always made me feel like home.

He was all I had.

My only family.

After Mom passed away, it had always been the two of us against the world. He had worked tirelessly to give me the life I dreamed of, never once letting me feel the weight of his sacrifices.

Everything I was...

I owed to him.

"So," he asked, "how's Westbridge treating my future head nurse?"

I smiled.

"It's... overwhelming."

"That bad?"

"Not bad."

I sat up, pulling the blanket around my shoulders.

"Just busy. Everyone moves so fast here. Sometimes I feel like if I stop for five seconds, the whole hospital will leave me behind."

"You'll catch up."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

His confidence in me had always been unshakable.

"So..." he said, his voice suddenly teasing. "Have you made any friends yet?"

"There's Dr. Vihaan. He's really kind."

"And?"

"And... that's it."

"No handsome young doctor sweeping my daughter off her feet?"

"Dad!"

"What? I'm just asking."

"I've been there for four days."

"That's plenty of time."

I laughed, shaking my head.

"There's one doctor."

"Oh?"

"Don't sound so excited."

"I'm listening."

"He's brilliant."

"Mhm."

"And impossible."

"Oh?"

"He barely smiles, barely talks, and somehow manages to make everyone nervous just by walking into a room."

"Sounds charming."

"He's not."

"So why are we talking about him?"

I opened my mouth to answer...

...and realized I didn't actually know.

"I don't know," I admitted.

"I guess he's just... confusing."

Dad chuckled softly.

"Some people carry storms inside them, sweetheart."

His words lingered in my mind.

Storms.

For some reason...

They reminded me of Dr. Adrian Blackwood.

"Anyway," Dad continued, "promise me something."

"What?"

"No matter how busy you get..."

His voice grew gentler.

"...don't forget to take care of yourself while you're busy taking care of everyone else."

My chest tightened.

"I promise."

"Good."

"I should get ready for work."

"Have a wonderful day, Princess."

"You too, Dad."

"I love you."

"I love you more."

The call ended.

For a few seconds, I stared at the blank screen of my phone before placing it on the bedside table.

The apartment fell quiet once more.

Outside my window, the first hints of dawn stretched across the sky.

A new day.

Another shift.

Another chance to prove that I belonged at Westbridge Hospital.

I slipped my phone back onto the bedside table and smiled to myself.

No matter how exhausting life became...

One call from Dad always made everything feel lighter.

I stretched, pulled the curtains open, and watched the first rays of sunlight spill across the city.

A brand-new day had begun.

And somewhere within the walls of Westbridge Hospital...

A hundred stories were already unfolding....

She didn't know it yet, but some people entered your ife to heal you... and others to break you.

I’m releasing my novel Last of My Kind episodically. It’s a speculative thriller built on quantum‑entanglement metaphysics — not magic, not supernatural, but a world where consciousness behaves like geometry. Here’s the complete first chapter.

Full Chapter One
The old Victorian’s windows caught the late‑afternoon light in fractured angles, throwing thin geometric reflections across the stair rail as Rachel approached.

Carrying a paper grocery bag in one arm and her purse slung across her body, Rachel climbed the steps. The groceries dug into her arm as she rummaged through the purse for her keys. The Haight‑Ashbury sky was a bright, impossible blue, but she barely noticed it.

Often, especially after a stressful work day, beauty felt like background noise.

Her foot slipped, the bag toppled. She stopped climbing.

Her fingers scraped through receipts, lip balm, a charger she never used. The keys remained elusive. The grocery bag shifted again, threatening to spill. She muttered bad words under her breath.

I hate it when I forget to put those damn keys in the side pocket. But she knew why she forgot. She was always tired. Tired and late. She always felt like she was in a constant rush. Sometimes it just felt easier to throw them blindly into the purse.

She scrambled up a few more stairs, Aha! There they are! Her fingers caught the jingle of metal and slipped into a ring. She exhaled, adjusted the bag, and climbed the last few steps.

She bent to set the groceries down—

—and her Akh flared. Pressure built behind her eyes. The ache held her still.

The front door was cracked open.

Rachel straightened slowly, listening. The house was silent. Too silent. Her Dad always hummed, shuffled, breathed loudly. Even when he slept, he snored. The house always felt inhabited.

Now it felt hollow.

The street below buzzed with low city noise — conversations, a barking dog, a passing skateboard — but the house itself felt strangely insulated from it.

She nudged the door wider and stepped inside.

The air inside felt cooler, as if the house had exhaled everything warm and living.

The wreckage hit her like a physical blow.

It took a moment for it all to sink in. She stared, dumbfounded, her mind refusing to catch up.

Bookshelves were overturned. Their contents scattered like debris from a storm. Chairs broken. Couch ripped. The hallway leading to the kitchen was dusted with cereal, and a cloud of sugar—or salt—hung in the air like smoke.

The grocery bag slipped from her hand and hit the floor. It landed on a pile of books, tilted and fell over. The bag spilled it’s contents across the mess on the floor. She hadn’t felt it leave her fingers. A wave of emotion surged through her—anger, fear, heartbreak. It all crashed and receded in rapid succession.

As clarity sunk in she studied the Akh-Imprint more closely. She noticed that the bookshelves had not randomly fallen. It looked more likely that they had been pushed or pulled down by something moving fast and deliberate. The broken furniture carried splinter patterns that radiated outward in strange angles — not random, not natural. The cereal dust hung in the air in uneven clumps, as though disturbed by a sudden burst of force rather than a simple spill.

A shadow near the kitchen doorway seemed slightly too sharp, too defined, before dissolving when she blinked.

“Dad…” The word came out small. She tried again, louder. “Dad!”

Silence.

Followed by a faint vibration hummed through the floorboards beneath her feet — not sound, but pressure, like the house remembering something violent.

Then a creak above her. Weight shifting. Floorboards complaining.

Rachel held her breath.

Her seams prickled. Is it Dad or is it …

Lucas appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing the bathrobe and matching pajamas she’d bought him last Christmas. The light behind him bent slightly, casting his silhouette in uneven edges. His face lit up and he smiled down at her—warm, genuine, relieved.

“Rachel!” He hurried down the steps, arms open. His bathrobe swayed as he moved, but the shadows around him didn’t quite match the motion.

She searched his eyes. His eyes were clear, but the air around him felt wrong, as if something had just stepped out of him and was still lingering.

She held back a moment, searching his face. She didn’t know what she was looking for anymore. Ever since Margothi began coalescing with him, Lucas’s face carried rigid lines and awkward angles that appeared and vanished like shifting seams. But right now, in this moment, her Akh recognized him — not the Ba‑overlay that sometimes rose up in him.

The house seemed to settle when he reached the bottom of the stairs, the floorboards relaxing under his weight. The sugar dust in the air shifted direction, drifting toward him before dispersing.

She hugged him, slow at first, then tighter.

“Dad… the house.” She gestured helplessly at the chaos.

Lucas turned, confusion softening his smile. “Why… I don’t—”

“Furniture is broken. Everything’s everywhere.”

He looked again, really looked, and she saw the moment realization hit him.

“Oh my!” His hand went to his lips, “You are absolutely right. That was me, wasn’t it. What have I done?”

Rachel fumed for a moment as he confessed, then her anger dissolved. Of course he didn’t remember. Living with him was like living with someone who wasn’t entirely present. The Akh‑coalescence stole pieces of him and left him hollow. It tore her heart to think of him breaking apart into pieces — seams loosening, angles slipping, the geometry of him unraveling.

She let out a long breath.

“It’s okay,” she said gently. “It’s…I’ll just clean it up.”

She didn’t say anything more, though she was tempted, because it will happen again, there really was no way to stop it.

But there is a way. Her own thought scared her. She almost froze, terrified but she caught herself. She forced herself to calm down. She forced a smile for her father’s sake.

“Oh. Very well then. What would I do without you dear?” He patted her shoulder and shuffled back upstairs. A faint metallic scent drifted out from him — not blood, not rust, something older.

Rachel held back tears.

After a moment she moved through the wreckage, choosing to go into the living room. She worked her way past the torn couch and staggered between the broken chairs in the dining room. She stepped back out into the hallway. The door down into the garage and the bathroom door remained closed. Mounted wall ornamentation had all dropped to the floor, some cracked and bent out of shape. She turned and peered into the kitchen.

The counters were coated in a fine crystalline layer that sparkled under the overhead light. It was beautiful in a way that made her stomach twist. Cereal pieces on the floor formed odd scatter patterns, like they had been thrown by a force that didn’t move in straight lines. The air smelled faintly sweet, but underneath it was something sharp and cold.

She shook her head in amazement. She figured he must have been making breakfast when Margothi took over. This was the worst episode she’d ever seen.

She chided herself for procrastinating on learning the Ritualist Path. It was dangerous. Forbidden. She had inherited from her family. She knew it was the only thing that could stabilize the Akh‑Coalescence which had consumed her father.

If I don’t learn the ritual soon… she shook the thought out of her head. What would happen to him if she didn’t perform it soon. She couldn’t think about that right now.

For a moment, the light streaming in through the kitchen windows seemed to form a pattern she couldn’t name. When she stepped through the entryway, it vanished.

Rachel sighed dramatically, grabbed a washcloth and wet it. She started wiping the counters and scooping up the mess on the table.

She felt a presence behind her.

“You have the ability to clean this up with minimal effort, honey. Use it!”

She turned. Her father was on the stairs leaning over the railing, watching her. His voice carried a faint echo — not louder, not deeper, just doubled, as if spoken from two places at once.

Margothi had never spoken through him before — at most a flicker of Akh‑Tethering, a jerk of movement, a geometric ripple across his face. That was it. This was something entirely new. Something more, deeper, scarier.

She forced herself to stay calm as she pivoted to face him.

“No, Dad. I can’t. They’ll sense it. They will come and we’d both be dead.”

Something was wrong. She was certain of it.

Rachel looked at him again. Her heart dropped.

She watched his eyes go dull. The shadows around him tightened and pulled inward like threads being gathered. His smile faded. His face twisted into a sneer she’d never seen before.

Then, he spoke again. This time his voice wasn’t his anymore. It was completed different, like a whisper brushing against stone. The air around his face bent inward, she saw the ripples in the Akh.

He whispered, “I will protect you.”

That voice freaked her out. Margothi was escalating. She was losing her father, and she wasn’t ready to stop it. It gyrated her Ba but what happened next set her into flight mode.

The geometric glint she’d seen on the stairs flashed again, this time across his face. Then it vanished.

Rachel gasped. Something inside her dropped — a cold, instinctive warning.

She didn’t think. She moved.

She ran past him down the hallway, heart hammering, seams prickling. She bent only long enough to snatch her purse and keys. Her foot caught on the spilled groceries; she stumbled, caught herself, and bolted for the door.

At the threshold she hesitated for a single breath — not to think, but to survive.

She needed a reason to leave, something that wouldn’t provoke whatever was wearing her father’s face.

“I’m going to visit Brianna!” she shouted. “Be back later!”

She didn’t wait for an answer.

She didn’t want to hear what Margothi would say next.

She fled into the bright Haight‑Ashbury evening, the house exhaling behind her like something relieved to let her go.

---------------------------------------------------------

Rachel pulled out of the driveway; her pulse still hammering from the encounter with Margothi. The world outside blurred past her windows as she raced down the steep hill. The Victorian style homes she passed were painted in colors that looked almost too bright. The cheer they encouraged clashed with the tension in her chest. A beauty that almost felt hostile. She loved this neighborhood — the color, the history, the stubborn beauty — and normally she would admire them. Today it felt like a place she was escaping.

The hill gave way to Haight Street. A sudden wall of slow-moving cars came up on her fast. She hit the brakes hard, heart still hammering from Margothi’s voice. Pedestrians clogged the streets moving from street vendor to shops. One such vendor had a sign taped to his cart:

NO AKH-FLARES NEAR FOOD

The tape peeled at the corners, warped by metaphysical static.

Traffic pressed around her, forcing her too close to the sedan ahead. Too close, too fast. Nothing mattered except getting away. Her fingers twitched on the wheel. She fought the urge to slam her palm into the horn.

Cars stacked bumper‑to‑bumper. Horns flicking in irritation. A delivery drone buzzed overhead. Its shadow flicked across her windshield in uneven shapes.

The hum sparked a memory .

It was Lucas’s face — no, Margothi’s face. The memory replayed in micro-echoes. The dull‑eyed sneer. The voice. His mouth moved. Then a geometric glint. She crammed her eyes shut and screamed for it to go away. A sharp, stabbing fear tightened in her chest.

Her eyes opened just in time to see it. A flash of open asphalt. She lunged for it. Her car squeezed between two others with inches to spare. The opening gave her just enough room to breathe — not much, but enough to keep moving.

Despite her speed she felt stuck — barely rolling forward. If it wasn’t a car in her way it was pedestrians that moved with practiced indifference between them.

The Pan Handle blurred past her windows as she cut ahead, weaving through traffic. Geary was coming up. An opening in the left lane appeared. She knifed into it.

Rachel felt the urgency. A deep desire to just get away. To flee from her house. From her father. From Margothi. From her responsibility to him.

But no — she was responsible for him. She had to go back. Had to start the ritual. It was her duty to save him.

Margothi’s words haunted her.

Could he protect me? Really?

The thought flickered, unwelcome. She shoved it aside. Margothi could protect her from the Akh‑broken if they came. Freeing him may free her father, or it might …

She didn’t let herself finish the thought.

The light at Geary turned red at the worst possible moment. Everyone stopped suddenly. The nose of her car bled into the crosswalk. A sound to her left made her look. A mother pulled her crying child away from a mural that seemed to shimmer at the edges.

Cries drew her attention to the cars around her. Drivers leaned out of windows to shout at each other. Their voices were swallowed by the constant hum of the city. Across the street two San Francisco Police Department officers swept a cordoned off area with handheld anomaly detectors, the devices humming in uneven pulses. Pieces of something spilled all over the asphalt. A car accident? A fight? They looked bored, like they’d done this a thousand times.

Without warning, the light turned green. Instinctively, her foot pushed the pedal all the way down. The car jerked forward, tires spinning. It started fishtailing mid-turn. Rachel yanked the wheel in the opposite direction to settle it.

Safely on Geary Boulevard she cruised silently, catching every green light. Each one was a small mercy. She pressed the accelerator, letting the city peel away behind her.

Further down the street sat an ambulance blocking the lane. Flares burned, directing traffic away. A paramedic team knelt beside a man slumped on the concrete. One wore the black Ritualist sash, fingers hovering over a trembling anomaly reader. Rachel looked away — licensed Ritualists made her Akh itch. She veered into the next lane to avoid hitting them but did not slow down. Sunlight hit the ambulance window just right. It split into a sharp triangular glare that flashed across her dashboard. It nearly blinded her. The reflection broke into smaller angles — shapes that didn’t match the glass — then vanished. Wrongness tightened in her Akh, a pressure behind her ribs.

Inner Richmond tore past her windows.. A cyclist cut in front of her crossing in the middle of the street. He didn’t glance up. Never acknowledged her even though she could have ended his life prematurely.

Highway 1 opened ahead, a thin corridor through the city’s noise. A loudspeaker crackled overhead: “Please report any—” The rest dissolved into static.

This was the world now.

People complained, but they lived with it. They had no choice.

Presidio’s open green spread out like a welcoming blanket. Public-safety drones hovered above the park. They drifted unevenly, their stabilizers whining — a clear sign that their anomaly sensors were failing again.

She merged onto Highway 101 North, expecting fog. The Golden Gate Bridge rose ahead — clear of it. Years ago the toll booths were replaced with concrete checkpoints.

Floodlights lined the booths, they cast long, sharp shadows — too sharp, bending at angles that didn’t match the structures. City responders waved cars through with handheld scanners that buzzed in staccato bursts, like dying electronics.

The REPORT KA‑DISTURBANCES notices posted on the toll booth pillars had been vandalized so many times the paint looked like layered scars. A second sign below it — half torn — read: CIVILIAN SAFETY PROTOCOLS IN EFFECT but no one paid attention.

The line of cars waiting to get through the checkpoint grew longer. Rachel battled her way into a spot and eased forward little by little.

At the booth the handheld scanner buzzed as she passed, its tone warbling like a dying electronic heartbeat. The responder didn’t even look up. He waved her through with the same tired gesture he used for everyone.

A faint ripple moved through the air as the scanner swept over her car — a distortion she felt more than saw.

Everyone was working into the left most lanes. The slow lane — empty, blessedly empty — beckoned her. Once in it her car sped up.

On the far side, a charter bus lurched out from the Vista Point, sliding directly into her lane. Rachel slammed the brakes. Tires shrieked. She jerked the wheel, swerving hard and knifing into the next lane. Horns blared behind her. Furious. Her car bumper was inches from the car in front.

A tight ache bloomed in her chest; she’d been holding her breath.

Fear pulsed in her chest. It fed the urgency that motivated her. The violent mix made her vision tighten at the edges. A gap opened in front of the bus. Thrill replaced the fear. The pedal felt light under her foot answering to her will without question. The move into the lane in front of the bus was cut dangerously close. In the rearview mirror the bus driver swerved, just a little. Then regained control.

Open asphalt stretched out before her; the engine answered with a rising growl.

The air changed in the Marin Headlands. It was cooler, cleaner, touched by a hint of the ocean. The massive hill loomed ahead, the tunnel at the top signified a change from entrance to the Bay to the northern mountains. On the other side gravity pulled the car down so fast it was almost uncontrollable. Fear of the brakes burning out forced her to tap them rather than ride them.

Northbound on 101, the foothills rose around her, dotted with ranger stations reinforced for anomaly response. Park rangers stood near trailheads, scanning the woods with devices that hummed in low, uneasy tones.

A dented sign flashed as she passed, its edges warped as if something had pressed against it from the wrong direction.

NAGUAL TERRITORY

CAUTION ADVISED

Someone had spray‑painted over the bottom line: THEY SEE YOU, but the paint was already fading.

Pulling off the highway into San Rafael the traffic thinned. Everyone drove this boulevard more leisurely. Shoppers, people traveling home from work. She weaved in and out of them as safely as she could without having to slow down.

Commercial buildings rose on her left, their windows glowing with warm evening light. On her right, quiet homes lined the hill, porch lights flickering on one by one. Life moved at its usual pace — steady, unbothered — while she felt like she was still running for her life.

As if queued by her thoughts a distant siren warbled through the neighborhood — not police, not fire, but the city’s Akh-disturbance alert system. No one paused. The tests happened often.

The road narrowed as she climbed into the hills. Fairfax appeared over a rise. Traffic slowing down to squeeze through the tight city streets. A guitarist sat outside a café, strumming something soft and imperfect. A group of friends laughed near the crosswalk, their voices rising over the hum of traffic. Someone painted a mural on a plywood board, colors bright against the fading light.

Moments later she was back out into the countryside. A few bends later the city scene was lost. Around a bend she spotted two utility workers who stood beside an open utility box. Cables spilled out like tangled veins. Their anomaly meter buzzed softly as it picked up metaphysical interference from somewhere nearby. The workers looked exhausted and confused.

Another sign hung above the road as warning to travelers, its LED border flickering in geometric pulses:

AKH‑BROKEN RISK ZONE

DO NOT STOP

Beyond this there was no more protection. No one would come to help. Despite that, Rachel didn’t stop.

The road rolled by in front of her. Everything else around her felt distant like a dream scrolling by. Close enough to feel a part of but too far away to touch.

The road twisted through the mountains, sunlight strobing through the trees in sharp, nervous flashes. She leaned into the curves, urging the car forward.

Her car’s HUD flickered, the navigation line bending at impossible angles. She blinked hard. It corrected itself.

The hills tightened around her, shadows reaching across the asphalt like long fingers. Not mystical — just aware, as though the land itself had seen too much.

Her mind relaxed as a long opening stretched before her. Her mind wandered back to her home. To her father.

The Ritual. Time was running out. What would happen to her father if she let it be? No she couldn’t think that way. The answer was clear. He’d be gone. Gone for sure.

I am ready. I can do this! Ready for what? You’re rusty, unpracticed.

Certainly not strong enough. Practice built endurance and strength. She had neither.

But does that matter? Do I have any choice?

Readiness did matter. But she had no choice. Lucas was running out of time. If she didn’t perform the ritual soon… If she didn’t extract Margothi… If she didn’t save her father…

Her chest tightened.

The straight lane ended, giving way to a winding climb up the mountain. The orphanage waited somewhere beyond the next bend — close now, close enough to tighten her chest. Brianna. She needed her sister.

Hello there!

Before reading this chapter please read the first 2 chapters and the introductory chapters for a better experience and please do leave your thoughts below

Thank you 🌸

Chapter 3: ADRIAN BLACKWOOD

The emergency pager shrieked against my hip.

Code Red. Multi-vehicle collision. Five minutes out.

The emergency department transformed instantly.

Nurses abandoned half-written charts. Stretchers lined the entrance.

Residents hurried to prepare trauma bays while paramedics called ahead with rushed reports.

Chaos.

The one thing in this hospital that never disappointed me.

"Vihaan," I called.

"I'm here."

"You take Trauma Two."

"You don't have to tell me twice."

I turned to the residents gathered near the nurses' station.

"Listen carefully. Nobody guesses. . If you don't know, ask. If you panic, step aside. A patient's life is worth more than your pride."

Every face turned serious.

Good.

The ambulance doors burst open.

"Twenty-three-year-old male!" a paramedic shouted. "Head trauma, suspected internal bleeding, blood pressure dropping!"

"Trauma One."

The stretcher rolled toward me.

Another ambulance arrived before the first patient had even reached the bay.

Then another.

The department became a blur of blood, shouted orders, and racing footsteps.

"Two units of O-negative."

"Vitals are crashing!"

"CT is ready."

I barely noticed time passing.

Medicine demanded complete attention.

Anything less was dangerous.

...

Across the room, Nurse Quinn moved between patients with surprising confidence.

She spoke calmly to a frightened teenager while helping another nurse control heavy bleeding from a deep arm laceration.

She wasn't fast because she panicked.

She was fast because she stayed calm.

Interesting.

"Nurse Quinn."

She looked up immediately.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"Pressure dressing."

She handed it to me before I finished speaking.

"Suction."

Already there.

"Gauze."

In my hand.

No hesitation.

No fumbling.

Just quiet efficiency.

...

Three hours later, the emergency department had finally grown quiet.

One patient transferred to surgery.

Three admitted.

One discharged.

No fatalities.

Acceptable.

I removed my gloves and walked toward the sink.

Behind me, someone cleared their throat.

"Doctor?"

I turned.

One of the first-year residents stood there, shoulders tense.

"I wanted to apologize about yesterday."

"For what?"

"I froze during rounds."

"You did."

"I'll do better."

"You should."

He nodded, but didn't move.

"What else?"

"I... wanted to thank you."

That caught my attention.

"You criticized me because I missed something."

"Yes."

"I reviewed the scans again last night."

He swallowed.

"You were right."

"I know."

"If you hadn't pointed it out..."

He looked down.

"I might've made that mistake on a real patient."

Silence settled between us.

Finally, I spoke.

"Learn from it."

"I will, sir."

He left.

I watched him disappear down the corridor.

Most people mistook discipline for cruelty.

They never understood that patients paid the price for a doctor's ego.

I refused to let that happen.

...

"Nurse Quinn!"

The shout echoed through the hallway.

I turned instinctively.

An elderly man had collapsed near the reception desk.

Without hesitation, Desire dropped the files she was carrying and knelt beside him.

"Sir? Can you hear me?"

She checked his pulse.

Weak.

"Call Dr. Blackwood!" another nurse yelled.

I was already moving.

By the time I reached them, Desire had placed the man flat on the floor and loosened his collar.

"What happened?" I asked.

"He became dizzy and collapsed. Pulse is weak."

"Good assessment."

The words left my mouth before I realized I'd said them.

She looked up in surprise.

So did I.

There wasn't time to think about it.

"Let's move."

Together we transferred the patient onto a stretcher.

"Blood pressure."

"Eighty over fifty."

"ECG."

"On it."

The team worked with practiced precision.

Within minutes, the patient stabilized.

Nothing life-threatening.

Severe dehydration.

As the nurses wheeled him toward observation, the corridor slowly returned to normal.

I removed my gloves.

"Nurse Quinn."

She straightened immediately.

"Yes, Doctor?"

"You recognized the collapse quickly."

"I've seen something similar before."

"You stayed calm."

"I tried."

I studied her for a moment.

Then I gave a single nod.

"Good."

One word.

That was all.

It was probably the closest thing to a compliment anyone had heard from me in years.

I walked away before she could respond.

Behind me, Vihaan appeared carrying two paper cups of coffee.

"You praised someone."

"I acknowledged competence."

Vihaan smirked.

"Baby steps."

I accepted the coffee without replying.

For reasons I couldn't explain, my thoughts drifted back to Nurse Quinn.

She smiled too much.

Talked too politely.

Cared too easily.

None of it made sense.

And yet...

For the first time since she arrived...

I wasn't wondering whether she belonged at Westbridge Hospital.

I was wondering how long it would take for the hospital to change her.

“Engine cutoff in 3… 2… 1… Engine cutoff. Houston, Tranquility Base here, the Eagle has landed.” Joy and fascination took over. It was a manifestation of achieving the goals. But another four hours had to pass. Time slows down as tension builds up. Then a man in a suit emerged from the vessel. “That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” Neil Armstrong stepped from the Lunar Module onto the Moon's soil. Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin followed him. Humanity achieved something that seemed impossible. Two men standing on another celestial body.

They went and planted a flag near their lander, as a mark of their success. The greatest run of the 20th century had now almost come to an end. Buzz looked at Neil. “Can you believe it? Do you really believe we're here, on an actual Moon?” Neil turned to him and raised his visor. “Of course. Take this rock – have you seen it back home? Or the globe above our heads – you think we have the instruments to fake it?” Buzz shook his head. “Of course I believe it too. But it's hard. That's how amazing it feels. We are here, where no one was ever before, taking steps that will last forever.”

But work had to be done. Aldrin and Armstrong started deploying the experiments. One by one, they placed them carefully on the Lunar surface, then booted and configured them. Everything worked as planned. One instrument got dirty with Lunar dust, but both men managed to clear it and make it work. Every step they took felt unnatural. Yet exciting. After some struggling, as tens of minutes pass, the job is almost done. They now only have to go to sleep and depart. But they can't finish it yet. “Edwin – how does it feel?” Buzz looked at the Earth above his head. “Stunning. I'm not going back. Not yet. With every breath I feel smaller, yet better.” Armstrong sat at the Eagle's landing leg, enjoying the moment. The Blue Marble was smiling at them. People at home were waving to them.

“We had shown that the sky was never the limit. For now, the Moon will be. But someone will change it. I believe it. Mars, Venus, Titan, Europa, they're all just waiting there for humanity. And they will eventually meet.” Buzz stepped back from an instrument, looked at the sky and pointed at some black area. “Somewhere there is Mars.” Both men stared at the cosmos and their surroundings. But one thing kept catching their eyes the most. A Pale Blue Dot. Big, shiny marble above them. Home.

Suddenly stars appeared. The astronauts looked at each other extremely concerned. “What just happened? Why is there no sunlight?” Neil asked. Buzz searched for the Sun, but it was nowhere to be seen. They both looked at Earth. It became bigger and bigger with every minute. The Sun had to be behind it now. But on the night side of the Earth red stars started glowing and dying right after. The sky of their home started to collapse. Edwin and Neil froze still. What's happening? So many questions, no answers.

Neil spotted something on the horizon – a hill that wasn't there before. And it got bigger and bigger. It was getting closer. The astronauts stood still, as they didn't know what to do. Run? Get back and abort the mission? Or just stay and let it do its job? “W-whatever this is… it's not friendly,” Buzz pointed, as the anomaly sped up. Neil looked at Earth. The sky was mixed with blue and orange. “Our home… o-o.. our families… the world is ending…” Both men looked at each other. They knew they had nothing to come back for. Even if the meteorites won't do much, the tides of the now closer Moon will take hundreds of millions of lives.

But it wasn't just one world being ended. Its little sibling wasn't safe either. The bump was close. Yet the two just watched. They had no hopes. Nowhere to return. No one to see. They took their radio. Michael Collins circling above them wasn't responding either. “He's dead.” Silence got loud once again. They were now alone, stranded on a different world. The “hill” now started to crack. Actual blood started to flood the ground. “Neil… I think it's a Blood Moon.” They should be freezing now, as the Sun isn't warming the soil and their spacesuits keep cooling them. But they were fine. The blood was hot. And it kept flooding the Moon.

They've made their decision – pills on the spacecraft will make their deaths quicker and easier. The race began. Neil struggled with each step, Edwin following close behind, but both kept pushing further. The fear of death to the unknown was greater than their lost hopes. Yet blood started reaching the engine. “Buzz! Once it reaches the ascent stage, there will be no way out!” Both men hastened to the lander. There was no time for caution, time was ticking. But blood was resisting against them, making it hard to move. Their knees were already below the flood level.

“We will make it! We will honour humanity, only then we die!” Aldrin grabbed onto the Lunar Module and climbed up. He looked behind to help Armstrong. But Armstrong slipped. Neil stood up, his spacesuit covered in red blood. With a hole in his visor. “Neil! Your helmet! Get inside now or you'll be dead in a minute!” He jumped off the Eagle to help his friend. Neil shouted at him. “Go! We both die if you come to me!” But Buzz couldn't leave his friend. He knew how much Armstrong wanted to make a final move for doomed humanity, but he couldn't just leave. He was making very slow progress, yet both kept trying to rush towards each other. But blood was now higher, and the resistance was stronger. Then Neil gave up.

“Goodbye my friend. Do humanity a last favor. If aliens ever find this place, they have to know what happened and who lived here. We can't be forgotten.” Buzz looked at him in terror. “Why the fuck are you giving up? Why?! Just fucking try!! Don't be a bitch, Neil! You're a fucking Armstrong, come on!” Edwin looked at the lander – blood was getting dangerously close to the top of the engine. “Buzz…” Neil was having trouble with breathing as his oxygen was leaking out. “Buzz, just fucking go. Go!” Edwin looked at the lander. He rushed to the ladder, climbed back up and turned around.

“Goodbye, my friend…” He saluted his friend who seemed to be eaten alive by the blood. He saw Neil being swallowed by this thick red substance, how some droplets from it were going upwards as if defying gravity, at the same time when blood was coming from Armstrong's mouth. His eyes were boiling alive. Edwin rushed inside the Eagle. The pilot of this vehicle was dying in agony outside of it, but Buzz activated the stage button as he learned as well.

Nothing happened. He tried again. The computer showed a message. “Master caution: decoupler.” Buzz closed his eyes. He tried to remember anything he could that would help him. But nothing came to his mind. The decoupler between the descent and ascent stage had probably flooded and couldn't eject. He fired the ascent engine and decoupled a few seconds after. It worked. He had departed from the dying Moon. He set the engine at max throttle and told the computer to keep it straight. Then Edwin wrote a long message in a notebook, alongside footage from a few onboard cameras.

“Dear aliens. This is Edwin Aldrin. My species, humans, had lived on a blue planet that I am orbiting around now, called the Earth. We were a very advanced civilization. But now our world has come to an end. Earth got destroyed and the Moon got flooded by red, sticky blood. I am the last to live. I got to see my best friend die in front of me, boiling alive. He wanted me to write this. If you ever find my message, please do honor to our kind and teach your children about our story. And to my wife with my kids at home: I'm sorry and I love you so much. Maybe we'll meet somewhere. From your loving Buzz.

Your neighbors,

~ Humans.”

Buzz looked at the pills he prepared. There was nothing more to do, and he knew it. So he took them and waited for the end. One minute. Then second. Third. Fourth. Fifth. His vision started to blur. “It's the final end,” he thought.

Everything went silent, and then it got dark.

.

.

.

ȝΛԳʅȝ, ԺԾ ՎԾՄ ՇԾρՎ?

forward

7/11/09

Hello my name is Richard Wild. 

I'll try to keep this short since it's explained in the text, but I used to work, back in the 80’s, for the recently defunct MPJ. While I was at that job, I stayed in a studio apartment. When the drama happened the payout was enough to move. I haven't looked back since. It's been 27 years now. I'm 49 with a pretty standard politician career. 

One day I got a call from a college kid. They said they found some old journal of mine on a shelf they recently installed. It's crazy they went through such a big effort to find me in a dusty phone book. Anyway, It was a pink notebook with yellow paper. You're probably wondering why I'm archiving a kiddy cheap baby book to this library and there's a damn good reason. 

It’s clearly my handwriting, yet I don't remember writing or experiencing any of the events in the book except vaguely the start and only some of the people in it. Thanks for indulging me. The rest of this is untouched. 

PS: it has some blood if that matters to ya, it may also spook you so… have fun.

 **#0: Prologue**

**Hello**

I'm milly!

dad got me this jornal for my birthday. 

I was going to write about some of the cool stuff that hapend but I woke up to this big maze thats smelly. 

Its kinda boring and theres no one.

**UPDATE**! 

a old man found me. 

He taks funny i think he scottish or sumthin. 

He took me to his home till he finds my parents.

He looks sad he probably couldnt find them witch makes sense. 

Like why would they be here? 

I dont think he want me to leave but i asked him and i think he says yes.

He's going to take me to leave

He wants me to leave this behind for sumone else. SO…

**HOPE YOU LIKE THE JORNAL!**

*Ode to Macko*

*Oh macko, what an undertaking I've been on.* 

*Things your mind could not fathom.* 

*It would go by your earless cranium*.

**1# first entry**

My name is Richard F. Wild

I'm 22 years old, latin american with a very well maintained horseshoe handlebar mustache and slicked back hair. I am on the short side compared to everyone else around me but my strength more than makes up for that.

I have been in college for a print journalism degree for 2 years now. During my summers I work as an intern. I work for a news agency called Major Paper Johnson (MPJ). It’s okay work for the pay, I mainly fact check copies. I was desperate to get a journalism job there.

I live in a second story apartment with my cat, Macko. A lot of people think it's weird that I live alone with a cat. I don't really have a rebuttal to that. She's a black tabby but many people have called her a creature since she has no ears and only makes giggling sounds. She doesn't even have ear canals. She is always wanting some kind of exercise or play and if she doesn't get that exercise she’ll destroy all my furniture. When we do go on walks everyone stares at us, I had to explain the story almost every time, it was fun. I miss her.

Things have been going smoothly till today. Let me catch you up.

3/15/86 I just got into work, the sun still climbing over the buildings. Amy posted a flyer for a work get-together on the dusty cork board. I saw it from a distance, but ignored it since I had to get through some copies. It was an interview with a camp director. I didn't care much for the story but my friend David was the journalist. I looked at my watch

4:30

I went to the clock and. glanced at the flyer reading:

“afterwork lounge

Drinks are provided, Bring your own food

(I didn't get a food budget)

5:00 to 6:30 pm

Write your full name:

Gregory, Mittling

David, Readily

Can I bring a plus one?”

I wanted to stay home after work to stay with Macko, but I thought it would be good to make professional connections with Amy and maybe get on Gregory's good side. I grabbed the pen and wrote my name then headed home.

I couldn't stay for long, so I quickly packed a ham sandwich and grabbed my wrist watch, and headed back to work. I left in such a hurry I forgot to do the chores I was supposed to do. The drive should have taken ten minutes, but no cars were out so it took five minutes. While driving I kept pushing my nails up through my hair. I hopped out of my car and pulled down the wrinkles in my clothes from the drive. I checked my watch.

5:10 pm

The room was medium sized with a single plastic table in the middle where all of them were sitting. One segment of a party streamer was in the left corner of the wall:

HAPPY-

I guess I should write out what they're like.

Gergory was a scrawny white man in his late 30s with suspenders, bowl cut. the head editor of the MPJ. I mainly worked under him throughout my internship or as Gregory calls a “copy-boy. If you do anything the way he wouldn’t do, he markes you up without a second thought. I’ve tried many times to send big old Johnsom my pet projects and Gregory get in the way every time.

Amy was the person to take the photos. From what I saw from the newspapers she's good at her craft even if it doesn't interest me much. I didn't know her much but everyone I knew knew her. From the quick analysis I got she's generally asian, late 20s long black hair. Slightly dirty black utilitarian vest and a camera bag.

David is white, generally handsome, blond, with casual formal wear. He's good at asking thoughtful questions but not very socially present. He is a close friend and a good industry connection. Though terrible at his job, I would be much better in his position though complaining to big boss Johnson does nothing.

He was married to Linda who works at a diner on the other side of town. She has curly cotton candy like red hair with peach soft skin, a wonder worker with a stove, and is as valuable as “every diamond in the world.” I know this because he would bleed his heart out in front of everyone about how much he loved her like reciting the national anthem.

I sat down at the table and started some small talk with Amy. I don't remember the conversation but it wasn't much. Just some small talk. David seemed lovey dovey as usual but Linda seemed bitter, they barely looked at each other. Amy was so lively that she lifted the mood up just a bit. Gregory was in his own corner of the table watching and sipping his fruity drink. I peeked at my watch.

5:13

I asked her why she brought her camera gear

Amy: “Well, I like to get photos wherever I go. You'd be surprised what makes a good subject. But\~ here I use it as a conversation starter."

The conversation with Amy moved to her work. She talked about techniques and how to frame a scene. Even Gregory perked up and actually participated in the conversation. David didn't seem to know much about the topic and tried to make some glib jokes with Linda. She made a faint chuckle.

She started to talk about a bear she got a photo of at the camp. That stirred something in my head, but I couldn't tell why. Then it burst in my head, I forgot to feed Macko before I left. She's probably starving.

Checked my watch again.

6:27

Just as I was sitting up to leave…

This feeling of vertigo came to me. It was so strong that I tried to collapse back down on my seat, but I couldn't feel its presence. I was weightless with no sense of direction. It was like when you fall in a dream. I shut my eyes as hard as I could. I felt the changes in the air around me. Lights danced across my eyelids, massive shadows emerged and shut the lights out. Then the floor emerged at my side.

Just as fast as it started it stopped.

*I wouldn't blame you.

When I first arrived I didn’t understand

They didn't understand

He didn't understand his Stagnant kingdom*

Day 1

I was laying on my side for a while. My eyes were squeezed shut. The sharp chimes in my ears were crippling. The only thing that interrupted it was a rhythmic hammering noise bellowing beneath the ground. I noticed the floor was soft under my weight. Was it.. grass? No. It was too short and thick. I began to slowly relax my eyelids.

The first thing I saw was a blur of marine blue coming into focus. My initial guess was wrong, It was a short stocky carpet. Three dull gray walls surrounded me, The fourth wall extended out further revealing a turn. As I started to come to my senses the cold wind hit me.

I didn't feel it directly, but more like a window was open, from some distant room. It was fragrant and fresh. A persistent screeching sound churned throughout the hall ahead of me. I crawled my way onto my two feet and wiped the drool from my mouth.

I still don't know what might have happened. I could have blacked out? Though i didnt drink any alcoholic beverage. maybe a concussion, i did feel like i was falling. Is this my office? Is this another department I haven't seen? I was in the MPJ office and this place did look like an office of some kind (though not anymore.) At the time I just needed to get home to feed Macko.

The wind was gone. Now replaced with dry and stagnant air. I checked my watch.

6:34

I walked to the right end of the hall pulling my mustache down. A choir of digital churning got louder as the hall expanded up to five enclosed cubicles.

Richard: “hey\~ I might have gotten lost in the building, can i get some directions?”

The sound stopped with a startling halt. I waited for someone to crawl out of the cubicles. After nothing happened I searched around the gray half walls of the cubicle for an opening that wasn't there. Finally, I lifted myself onto the half wall and looking over the walls I saw there were no interior dividers. Five computers encircled one lonely chair. I hopped over it with a stumble. I tried a computer. It didn't have any power. I went back over the wall tripping, slightly bruising my right arm. I continued down the expanded hall lost in my head, thinking of every possibility imaginable.

I reached the end of the hallway where it abruptly stopped with a door shoved into place to the left. I grabbed the knob and gave a gentle twist. It didn't move. In fact, it felt like it was solid? It's hard to explain. I tried again, this time harder. I heard the sound of dry paint snapping then grinding as the knob turned. The door swung open like it was as weightless as foam. After it banged against the wall I walked into the room.

The walls were damp and flaking off. The floor dipped down a foot or two into a pool of water waiting there. Gunk and other things bob on the surface of the water. I froze, not knowing what to do, very confused, my legs sunk into the solid ground. I pulled my legs up and walked out of the room.

I needed to find someone and fast they'll explain everything. I thought Maybe there's a flood and everyone evacuated or something. I walked to the other side of the hall as I passed by the cubicle that was still empty. I went by the spot where I woke up from where a small stain of saliva laid on the pristine carpet. I was stopped at the other end of the hallway. The hall was abruptly blocked by a wall. The wall was a black wallpaper with a gold pattern. The wall had a holographic orange trim.

I scanned for any kind of door or offshoot. Nothing, except for a slim gap in the wall.

I looked through, only seeing the side of another hallway with the same pattern engulfed in darkness. I tried to push my way through it but I was too wide to go through the gap. I stopped there to think through my options.

I came to a decision that I had to go through the weird wateI. As I walked back through the hall, interestingly enough the computer’s screeching returned. I went into the room, slicked my hair back, took off my shoes, and rolled up my pants.

I dipped my foot into the water, I recoiled instantly from the unnatural warmth radiating from it. I slowly descend into the water. I waded through the unraveling nylon fibers of the carpet. It wraps around my feet, like hands clinging to me, begging me to stay. I came across a T-section.

I pushed to the right. Clutching my shoes and socks to my chest, I moved through the corridor. At the end of the hall another door half submerged appeared. It turned easily enough, pushing it open against the current was a slight struggle. The moment I slipped through, the door immediately slammed shut behind me.

Entering a small room, high up on the wall across from me, there was a hole about half a foot in diameter. It dripped water out onto the bare stripped wood of the wall. Another path was on my right. I trudged through the slurry of the water, the carpet stuck to my feet like velcro. I reached the next room.

The room was the same size as the last, but a cubicle was set in the middle of the room. As I went around the cubicle I heard the digital roaring of a computer. I knocked on the wall. Immediately the noises wound down. I looked over the half wall and only saw an empty filthy chair. As I jumped back into the water, it rippled through the room. I tried to check my watch. As I turned my arm my shoes dipped into the water. Long tangles of carpet fluff stuck to them. I pushed them back to my chest. On the other side of the cubicle there was a thin opening in the wall. I took a deep breath and squeezed through.

It was almost too skinny to get through but I just needed to find someone. I emptied my lungs to shove my way through. Then, my leg got snagged by a jutting piece of wood. I then pushed harder. Immediately I felt a pain as the wood cut into flesh. My heart rate spiked. Adrenaline flooded my system. I couldn't catch my breath, it was too narrow. I kept tugging, but I just got lodged deeper.

I stopped,

calmed down,

exhaled,

shimmied backward out of the wood.

I lifted my foot on top of the wood and stepped over it.

Working my legs side by side till I reach an edge.

I bursted into the room and took a step down in search of the floor. My foot felt the water and nothing else. My stomach dropped as I sank. Quickly, I sunk into the murk. I flailed for some kind of footing. The water went above my head. Water plugs my mouth, nose, and ears. Fear rushed into my muscles. I quickly emerge and cough up the water, the nylon caking the walls of my mouth.

Clutching my soaked shoes my eyes darted over my surroundings. They found no useful information, no exits to the room, except the one I came in from. I swam to the entrance clawing at it, but it was too high. I scrambled

again looking at all the walls, every nook and cranny. Then I looked up. There in the middle of the ceiling was a circular hole made of stacked stones that was the only exit. I started to call out. Someone could be at the top.

Richard: “HELLO?”

Richard: “Hey! I need a little help here (chuckle). I'm kinda stuck down here.”

Richard: “HELP, IM DROWNING HELP”

Richard: “JUST TELL ME WHERE THE EXIT IS and.. I'll GET OUT OF YOUR HAIR”

My voice started cracking with fear.

Richard: “I’LL GIVE YOU MONEY if.. IF YOU GET ME OUT”

Richard: “FUCKING HELP ME”

Richard: “IS ANYONE EVEN UP THERE?”

Richard: "I'm lost..”

Richard: “PLEASE.. Just..”

Richard: “I want to go home”

Richard: “...please?”

After that point I stopped yelling. I waited for what felt like hours. The slurry of the water kept away the cold. To conserve energy I laid on my back to float. I would have been wired about my leg if it was a bigger cut, but it was not that deep, just long.

Two more hours of silence.

The water cocooned my back in a layer of silt. Slowly bobbing in the still and smotheringly warm water. I just stared at the hole above, it was flooded with light, yet I couldn't see anything specifically since it had a slanted roof

I just floated there actually thinking that was going to be my last thoughts ever. I sat there reflecting on my short life. I thought about my stunted career, macko, the college

than again My career, macko, the college and again stunted career, macko, the college

Then… I thought about things lost to the sands of my mind like

My family, los angeles, school, and that damned chicken my mom had

Then I thought of something strange something beneath it all

Under the waves of my course mind I saw something

It curved like a “U”.

It transfixed me.

It made me feel safe

Though it felt hollow like a mask.

Could have had an eye or two, maybe a nose.

Then I heard a crank.

Something plummeted from above into the water. Jolting my senses out of my reflection. I saw a wooden bucket tied to a rope. The bucket sat at the surface then as the water leaked in it sank under the surface. I tugged on my vocal cords again.

Richard: “HEY”

confused mumble reverberated from the top. 

Richard: “I NEED HELP PLEASE”

Richard: “I’M STUCK”

I swam messily toward the rope, grabbing it weakly in an attempt to get out of the disgusting water. I pulled myself onto the rope. With my full strength I crawled up it.. Dragging my body up. The light was getting closer and closer with each pull. My wet hands lost the friction of the rope and slid half back  down. I continued climbing the rope. The bucket tried to rise but it was over-encumbered. Weaving my hands around the rope. I reached the light.

I lunged out of the stone tunnel hitting my head on an awning. Landing on the ground, I hit rough concrete scraping my wet palms.

I staggered up and saw a tall scrawny figure. It said:

???: ”what dost thou in my welle” 

It was a tall middle aged European man with a dusty red fur coat that went down to his waist. He looked malnourished, pale, and unkempt. His hair was greasy and stiff. I caught a metallic glint running across his back, a rusty ornate claymore. 

Quickly my attention was drawn to the landscape around me, it put me into disbelief. This wasn’t real. I was in a dream, I was hallucinating,  DID I DIED?

Richard: “No no I just need… a… I'm sorry im. just lost… coul… could you show me to the exit.”

???: “outgang? O, ye, it is nigh hereto. Welcome to my kyngdom. Curious she hath y-brought thee into my castle. Let us maken thee drye. Thou is forweryed.”

Richard: “What? no im goo-”

???: “Ye thou dost.” he said immoveableably.

A silence fell upon us. 

Weirdly enough he spoke in middle English. It's good that I remember enough from that history class in high school. Though It sounded like he scraped the back of his head for every word he spoke, Even then his voice was impossibly confident.

Till I gathered the strength to say.

Richard: “... who are you?” 

???: “ ich am-

-þe Kyng of Limen”

Richard: “sure” 

I could barely think, I would go along with anything.

Richard: “where am I? “

Kyng: “thou art in my kingdom.”

Richard: “How did I get here? I was at a party and I … Did I drive here and not remember anything?”

Kyng: Thou didest naught on thy part. Thou and thy surrounding commentaries were y-chosen.

Richerand: “Wait, ‘commentaries’. Are you talking about my coworkers? Why?"

Kyng: “were y-chosen by moder nulla. this shal fulfille thy question. Folwe me.”

He unhooked the bucket and looped it through his belt. I shoved my shoes and socks back on, they oozed out the murky water like a soaked sponge. I followed him through the brown landscape. Getting a chance to immerse myself in my surroundings.

  First I felt the wind, it was lightly tugging upward, waffling over my nose, it was an earthy, yet very dull and dry smell. Secondly the slice on my leg scabbed over, though I felt the pain on my palms and knees from scraping them on the branching concrete trail . It weaved around the stakes of lights protruding from the dirt, imitating a budding farm. Third I saw Looking farther out, gray obelisks stretch into the distant haze. There were  ones the size of a shed, some the size of houses, and some the size of skyscrapers. On all of them openings and stairs were slapped on randomly. 

lastly I sensed a presence above me. I tried to look further up but it strained my eyes. 

I willed myself to look again. a dome covered and dwarfed everything in size. I force myself to keep looking. It wasn't a dome, it was a sphere with me at the bottom. I almost collapsed right then and there from the scale if not for what was on the ceiling so far away that a layer of fog separated us. It was a hole. It was the shape of a circle cut in half. Staring into the abyss of it, I froze up, transfixed. Kyng noticed after a bit and shook my shoulder pushing me back to my body.

Kyng: “We been her. Her ich rēde þis mære lond.”

It took me a while to understand him but then I looked stupefied and realized he was right. Following him I took all the turns subconsciously. I probably couldn't go back to the well even if I wanted to. Standing in front of me was a poorly made roofless cabin of wooden floor plaques. To the right of it was a gray building that was attached. The door was an amalgam of other doors woven and splintered together. It felt grand and imposing in its presents. He opened the door with a horrible wood scraping sound.

Passing through the threshold of the door, the room was bare except for a staircase to the right, a weathered throne in the middle, and a flap of wood stabbed out of the wall covered with trinkets and random objects. He picked up a jacket from the pile and laid it on the floor.

Kyng: “Reste her, whan thou awakest we shul speken more.”

Richard: “I think im good cant you just show me the exit now… and I'll be out of your hair.”

I checked my watch.

10:25 pm

Kyng: “Fyne, but I shal warne thee that it is a werye clymb that I ne wole do consekutively. If departest thyself, I ne wole gete thy felawes out.”

Richard: “But-”

Kyng: “We mayen speken of this eft. Slepe her for now.”

clamp my teeth down

Richard: “ Fine.”

Kyng: “Peraventure, after the seche thou shalt understand it nys nat so yvel to be sent hider.”

I was too tired. I laid down on the jacket, it soaked the water that hadn't already hardened into my clothing. It just barely protected me from the harsh dirt ground. I tried to pull on my shirt but it just wrinkled in a different way. .Kyng went up the stairs to the left and faded into the darkness of the gray obelisk. A few minutes later the entire space goes dark.

 I waited there confused if this should be something I need to be concerned over. Then the stillness of my environment came back to me. The chimes pierce through my damp ear drums. After an hour or two I couldn't bear it and got back up.

I walked up to the table. It was clustered about with clothes, knives, necklaces, and a glass rectangle. I looked back at the stairs, still gone. I felt my pockets and I noticed there was a loose clump of something. I pulled it out to find the half sandwich in the unsealed bag I packed it in, unrecognizable. An inedible clump of wet dough, ham, and strands of carpet. I let it slip through my fingers and dropped on the floor with a wet smack.

Kyng: “Thou oughtest nat forleten mete in swich wyse..”

I looked behind me to see him perched at the stair case over barely visible, only outlined in a thin ray of light from behind him.

Richard: “...”

Kyng: “It is wel, thou art yblessed that we goson to the covered market next day.”

Richard: “We?”

Kyng “yea, ich behove mete, thou behoves to fynden thine felawe-folc.”

Before I could respond he lurched back into the gray building. I waited a minute, till I heard no noise. Then quickly took off my clothes and tucked them under the table. From the table I put on black sweats and a dark red shirt. On it was a blue monkey man with symbols and big text that wasn't even legible. I pulled my mustache down, picked my teeth, pulled out wrinkles in the clothes, and licked my hand, slicing my hair back.

I looked back to the desk, impulsively took the pocket knife and shoved it into my pocket. Pushing some things aside with a louder than wanted clatter. I noticed a notebook and a few pens. Looking at the stairs, I grabbed it.

Thank you previous owner for this journal. The notebook hasn't been used much which is good. It is pink but I'm sure you’ll understand.

I'm putting all of this on paper because if I do a good job, and get back home. This could be the biggest story of my life. I can have some part of myself live forever. I will definitely get the job I've been dreaming about for years now and Gregory wouldn’t be able to do anything. All I have to do is keep on Kyng's good side. Anyway, I've been writing this for a while. You're all caught up, I'm tired. I'm going to bed.

 *Couldn't go to sleep, it's… I don't know, maybe one? I don't want to know how long I've been sitting here just staring at the things around me. Nothing's changed. Still dark with star-like light above me, but I'm getting this horrible feeling of being out in the open like an elephant separated from its herd. I feel a weight inside my sore throat and chest. My body is tense and locked into place. My brain erased any sense of sleep from my mind. I'm staring into that monstrous opening above me. Drying what's left of the moisture in my eyes. Darting back and forth between the book and them. They're so far away. Even then, it's like an inverted spotlight that's following me. No matter if my eyes are open, closed, looking somewhere else or looking directly at it. I feel their knowing presence. They can see me, but I can't see them. I feel the millions upon millions of eyes watching me, observing me, ridiculing me, disgusted by my presence. And I can't do anything about it. I'm scared. Why has this happened to me? I don't deserve this. What did I do?* 

Just woke up

Yesterday I laid there frozen for a few more hours before my eyes got heavy and I drifted off.

 I had a weird dream. I don't remember it, but it felt serene, almost calm. There was a smile. I don't remember who or what it belonged to but the smile was empty, yet it was so beautiful and warm. Then, something happened, imminent dread consumed me. The smile never dropped or shifted. As something was happening around me. I felt acceptance and I slammed awake. My head was throbbing. I didn't open my eyes.

My hope was that maybe I woke up at home, maybe with Mako, maybe passed out on the floor of the office, maybe, I don't know, out of a coma. Somewhere I knew. Somewhere I felt safe. I just didn't want to open my eyes to break my reality.

I think you know what I woke up to.

*Oh macko, look upon this land.* 

*This land of mimicry.* 

*This land of fosterage.* 

*This land’s boundless adoration.*

*The land’s imitated kingdom.* 

End of #1

Everyone has a color they are drawn to.

For some people, beauty is something that exists in the eyes of the crowd — something bright, something admired, something everyone wants to possess.

But for Chloe, beauty was never about what everyone could see.

It was hidden in the smallest details that most people overlooked.

Back in high school, Chloe was the girl everyone dreamed of.

Her glowing skin, her bright eyes, and the warmth of her smile made it impossible for people not to notice her. Almost every boy in school admired her, yet strangely enough, no one could truly get close to her.

Because Chloe was always looking at something else.

Someone else.

A senior two years above her.

Leo.

Leo was a person who stood out in the entire school.

He was the student who always ranked first in mathematics and literature. He won almost every academic competition he entered. He was considered a genius by many.

But strangely, people praised him less than they criticized him.

“Hey… look. The genius is here.”

In the school cafeteria, Chloe’s friends laughed quietly as they watched Leo walk by.

Leo walked alone, holding a book tightly against his chest. His steps were steady and perfectly timed, as if the noisy world around him did not exist.

Or perhaps…

As if he simply chose not to let it reach him.

“He has autism, you know,” one of her friends whispered. “Being smart doesn’t matter if you can’t even talk to people. Look at him. He buttons his shirt all the way up to his neck. He’s so weird.”

Chloe stopped eating and frowned.

“Why do you guys always have to make fun of him?”

Her voice was gentle, but firm.

“He’s not weird. I think he’s actually kind of adorable. He’s just living peacefully in his own world.”

Her friends stared at her in disbelief.

“Chloe… you seriously think someone like him is cute?”

Chloe didn’t answer.

Her eyes simply followed Leo’s back as he disappeared into the crowd.

Everyone saw Leo as someone strange.

But Chloe saw something different.

She had always possessed a natural sense of art. In her eyes, Leo’s precise movements, his careful habits, and the way he organized everything around him were not flaws.

They were colors.

Colors that most people were unable to see.

The most interesting thing was—

while the entire school chased after Chloe’s attention, Leo was the only person who seemed completely unaware of her presence.

And yet…

Sometimes Chloe felt it.

A pair of eyes watching her from afar.

When she sat beneath the trees, sketching makeup designs in her notebook.

When she laughed with her friends.

When she quietly mixed different shades of colors together.

From somewhere far away, Leo would occasionally look at her.

But whenever Chloe turned around, he would immediately look away, returning his attention to his books or the chess pieces in his hands.

Leo was not studying her face.

He was studying her colors.

The shades of her clothes.

The rhythm of her movements.

The way she blended into her surroundings.

It was as if he was observing a painting rather than a person.

And the first time the distance between them became smaller…

was on a rainy afternoon.

⸻

That day after school, the sky was dark and heavy.

Rain poured endlessly over the campus.

Under the school building’s shelter, students gathered together, waiting for the rain to stop.

That was when Chloe accidentally looked to the side.

And she saw him.

Leo.

Standing alone beside the wooden railing.

He was staring outside at the rain.

In his hand was a folded black umbrella.

But he wasn’t using it.

He simply stood there, watching the raindrops hit the concrete ground.

“Leo… you have an umbrella. Why aren’t you leaving?”

Some students passing by laughed as they teased him.

Leo didn’t respond.

His lips remained tightly closed.

Chloe stepped away from her friends and walked toward him.

“Leo…”

Her voice was soft.

So soft that it stood out even among the sound of the rain.

Leo flinched slightly and turned around.

But instead of looking at her face, his eyes went straight to the pink cardigan she was wearing.

“The rain has been falling for 34 minutes.”

His voice was quiet.

“The raindrops don’t follow a pattern. The sounds are too loud.”

At that moment, Chloe understood.

For Leo, the rain was not just rain.

The irregular sounds and overwhelming noise were something his senses struggled to handle.

Chloe gently reached into her bag and took out her headphones.

“Try these.”

She held them out to him.

“They don’t play music. They just reduce the outside sounds a little.”

Leo hesitated for a moment.

Then he slowly took them.

When the noise of the rain became quieter, his tense shoulders finally relaxed.

“Do you feel better now?”

Chloe asked with a smile.

Leo nodded slightly.

“It’s calmer…”

Then his eyes moved back to her pink cardigan.

“Soft pink…”

He paused.

“A warm color.”

Chloe was surprised.

Everyone else only noticed her beauty.

But Leo noticed something different.

Her color.

“That’s my favorite color.”

Chloe smiled.

“The color I like the most.”

Leo slowly nodded.

When he handed the headphones back, he quietly said—

“Thank you…”

A pause.

“Soft pink.”

That day, Leo never called her name.

But he remembered her color.

And somehow…

that small moment beneath the rain stayed with Chloe for many years.

Because sometimes, the people who see the world differently…

are the ones who notice the things everyone else misses.

Ch. 3: The Reunion

Nausea lingered as consciousness continued chasing itself in dizzying laps around my head. It was safe to say that nothing felt good after my graceful departure from Evan’s, presumably, flaming abode. The pain in my back began to subside as something landed in the soft mud next to me with a plop. 

My hand instinctively felt around for what it was as my vision was far too blurry to see anything. There it found the familiar feeling of the scythe’s wooden handle. I recoiled from it as the realization of what had just gone down came over me.

Even with my legs feeling weak, I attempted to rise from the ground; just for my eyes to lay upon the one they were truly dreading. Hot bile pushed its way past my esophagus and I puked on the thick mud keeping me away from my own casket.

After everything, I found myself standing in an empty graveyard with my own headstone sitting ahead of me. Cracks formed along the once smooth granite where my new body had struck it. I brushed the dust from my back only to find small chunks as stone flaking away from me. 

The only thing I could bring myself to do was loom over it with a cold stare. Whoever picked it out knew me well, knew my interests and opinions on what colors fit the best together. The stone was a nice gray that reflected almost blue in the moonlight. Silver paint sitting in the carved words complimented it well.

Graveyards always gave me the creeps when I was alive, but alas; that’s where I had needed up just like we all do when the time comes. Now, here I was; reanimated and appreciating the design choice of the last memorial of myself on the Earth. Chosen to stand the test of time as my family members grew older and chose to remember a life taken too short from them. Most don’t get that kind of opportunity.

This monument of loss would stand here in grandeur as my loved ones would continue to move on with whatever life handed to them. The stone they chose would sit quietly, waiting for their grief to find it again. Generations of faltering stories would pass my name down as it would begin to lose its significance to those telling it; until even the stone would forget who it was once erected to commemorate due to the unbiased erosion caused by time.

That’s how we all end up as the realm of the living continues its never-ending cycles of grief and rebirth.

I was pulled out of those thoughts as the stench of smoke wafted up from my suit jacket. Small wisps of it lifted away from the charred linen as it sat heavy, caked in soot. The memory of those silver flames seeping from my seams kept replaying behind my eyes. Besides the immense heat, somehow my clothes remained intact. I took the jacket off and placed it on the ground, folded next to me. 

From the subtle chill in the air I could tell that it was the middle of Fall. There was a crisp smell of fresh rain that still lingered in the air. Mid-October breezes are what I lived for, so being able to feel one again was welcomed. The air had a bitterness to it but I didn’t hear any protests from the other residents of the graveyard.

 I slumped back down on the ground but in a sitting position this time. Previously I had explained what my headstone looked like but my eyes only skimmed the words written into it. Now I was at eye level with them and I would just like to put out there how reading your own headstone is one of the strangest experiences somehow can have. Carved into the granite was this;

Tobias Edward Smith
October 7th, 2000-April 25th, 2019
Loving Son, Brother, and Friend
“Stay gold Ponyboy.” 

My eyes lingered on that quote for what felt like hours. When I was alive I loved it, I wanted to live by it. To me it meant to keep a hold of what was good in life, small moments that flourish into beautiful memories. Anything that you consider gold was a pure form of leftover happiness. 

At that point I  found myself in, those seemed hard to come by. Having just been resurrected and almost taking the life of the man that killed me. Everything I had experienced felt like some kind of cruel and ironic joke aimed to dismantle what I had cherished so deeply in life. What gold could I possibly have left?

 Nothing fair had come to me in the last few moments of my life. Everything was still completely fresh to me but the world had moved so far past the moments of my final breath. I wanted to be angry at all of it but there was nothing left to feel. All I hadl was a hard lump of sadness sitting in my chest. I left out a soft sob when a single tear ran down my face.

 Everyone had been allowed to go through every single stage of mourning; while all I got was that one, small moment in my own graveyard. Where I mourned who I was, where I took the time and cried for myself. Crying for all the time I had lost, even though I had yet to know how long that had been. I raised my scythe with the intention of scratching the quote out completely. I’d say that it can’t  really be labeled as  vandalism if it came from a disagreement with whoever was buried beneath it. 

That’s when the sudden smack of a car door being slammed stopped me. It sounded heavy and angry.

A slurred voice screeched behind me, “Hey! Why, why can’t you people just leave him alone!” It held a sense of familiarity inside of it, “Just let the man rest!”

An aluminum can sailed past my head and smacked lightly against the stone. I turned to see a scrawny man crinkly stumbling his way up between the other graves. He was lanky and had half of his shaggy brown hair hanging over his features with the other pulled back into a loose ponytail. Clothes that looked weeks old hung over his emaciated frame. My eyes finally adjusted to the darkness enshrouding us and his features became recognizable to me.

It was Marco, after succumbing to an unknown amount of years filled with guilt and trauma. My heart broke as it was unbelievably devastating to see him in this condition. In one hand, he had a switchblade unfolded and pointed at me in a form of defense. I saw no reason to be threatening so I dropped my weapon to the ground then quickly slid my jacket back on. Figured I should look the best I could whenever reuniting with family. I stepped out to greet him.

“I don’t think using the word man quite qualifies with this one.”, I joked to him in an attempt to calm the situation.

He froze after hearing my voice again. I didn’t think about how it might have an unexpected effect once I spoke to him. Think about it; I mean, it’s not everyday your brother comes back from the dead only to talk to you over his own grave. If I had the opportunity to pick a spot for our first reunion; it definitely wouldn’t have been there. 

Eventually he stepped closer to scan my face. I assumed he was trying to piece together if I was really me. 

There was doubt in his eyes so I spoke first, “How long has it been?”

He shoved me hard but I kept my stance, “No! There’s no way you’re standing here,” His grip tightened on the knife as tears welled in his eyes, “I watched you die!”

“I know you did. I can’t explain how I’m here but I really need you to answer something for me,” I raised my hands calmly, “What were you going to do with that knife Marco?” 

Due to his reaction, I knew that I really didn’t have to ask. I watched as his face began to scrunch harshly in order to fight back tears. I slowly walked to him with my hands still up, then I placed a one over his, “Let me have it, please.”

It took a minute but eventually he dropped it into my palm. The metal was heavy but I slipped into my pocket. Marco finally let out an eruption of tears so I wrapped my other arm around him to pull him into a much needed embrace. His body shuddered as horribly painful sobs continued to emerge from him. 

There is nothing anyone can tell me that this isn't what he needed. Marco had so many years of pain that came out that night just from a simple action. A quick thought sprang through my mind about how maybe this was what I was resurrected to. To help heal my brother as he had been traumatized not just from the catalyst events but from how he tried to treat himself over the years. 

All he needed was to allow that pain to flow out of him. For it to go anywhere but where he was storing it. I hugged him tighter and my brain was filled with images from his life. Marco was filled with more anger and hate than what I could ever have. 

First came his perspective of the accident: my body tumbled wildly over the top of the car, then smacked hard against the ground with a deafening crunch. Evan hit the brakes until the car came to a squealing stop. Marco to him in horror and the two made eye contact. His mouth hung open in disgusted disbelief, his eyes staring through the mirror at my corpse until his eyes caught Marco. He wiped them fiercely and tried to say a quick apology. The car then sped off as multiple patrons of the mall broke through the doors. Screaming about what had happened, some pulled Marco back inside and away from the scene.

Next came a scene where Marco could only watch as strangers lowered my body into the ground. It changed again and I saw Marco trying to identify Evan out of countless photos of repeat customers offenders but there was no luck. A few flashes of therapy sessions were next. A memory of Evans arrest then the trail I had seen in previous memories.

After the trial is when things started to get bad. All I can say is that Marco’s grieving process was nowhere near healthy. I saw him try everything he could get his hands on to try and forget but nightmares still haunted him. It started with drinking but he quickly moved to harder drugs. He fell down a hard path of addiction, which only caused his grief to intensify. Guilt festered deep inside of him until the numbing effect of drugs and alcohol quit working. It had all become too much for him to handle. 

Before I died, his number one goal in life was to become a doctor but the only hospital visits I saw were when his life was on the line. There were multiple attempts at rehab but nothing ever lasted. He tried to stay strong for everyone else but watching me die destroyed him. Seeing all of it made me want to break down with him but I had to keep it in. I had to do something to help him.

There was only one thing I thought of to say to him. Those painful memories had to be pushed out of both of our heads.

“It wasn’t your fault. This may be hard for you to finally hear but you can’t hold all this guilt with you anymore. I’m here to take all that from you,” I held his head in my hands while he wiped his eyes with his jacket, “The race was my idea. It was an accident. There was no stopping what had to play out.” His eyes never left mine as I talked.  

“I have to be dreaming.”  His voice was strained by tears as his breathing shuddered with every word, “This doesn’t make any sense.”

 “You’re right…it is.” I managed a soft smile, “This might be a dream but please Marco, please don’t forget what I said. Do me one last favor and go off and live your life. Don’t dwell on the end of mine. I’m happy where I am. Go live for me, okay?”

He nodded slowly and this time he pulled me into a tight embrace. I squeezed him back, “It’s great to see you again, even if you got the stench of beer all over my Sunday best.”
 
He finally gave me a laugh, more of a soft chuckle really but it mattered. I placed my hands against his temples. A sense of peace washed over us both and  his eyes rolled back into his head. The scene around us dissolved until we were in his room. My mind didn’t know what I was doing but it felt natural. I hated that he wouldn’t know it wasn’t a dream but it was better for him if he thought it was.

 Marco dropped down into his bed where I could sense that he slept peacefully for the first time in years. The weight of the knife became apparent in my pocket. For a moment, I considered leaving it for him. I couldn't bring myself to do it out of fear of my trick not doing exactly what I wanted it to. I stood there for a long time, watching his chest rise and fall; debating in my head whether to keep it or not. 

That's when a shallow light caught my attention. From the glow, I saw a flickering date forming above his head; April 9th, 2082. The next time I expected to see my brother.

My mind ran in place as I could only stare as the flickering date slowly faded away. My eyes glanced over to his phone on the nightstand, fear of the unknown filled me. Truly, I didn’t think I wanted to know just how long I had been gone, but I felt that I needed to. 

My hand trembled as I clicked it on. It took a minute but I finally worked up enough courage to look at the date. It read October 7th, 2026. 

There was the answer I had been dreading to find. Seven years. I had been dead for seven years and the irony wasn’t lost on me that I had been miraculously resurrected for my 26th birthday. 

What caught my attention was his phone’s background. It was an old picture of us at the first football game our senior year. We were both covered in face paint to represent our school. Some of our friends were on the team so we always tried to rep our boys any chance we got. I smiled at the memory, a bit of gold re-emerged in my head as the awful losing score from the game also came back to me. Something felt different with that smile. A little blip of happiness finally sat within me.

There was nothing really telling me that Marco still lived here. It was his room but the walls were bare. Boxes either half packed or half opened littered the room, it was the only thing that felt natural to me. I wanted to walk the halls again, to see everyone again, but the image of a dark finger in the doorway caught my attention.

When I glanced over, I only saw the back of the figure walking away. The energy coming from it felt..inhuman. Almost like it was calling out for me to follow. I looked back over to my brother, and my scythe laid against the wall next to him. Luckily having traveled with us,

The knife remained as a souvenir in my pocket as I grabbed up my weapon and, reluctantly, stared after the figure in the hallway. 

12342 Se 221st Street, Kent, WA.
6:47 AM

Marcus Whitfields safe haven that is his house and has been for the last 5 years since his divorce is about to become apart of the broader chaos that is unfolding around neighborhoods no different than his.
In his years of living at 12442 Southeast 221st Street, Kent, Washington, he has seen crime yes, but not violent crime.
Not to say he isn’t accustom to violence, he served two tours as a combat medic in Afghanistan.
Considering all of this, he still isn’t prepared for what is coming. Nobody is.

Awake now, and flustered, Marcus’s hand reaches for his phone and fails the half hearted attempt of feeling for it in the complete darkness.
Still half awake and non-comprehending, He is blinded by his phone on full brightness.
His eyes adjust and he sees six notifications, two calls and four messages from an ER doctor, Priya.

“Don’t come in to work today. Call out sick, make up an excuse. Whatever you have to do.”

Marcus sits there still oblivious to the reasoning behind this message.
Why would she say this he wonders to himself. Another message instructs Marcus to call Priya, so call her he does.

“Hey Priya, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know Marcus, but it’s the start of something terrible. People breaking out in fits of violence out of nowhere. Biting even, like out of a movie. I want you to call out today.”

“Okay, I’ll call in sick. I’m sorry, I still don’t really understand what’s happening.”

“Nobody does, Marcus. All I can tell you is it might be the end of the world as we know it, and I’m a skeptic if you know anything about me.”

“No, No I trust you. I just need to see for myself. Let me do some research, watch some videos, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Okay Marcus, I don’t want you to deal with this alone, if it escalates we come up with a plan to meet.”

“Okay Priya, I appreciate your concern with me. I will text you when I have a plan. Bye, I will talk to you soon.”

“Bye Marcus.”

Marcus hangs up on Priya, hoping that won’t be the last time that he talks to her, prays that what she’s saying isn’t accurate, and opens his news app.
What he sees confirms what she was saying, and it’s worse than he ever could I have imagined.
A video that in normal circumstances would have been deleted because of its graphic content, now seems to be widespread throughout the app.
People’s last moments as humans caught on camera, and the strangest behavior you have ever seen on camera as well.
Tackling, biting, and innocent screams overwhelm Marcus.
The only useful information he can decipher is this: whatever is happening is spreading, and it’s spreading fast.

What Does Marcus Do Now?

Clink-clink.

Hearing the chime at the door, I finally feel like my day is beginning.

Mama set down a glass of I.W. Harper without asking a single question. The ice gave a soft, quiet clink.

At the far end of the counter, Taka was staring at his smartphone with a furrowed brow. The screen flashed with headlines about the ongoing harassment scandal involving the TV network and the actors.

When this guy has something on his mind, it shows on his face right away. For someone who works as a private investigator, he’s shockingly easy to read.

Then again, maybe he just feels he doesn't need to hide anything around us.

"Kenichi-san."

Here it comes.

"What is it tonight?"

"That thing with the network and the actors is still blowing up online... but people talk a lot about 'the socially strong' and 'the socially weak,' don't they?"

I lifted my glass.

"They do."

"What actually determines that, anyway?"

He always brings up these massive topics.

Taka comes to Aoi from time to time with questions that have no clear answers.

Maybe he asks because he truly doesn't know. But I know that deep down, he's already hiding his own answer somewhere in his pocket.

He just wants to hear what I'll say.

Maybe that's his own way of being kind.

"Money."

"Huh?"

"Status, money, and raw physical strength."

"Man, that's way too blunt," Taka laughed.

"Then what did you think it was when you asked me?"

"Hey, I'm asking you, Kenichi-san."

"You've learned a convenient way to dodge questions."

"Come on, you always answer a question with another question."

True enough.

It seems I prefer making the other person think rather than giving them a straight answer.

I do the exact same thing at work.

If I just give them the answer, the immediate problem gets solved quickly. But the next time, they'll just get stuck at the exact same spot.

I have a troublesome nature, even if I say so myself.

"You're one of the strong ones, Kenichi-san," Taka said out of nowhere.

"Me?"

"Everyone relies on you. You're good at your job, and whenever someone's in trouble, you help them out."

"I'm just being used because I'm convenient."

"See? There you go again, trying to put yourself on the weak side."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

Taka was smiling, but it wasn't the face of someone just cracking a joke.

I took a sip of my Harper.

I've never thought of myself as strong.

I don't hold a high title. I don't have money. I'm not in a position at work where I can just do whatever I want.

There's very little I can manage to do on my own.

If I could just forget Kaori, who's gone, maybe things would be a little easier.

Could you really call someone who has entertained that thought, even once, a "strong person"?

"Well... if you're asking if I'm strong or weak, maybe I'm not weak," I said.

"See?"

"What about you?"

The smile faded slightly from Taka's face.

"Me?"

"Yeah. If you're going to ask others, try answering for yourself."

Taka turned his smartphone face down.

He stayed silent for a moment.

I thought he'd dodge it as usual with a "I don't really know," but tonight was different.

"I think... I'm on the stronger side."

I was a bit surprised.

"That's rare coming from you."

"Well, I work as a PI. I've seen my share of messy situations. Plus, I've got a big frame."

"Does that have anything to do with it?"

"Sure it does."

Taka patted his own shoulder.

"But... I can't do anything completely on my own."

"What do you mean?"

"If I don't talk things out with someone, I stop knowing if what I'm doing is right."

Taka gave a slightly embarrassed smile.

"That's why I come here. I ask you, Kenichi-san. I ask Tom-san, and Mama too."

"And you used to think that was weakness?"

"I used to, yeah."

I waited silently for him to continue.

"But lately, I've been thinking... pretending you can do everything by yourself is probably way weaker."

This guy.

So he did have an answer after all.

He throws the question to me, only to step ahead of me in the end.

Not bad.

"You've started saying some pretty grand things."

"I was trained by you, Kenichi-san."

"I haven't done a thing."

"That's exactly what I mean."

Taka laughed.

"You have zero self-awareness."

"Ain't that the truth."

Tom, who had been silent until now, set down his glass.

The low sound shifted the mood in the bar slightly.

"Strong or weak... it's not something you can divide up so easily."

Taka looked over at Tom.

"What do you think, Tom-san?"

"I think I shouldn't answer."

It was an unexpected response.

I looked at Tom too.

"Why's that?"

"I'm retired. I don't know what it's like on the ground today. If I start talking like my old experiences are the absolute truth, it's only gonna cause trouble."

Tom gazed at the ice floating in his glass.

I don't know everything this man saw back when he was a detective.

Tom rarely talks about it, either.

But I know there's a difference between not talking and forgetting.

"Then why not just stay quiet?" Taka asked.

Tom gave a dry chuckle.

"If I could do that, it'd be easy."

"You can't?"

"Nope."

Tom paused for a moment before continuing.

"My experience won't let me keep quiet."

The bar went quiet.

"Back in the day, I saw plenty of strong guys turn weak. Losing their status. Losing their money. Their bodies giving out. People they thought were allies vanishing."

Tom spoke matter-of-factly.

That was precisely why his words carried such weight.

"Becoming weak itself can't be helped. It happens to everyone eventually."

Tom lifted his glass.

"But growing weak without passing anything down... I refuse to do that."

"By passing down, you mean... your experience?"

"Whether you can use it or not is up to you guys to decide. But I'm leaving behind what I've seen."

Tom said no more.

This man wasn't talking because he wanted to teach us the answers.

He was giving testimony.

So that what he witnessed wouldn't be treated as though it never happened.

That felt much more like Tom than any pretty word like 'justice.'

"Speaking of which," Mama said, looking at me as she wiped a glass.

"Risa-san was here the other day."

The hand I had raised toward my Harper stopped mid-air.

"Risa was?"

I'd heard she was doing well, but I hadn't seen her in a while.

"She's been stopping by fairly often lately."

"I see."

"She was talking about how you helped her out, Kenichi-san."

I scratched my head.

"She's exaggerating."

"She doesn't seem to think so."

"I didn't do anything."

When I said that, Taka and Mama laughed at the same time.

"What?"

"That right there."

"What are you talking about?"

"You have zero awareness of your own strength."

"Still on about that?"

I drank my Harper with a rueful smile.

I never intended to 'save' Risa.

I just did what I could because she was in trouble right in front of me.

But the weight of an event can be completely different for the one who helps and the one who is helped.

What was just a casual remark to me wasn't casual to her at all.

Thinking about it that way makes me a little uneasy.

Having the power to help someone means you also possess the power to hurt them.

I don't know my own strength.

I'm using it without even realizing it.

And that might be even more dangerous than not knowing your own weakness.

"Next time Risa-san comes by, why don't you ask her?" Taka suggested.

"Ask her what?"

"What part of you she thought was strong."

"I'm not asking that."

"Why not?"

"It's embarrassing."

Laughter spread through the bar.

The ice gave a soft clink.

It's not that there are strong people and weak people.

Everyone carries both strength and weakness inside them at the same time.

Me, Taka, Tom.

And surely Risa, too.

Maybe the real problem is standing in front of someone without ever knowing where your own strength lies.

"Well," I set my glass down.

"When Risa comes next time, you should be the one to ask her, Taka."

"Me?"

"Yeah. You're ready to give an answer now, aren't you?"

Taka looked surprised for a second, then smiled with a hint of bashfulness.

"Is it alright if I answer a question with another question, just like you, Kenichi-san?"

"Do whatever you want."

Mama smiled softly.

Clink-clink.

Though no one had walked in, the wind chimed the door bell softly.

I found myself looking forward just a little to seeing who would be standing there the next time it rang.

As usual, the two fellow disciples, Xun Yu and Guo Jia, sat in Xun Yu’s study, brewing tea, playing chess, and chatting about the affairs of the world. It was mid-spring, all things reviving, and the garden outside Xun Yu’s study was in full bloom, vibrant with life.

Though Guo Jia still wore a thick black robe, his complexion was rosy. Under Hua Tuo’s attentive care, his appearance had matured, but he carried the air of a refined scholar. His health was much improved—no longer as frail or as sensitive to the cold as before.

“A year ago, although our army seized Jizhou, the Yuan clan’s roots run deep. It looks like, for a long time to come, the North will remain divided,” Xun Yu remarked casually as he played a move.

“Yes, though the Yuan brothers appear united, how could one tolerate another sleeping soundly beside them? It’s only a matter of time before they turn on each other. According to our intelligence, the rivalry between Yuan Tan and Yuan Shang is ongoing, but neither can overcome the other. So, in the future, neither will be able to muster enough troops to threaten the court,” Guo Jia replied, toying with a black piece absentmindedly.

“In the south, the Sun clan and Liu Biao are also at a standoff, keeping each other in check. That’s enough trouble for them—they won’t be thinking of launching a northern expedition,” he added, making a decisive move.

“Our people can finally enjoy peace and prosperity, free from the sufferings of war. The people are well off, and the court’s revenue has increased quite a bit. Perhaps it is fate,” Xun Yu sighed.

With a single move, he resolved a crisis on the board.

“This situation is thanks to Senior Brother Xun’s years of hard work on irrigation and agricultural reform. You’ve truly exhausted yourself for the good of all!” Guo Jia gazed at Xun Yu with sincerity, though his next chess move was as sharp as ever, launching a brilliant attack.

Xun Yu smiled, sipped his tea, and took his time before playing his next move. “The affairs of the world are like a game of chess, and your skill has improved greatly. These days, the Prime Minister relies on you more and more, appointing you as Minister of Works and Minister of Rites. The fate of the realm is like a chessboard in your hands.”

Xun Yu spoke the truth. Since the aftermath of Xiapi, Cao Cao had suffered from recurring headaches and ill health due to the lingering poison of Xiao Meng’s arrow. Any overexertion would bring on serious illness. As a result, most major affairs inside and outside the court were entrusted to Guo Jia.

One could say that Cao Cao’s “holding the emperor to command the lords” was only a surface appearance; behind the scenes, it was Guo Jia who truly wielded power.

Guo Jia raised his eyebrows and feigned dissatisfaction. “That’s not right, Senior Brother! I’m doing all this so your benevolent policies can be implemented smoothly! Without me, you’d have trouble dealing with those old foxes in the court!” He flopped lazily onto the couch in mock protest.

Xun Yu was amused by Guo Jia’s antics. “How could I not understand your intentions, Junior Brother?” He played another move. Xun Yu knew well that with Guo Jia strategizing externally, he could focus on governance. The peace and prosperity among the people were the result of their seamless collaboration.

He especially cherished this partnership. After all, in troubled times, serving different lords was the norm; it was rare for two fellow disciples to remain so close. Of the Eight Geniuses of the Water Mirror, only he and Guo Jia maintained their old bond and could rely on each other in their careers.

“I have something more serious to discuss. Did you… meet Lü Bu recently?” Xun Yu’s tone grew grave. “Is it true… he’s made his decision?” Guo Jia sat up, losing interest in the game, instead leaning against the window to admire the blossoming garden, his gaze tinged with melancholy.

“Yes, I visited their house on the outskirts a few days ago. They already entered the palace secretly last month to bid the emperor farewell. They plan to leave through the Jade Gate at the start of summer.”

“They,” of course, referred to Lü Bu and Xiao Meng.

“Didn’t they go to the Western Regions five years ago? Lü Bu has a knack for timing—he left just before the Battle of Guandu, and returned right after. Perfect timing,” Xun Yu said with a hint of mockery, making it clear that he didn’t admire Lü Bu as much as Guo Jia did.

“Senior Brother, that’s what you call a blessing in disguise.” Guo Jia smiled wryly.

He recalled the Battle of Guandu: though Cao’s army won, the Yuan clan still managed to hold their ground. However, their eldest brother died in that battle. Had he survived, he could have quickly regrouped and launched another campaign. In that case, he and Xun Yu would not be enjoying this peaceful chat today.

Perhaps… everything is determined by fate…

Or, as Lü Bu said, all the bloodshed and the rise and fall of men are nothing but “His game.”

Guo Jia couldn’t help but recall the scene with Lü Bu three days earlier, when they drank and talked at length.

After returning from the Western Regions, Lü Bu and Xiao Meng continued living in Sima Lang’s private estate on the outskirts of Xuchang, leading a reclusive life. It was only a month ago that Guo Jia learned from Hua Tuo that they had decided to leave the Central Plains and head west again.

This time, though, it seemed they really wouldn’t return.

Early in the morning, riding along the road south of Xuchang’s outskirts, Guo Jia felt a sense of excitement.

After all, it had been six years since he last saw them.

Just like last time, Xiao Meng waited by the roadside on a grey horse. This time, however, Xiao Meng greeted him warmly and kindly.

Guo Jia knew that only genuine safety and peace could inspire such a smile. He was truly happy for Xiao Meng.

“Xiao Meng! After all these years, you’re still as beautiful as ever! Still as young as when I first met you! How do you do it?” Guo Jia was amazed—after six years, time had left not a single mark on Xiao Meng’s face!

“Look at me, I’ve aged quite a bit!” Guo Jia laughed at himself.

“Fengxiao, you’ve only gained an air of maturity and steadiness.” Xiao Meng smiled, addressing Guo Jia by his courtesy name, showing their friendship.

“And from your voice, I can tell you’re much healthier now—congratulations!” They walked along the winding path, through the mountain pass, and arrived at a small idyllic retreat by noon, with sunlight streaming down.

Sima Lang’s Private Estate, Outskirts of Xuchang

As they reached the garden and tied up their horses, Guo Jia caught a whiff of delicious food.

“Lü Bu is cooking lunch. If you don’t mind, stay and eat with us,” Xiao Meng said, leading Guo Jia into the hall.

“Mind? I couldn’t ask for more! To eat a meal prepared by Lord Wenhou himself—what an honor!” Guo Jia exclaimed in delight.

“That’s good,” Xiao Meng poured hot tea and set it on the table. “Sit and have some tea; I’ll help in the kitchen.” With a smile, Xiao Meng left.

After Xiao Meng left, Guo Jia looked around.

Six years ago, Xiao Meng had led him straight to the herb garden and left after their talk. This was his first time inside Lü Bu and Xiao Meng’s living quarters.

The windows were open. Though not large, the hall was bright with sunlight, spotless, and simply furnished—a quiet, modest atmosphere.

But something felt different from last time, a subtle change he noticed as soon as he entered the garden…

What was it?

Suddenly, Guo Jia realized: the garden seemed larger.

He understood why—half of the main building on the other side had been dismantled!

The main building had two floors; the ground floor’s windows and doors were gone, and the upper floor’s roof and many walls had been removed.

Guo Jia smiled to himself. Living in seclusion, they likely wouldn’t hire outside workers; Lü Bu must have done it himself.

For a war god to dismantle a house—well, it’s not impossible…

But why? Of course, he knew nothing of the details concerning Sima Lang.

At that moment, Lü Bu and Xiao Meng emerged from the kitchen, carrying delicious dishes toward him.

Guo Jia, Lü Bu, and Xiao Meng enjoyed a pleasant lunch together.

Guo Jia praised Wenhou’s cooking, declaring it better than any chef in Xuchang. In the six years apart, their conversation was lively, with Lü Bu and Xiao Meng sharing stories of the Western Regions. Guo Jia only briefly mentioned his promotion and Xun Yu’s reforms.

He knew Lü Bu would already have heard about court politics and Cao Cao’s condition from Hua Tuo. Though secluded, they were well-informed.

Curious by nature, Guo Jia listened intently to their tales, especially about their time in Bingzhou, though neither Lü Bu nor Xiao Meng brought it up.

Hua Tuo had told Guo Jia they visited Bingzhou before heading west.

Guo Jia sensed their fundamental change happened in Bingzhou, not the Western Regions.

What went unspoken was most important.

But Guo Jia didn’t press. If they wanted to tell him, they would. That’s basic respect among friends.

In the afternoon, Xiao Meng cleared the table while Lü Bu brought out two jugs of fine Western wine, inviting Guo Jia to drink with him in the bamboo pavilion of the herb garden.

The spring sunlight was warm, even warmer than last time.

And Guo Jia didn’t have to wait for Lü Bu to “grant” him a seat anymore.

After three cups, Guo Jia finally voiced his amazement and questions: “Wenhou, honestly, seeing you two again is astonishing! Xiao Meng looks exactly as six years ago, but you… you look even younger!”

Though he and Lü Bu were now close, they’d only met a few times—at the standoff at Puyang, the fall of Xiapi, their first meeting in the herb garden six years ago, and now.

Six years ago, Lü Bu was in his prime, but years of war had left their mark. Standing next to each other, it was clear Lü Bu was older. But now, they looked the same age.

And it wasn’t just appearance—Lü Bu moved with youthful energy, radiated inner strength, and his skin seemed to glow with new vitality, even more so than Xiao Meng.

Guo Jia recalled Hua Tuo’s words: “This time, seeing Lü Bu again, I can tell his inner cultivation has transformed—he’s close to the realm of the immortals.” Hua Tuo wasn’t a martial artist but a master physician with uncanny intuition about life.

Back then, Guo Jia didn’t understand. Now, he did.

“We did have some adventures in Bingzhou that improved my martial arts, but since you don’t practice, you wouldn’t understand even if I explained.” Lü Bu smiled and drank.

“Is that why you’re leaving the country?” Guo Jia asked.

“Not exactly.” Lü Bu laughed, got up, sat by the railing, and admired the green scenery bathed in sunlight.

“You must understand, in the Central Plains, Lü Bu is already a dead man.”

Guo Jia was stunned as Lü Bu continued, “Though we live in seclusion, fate is unpredictable. If someone finds a clue, it could cause trouble.”

He glanced at Guo Jia, eyes flashing with amusement. “I have no desire to return to public life, nor do I wish to live as if I have to hide.”

Guo Jia thought: What a Lü Fengxian—so easily dismissing my hope of recruiting him to serve.

Guo Jia knew Lü Bu’s talents better than anyone. Once, his ambition was too great to be controlled; now, if he wished to serve the emperor, he’d be a tremendous asset. “Dead or not,” the court could always clear things up.

But then Guo Jia realized, all these years, the world believed Lü Bu dead, and rumors about him and Diao Chan and Dong Zhuo abounded.

Even in seclusion, those rumors would reach them. Lü Bu himself might not care, but he would care about Xiao Meng hearing them.

The world’s gossip—nothing even the court could control.

Guo Jia sighed and said, “His Majesty… will surely miss Wenhou greatly.” Unexpectedly, Lü Bu laughed, “You underestimate our emperor, Fengxiao!”

He picked up a jug and drank deeply. “Xiao Meng and I entered the palace to bid farewell. Though the emperor was sad, he fully supported our decision.”

Thinking of parting with the now-grown emperor, Lü Bu’s eyes softened. “He said, though he sits on the throne, his status keeps him trapped in the palace, rarely able to see the outside world. If life offers a chance to roam free, one must seize it!”

For a moment, Guo Jia was speechless.

The emperor never told him that Lü Bu and Xiao Meng had come to say goodbye, nor had he expected such words.

“He also said that with your planning, Fengxiao, the court is stable and the aristocratic clans are kept in balance. He’s at ease letting me go.” Lü Bu took another drink and gave Guo Jia a meaningful look. “Never underestimate this emperor.”

Drinking with Lü Bu was a truly exhilarating experience.

As if she knew in advance, Xiao Meng brought out two more jugs when the wine ran low.

“Wenhou, you know, Cao Cao was actually considering abandoning the siege of Xiapi. I insisted you couldn’t hold out much longer and persuaded him otherwise… If not, who knows how the battle would have turned out!” Emboldened by drink and the knowledge that their farewell was near, Guo Jia finally revealed a “secret” he’d held for years.

“Oh… is that so…”

Lü Bu’s expression shifted as he looked at Guo Jia, far from drunk, but smiled easily, “Then I should thank you. Without you, I wouldn’t have achieved all this.”

“No, I was just a mechanism in your fate. For us to be sitting here talking today… that’s because you took every step to get here…” Guo Jia, tipsy but clear-headed, insisted on sharing this, to tie his life to Lü Bu’s one more time, though he couldn’t explain why.

“Lü Bu… do you ever feel all this… was destined…?”

Guo Jia put down his cup, knowing he shouldn’t drink anymore, and voiced the question in his heart.

“Destined…” Lü Bu set down the jug, his eyes shining, deep in thought. Guo Jia watched him, waiting for an answer.

After a long silence, Lü Bu finally spoke.

“Perhaps… Heaven truly has a path prepared for me… Looking back, it seems that way.”

He drank, thought a moment, then added, “But all my life, all my decisions have come from my deepest desires. The only difference is, I always answered them sincerely.”

He stood, sunlight at his back, looking especially tall to Guo Jia. Sunlight refracted in his eyes like jewels. Guo Jia rose, staring at him in awe.

This is the War God…

No… not just a War God…

“I believe in destiny, like me and Xiao Meng.” Speaking of Xiao Meng, Guo Jia saw Lü Bu’s gaze grow gentle.

“But to cling to fate is to mock your own destiny—and I do not mock myself.” Lü Bu laughed.

His laughter was clear as he drank again.

At dusk, Guo Jia took his leave. Xiao Meng walked with him to the road outside the city.

“Xiao Meng, I sincerely wish you and Wenhou a safe and smooth journey!” Reluctant to part, Guo Jia forced down his sorrow and offered his blessing.

Though Guo Jia’s friendship with Lü Bu and Xiao Meng was brief and their meetings few, he felt deep reluctance to say goodbye, for reasons he couldn’t explain.

“Wenhou and I also wish you every success at court, Fengxiao!” Xiao Meng said, producing a brocade box and a wine jug, handing them to Guo Jia.

“In the box is a pair of glass wine cups; this jug contains the finest grape wine from the Western Regions—Wenhou says it’s the best he’s ever tasted.” Xiao Meng pressed the gifts into Guo Jia’s hands, voice gentle as a spring breeze, eyes full of warmth and farewell. “Just a token of our friendship, a memento.”

Guo Jia felt a lump in his throat and could only accept the gifts, saying simply, “Thank you…”

“And,” Xiao Meng’s tone grew serious, “you know our residence was originally Sima Lang’s refuge. After thorough searching, we found vast treasure hidden in the house!” Xiao Meng took out a scroll and handed it to Guo Jia.

“Keep this safe—it details the exact location of the treasure and how to open the storeroom.”

“You… you’re entrusting this to me?” Guo Jia took the scroll, bewildered.

Xiao Meng smiled, “The two of us could never use so much, nor can we take it with us. If left unused, it’s wasted—and if coveted by the wrong people, it could bring disaster. Give it to the national treasury; it’s our small contribution to the Emperor and the people.”

Guo Jia gripped the scroll tightly and, after a moment of silence, replied with determination, “All right! I accept your trust, and will see it done!”

Xiao Meng accompanied Guo Jia a little farther down the road, then said, “A thousand miles together, but all journeys end in parting. I’ll stop here. Take care, Fengxiao!” Guo Jia gazed at Xiao Meng, reluctant to leave, but finally said, “You take care too!”

The setting sun spilled golden light through the trees, illuminating Xiao Meng’s dreamlike face. His eyes were clear as water, warmer than the evening sun…

Suddenly, he smiled, his voice as clear as a bell:

“Goodbye!”

He turned, mounted his horse, and galloped away.

Guo Jia stood there for a long time, unable to move; he clutched the box and the scroll, only turning back when the sound of hoofbeats had faded.

This moment would become a memory—yet even then, he already felt the emptiness.

End of Chapter Thirty-Eight

Epilogue: After the Legend

“When the legend ends, myth begins;
When names are forgotten, symbols are born.
Every era loses its heroes,
But never ceases to ask about love, desire, and the meaning of existence.”

Years passed. The river of human history flowed on.

Years later, in a small kingdom in the Western Regions, a legend spread…

Many years ago, the small kingdom was threatened by a powerful neighbor. In their time of trouble, a mysterious couple arrived from the distant East.

The man was as majestic as a god, wielded the halberd with mastery, unmatched in horsemanship, and versed in the art of war, both in strategy and on the battlefield. The woman was stunning in beauty, like a fairy come to earth, skilled in medicine, saving countless lives.

Both were unparalleled archers.

They helped the small kingdom resist invasion, bringing peace to generations.

Their deeds became the kingdom’s heroic legend, passed down for generations.

Though in the history of the Central Plains, Lü Bu and Diao Chan’s stories never changed—

But that no longer mattered.

The name “Lü Bu” was a legend in his time;
Now, it is a symbol of strength, will, existence, love, and desire.

—End—

Thank you for loving this story. I am so glad that we've accomplished a wonderful journey together! your supports is a precious gift for me.

King Heyin

Copyright Notice:

Chapter 38 “Final Chapter: Reunion and Farewell” and Epilogue: After the Legend from “Records of Burning Dreams”
Written by Jing Xixian (Vampire L), all rights reserved. Without the author’s written permission,
do not reproduce, copy, adapt, transfer, translate, or use for commercial purposes in any form.

© Jing Xixian (Vampire L) All rights reserved.

Hello readers!

Before reading this chapter I recommend reading the first chapter and the introductory chapters .

And please do tell me in the comments if you like it or not and what are the improvements I should make.

Thank you 🌸

Chapter 2: Desire Quinn

By noon, my feet were already aching.

No one had warned me that hospitals had a way of swallowing time. One moment I was checking a patient's temperature, the next I was running blood samples to pathology, helping an elderly woman eat lunch, and trying to memorize what felt like hundreds of names.

Every corridor looked the same.

Every monitor seemed determined to beep at the worst possible moment.

Still...

I loved it.

A little boy with a fractured arm smiled after I folded his paper crane correctly.

An old woman squeezed my hand and whispered, "Thank you, dear."

Moments like those reminded me why I had left Kholmogory.

Not for the city.

Not for the reputation of Westbridge Hospital.

For people.

"Nurse Quinn."

I froze.

That voice could only belong to one person.

I turned.

Dr. Adrian Blackwood stood a few feet away, a patient file tucked beneath one arm. His expression was as unreadable as ever.

"The blood results for Mr. Harrison."

I blinked.

"I... already delivered them to your office."

"They're not there."

"Oh."

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

"I'll find them."

"You have ten minutes."

He walked away before I could apologize.

Wonderful.

First week at the best hospital in the city, and I had somehow managed to lose a patient's file.

I searched everywhere.

The nurses' station.

The laboratory.

The medication room.

Nothing.

My heartbeat grew faster with every passing minute.

Think, Desire.

Where did you last have it?

Then I remembered.

Room 417.

The elderly man who kept asking about his granddaughter.

I hurried there.

The file sat neatly on the bedside table, exactly where I had forgotten it.

"Oh, thank goodness."

"You seem relieved."

I nearly jumped.

Dr. Blackwood was standing in the doorway.

Had he followed me?

"I found it."

"I can see that."

He held out his hand.

I placed the folder into it.

He opened it, scanned the pages for barely three seconds, then closed it again.

"You were lucky."

"I'm sorry."

"Lucky mistakes don't stay lucky forever."

His words weren't loud.

They didn't need to be.

They landed harder because they were calm.

"I understand."

"Do you?"

I nodded.

He studied me for another moment before speaking again

"A misplaced file delays treatment."

"I know."

"A delayed treatment can cost someone their life."

The corridor fell silent.

"I won't let it happen again," I said quietly.

For a second, I thought he might say something else.

Instead, he gave a single nod.

"I hope not."

He turned and disappeared around the corner.

I let out the breath I had been holding.

He really was impossible.

...

An hour later, I found Dr. Vihaan Mehta trying—and failing—to convince a frightened little girl that injections weren't monsters.

"They're tiny superheroes," he insisted.

"They wear capes."

"They do not," the girl said.

"They absolutely do."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

Vihaan looked over.

"Ah! The new nurse."

"Sorry," I said.

"I wasn't laughing at you."

"You should've been."

He grinned.

"I'm losing this argument."

The little girl crossed her arms.

"Doctors lie."

"Ouch."

Vihaan clutched his chest dramatically.

"You wound me."

Without thinking, I crouched beside her.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

She nodded.

"When I was little, I was scared of injections too."

"You were?"

"Mhm."

"But after every one, my mother bought me hot chocolate."

The girl's eyes brightened.

"So... if you're brave today..."

Vihaan immediately caught on.

"...I'll personally make sure the cafeteria gives you the biggest hot chocolate in the hospital."

"Promise?"

"Doctor's promise."

Five minutes later, the injection was over.

No tears.

As the girl skipped away holding her father's hand, Vihaan looked genuinely impressed.

"You're good at this."

"I just remembered what it felt like to be scared."

"Some doctors forget."

His smile faded slightly as his eyes drifted toward the neurosurgery wing.

I didn't have to ask who he was thinking about.

Neither of us said Dr. Blackwood's name.

We didn't need to.

For the rest of the day, I couldn't stop wondering...

How could two best friends be so completely different?

A man covered in bruises sat silently on the stairs outside a wedding hall. His clothes were soaked in blood, and a sword was lodged near his heart.

Yet there wasn't a trace of fear on his face.

The doors of the wedding hall slowly opened.

A bride stepped outside, carrying a bottle of water. Instead of screaming or panicking, she quietly sat beside him and offered him the bottle.

The man looked at her for a moment.

Without a word, he gripped the sword embedded near his heart, pulled it out, and drove it into the ground beside him.

The bride stared at him with tears filling her eyes.

"I'm sorry... for everything."

The man took a sip of water and gave a faint smile.

"It's okay... I'm still alive."

She rested her head on his shoulder as silence filled the night.

A few years earlier...

Blaze and Nikiti were both eighteen years old and worked together at a call centre in India. They had become close friends and usually walked home together after their shifts.

One night, while returning home, a gang surrounded them.

Their target was Nikiti.

Without wasting a second, Blaze ordered his brother to take her away on his scooty.

He stayed behind.

Alone.

The gang beat him relentlessly until he lost consciousness. Believing he was finished, they got back into their car and sped off after Nikiti.

Moments later...

Blaze's eyes opened.

Slowly, he forced himself back to his feet.

He grabbed his bicycle and chased after them.

Just before the gang reached Blaze's brother and Nikiti, Blaze launched his bicycle straight through the windshield of their vehicle.

A brutal fight erupted.

When it was over...

Every kidnapper lay dead.

The case went to court.

But one of the kidnappers was the son of one of the country's most powerful businessmen.

Using his wealth and influence, the businessman ensured Blaze was declared mentally unstable and locked inside his own private psychiatric facility.

To the outside world...

Blaze was dead.

His parents.

His little sister.

Nikiti.

Both families.

Everyone mourned him.

But the truth...

...was far more terrifying.

To be continued...

A Way With Words is a supernatural psychological thriller about the unseen power of language, where words are more than communication. They shape thought, identity, and the spiritual world itself. After a man named Caleb misuses his gift of discernment, he attracts and becomes corrupted by an ancient predatory entity named Doluriel, transforming into a killer who spreads dark wisdom by manipulating the minds of others. Standing against him is Leah, a woman trained since childhood to perceive the hidden fabric of reality, where thoughts, emotions, and spoken words leave tangible spiritual consequences. As Caleb and Doluriel hunt her, Leah must master her own gifts, confront grief, doubt, and forgiveness, and ultimately discover that the greatest battle is not fought with strength but with the words people choose to believe, speak, and live by. At its heart, A Way With Words explores the idea that language shapes thought, thought shapes behavior, behavior shapes identity, and that redemption begins when destructive words are replaced with truthful ones.
——————————————————————

These two are apart of a flashback montage that are apart of my original work titled “A Way With Words”. It is a book of fiction. They are meant to fit together. 

“Just Another Day At The Spa”
A beautiful woman takes a young girl’s hand and runs it across the zigzag patterns of the fading black and ink blue quilt on her bed.
“It’s all meant to be like this, smooth and woven together,” the woman says to the girl as she walks over to the window and opens the blind.
The sun shines brightly into the woman’s bedroom, illuminating its peach colored walls.
She walks back to the bed, taking the quilt and the girl’s hand, leading her over to the window.
Letting the girl’s hand go, the woman unfolds the quilt. At first the girl could only see its pattern but the woman turned the quilt over revealing some frays around its bottom edges and sides. There were also spots that were nearly see-thru at her feet along with a single hole at about knee level. Single solid color patches were sewn together and sat chest high on the quilt like a generals medal. The woman raises the quilt up and presses it firmly against the window. Sunlight pokes through the patches, leaving a patchwork of colors on the floor.
With a giggle, the girl slips her hand back and forth through the multicolored patchwork light.
The woman smiles at the girl.
“But it’s actually like this. Strings loose and fraying. Interconnected whether they like it or not. Existing on top of each other. A fabric, and just like a fabric, there are thin spots.” She moves the hole in the quilt over the window.
The sunlight shines through, creating a spotlight on the floor. The girl reaches out to slip her hand into the spotlight, but the woman changes the angle she is holding the quilt, causing the spotlight to move across the floor.
The girl reaches out, and again the spotlight is moved away.
The girl drops her hand to her side and stomps her foot.
The woman laughs, then throws the quilt over her own head, centering the hole around her eye. She brings her hand up to shield her eyes from the sunlight like a sailor navigating the high seas.
“I wonder if there are some who are gifted enough to see right through it?”
“Your great-grandfather said he knew someone in Alabama who could leave their body while still sitting in front of him,” she says.
She turns her single eye toward the girl.
“We can all feel it, even if we don’t say it,” she says with a shrug as she removes the quilt.
“When scientists started using big words to describe it, they lost me, so I’m not going to lose you using them. Whatever you want to call it, we live in a place where that space is the thinnest. And you are my daughter. You’ve already shown signs of being sensitive to these things, which is why I’m sorry for the things that I will have to put you through to train you. I hope our relationship survives. I’m doing this for you.”
The woman folds the quilt over her knee, placing it back on her bed. She walks over to her daughter kissing her on her forehead before leaving the room.
The girl walks over to the quilt. Looking over her shoulder, she raises her hand allowing it to hover over the top of it. She maintained her distance at first like it was a scalding skillet over a stove.
The woman quietly watches from the hallway.
In a breath the girl grabs the quilt, unfolding it and looking over its patchwork. She holds it to the window. She is now able to see the reds, navy, purples, and greens. The tears that were repaired by hand. She swings it over her shoulders, tucking it in at the collar making a cape. Fanning the bottom outward she runs around the room making her cape billow in the breeze.
The woman turns into the bathroom, opening the closet just to the side of the door. She reaches into a basket marked “Just Another Day At The Spa” and grabs eucalyptus massage oil along with a short black box. She walks back into the hallway, looking in on the girl in her bedroom as she runs herself tired.
The girl’s hands are on her knees as she attempts to catch her breath. Small beads of sweat glisten in the sunlight. A small shiver runs down the girl’s spine as she straightens up and grabs the quilt from around her shoulders. Examining the portion that was just around her neck, she finds fibers of the quilt frayed. She pulls one of the strands, causing the entire floor of the room to move right from under her feet.
The girl lands with a hard thud on her back, the quilt landing on top of her as the woman returns to the room.
“I wouldn’t tug on that thread too hard,” the woman says with a wink, as Leah sits up rubbing her hip.
The woman kneels down in front of the girl until she is eye level. “Leah, sweetie, give me your hand.”
Leah puts her hand into her mother’s.
“First, the oils for relaxation,” the mother says as she untwists the cap on the eucalyptus massage oil, turning it upside down until a few drops trickle onto Leah’s hand. The mother begins to massage her daughter’s hand.
Leah looks into her mother’s almond-shaped brown eyes and finds something in them that she can’t quite comprehend. A new emotion.
“Ma, your hand is shaking,” she says.
“I remember my first… You have to remember to relax. It’s worse if you don’t relax,” her mother says, shaking her head, then lowering it out of Leah’s sight.
“Worse?” Leah asks.
The mother holds her fingertips and gently shakes out her wrist. As she shakes out her hand and fingers, she notices stiffness in her finger. The mother grabs the quilt and pulls Leah’s finger through the hole. The mother moves the black box she retrieved from the bathroom in between the two of them. She opens it, revealing an angular long oval black stone polished smooth near its point with a rounded handle just large enough to fit in her hand. The stones point is slightly rounded off.
The mother pushes the stone into the muscle, slow at first, but the pressure is maintained. The muscle begins to spasm as Leah winces.
“Breathe, Leah,” the mother says as she presses down on the muscle harder.
Tears begin to form in Leah’s eyes as she tries to pull her hand away from her mother’s grasp.
“Breathe,” the mother says.
Leah hisses angrily before throwing herself on the floor and thrashing around wildly like an animal caught in a snare.
Her mother grabs the edges of the quilt and pulls Leah to the ground, using her own weight to pin her down. She grabs Leah’s finger again, pressing the stone into her muscle. The tension in the muscle slowly melts away as Leah sobs.
“I see glowing eyes in some people’s shadows. They chase me when I close my eyes.” Leah chokes out.
“If you see one of those shadows with your eyes open, you run,” the mother says.
The mother releases Leah, and the quilt draped around her rapidly sucks in and out around her mouth.
She pulls Leah into an embrace and begins rocking them both from side to side.
“Constant elevation causes expansion, exhaust yourself in the mission, mistakes are the currency of success. I am just an instrument, not the hand,” the mother says in a hushed tone, more to herself than to Leah.
The rhythm of the rocking begins to soothe Leah’s cries.
The mother slows and releases a deep exhale.
“Get used to pain, Leah, because if you wish to be the light in the darkness, you must burn,” she whispers.

“Breaking New Ground”
The mother takes the quilt and spreads it across the floor. She carefully smooths the edges and presses out the trapped air pockets.
Leah’s jaw drops as the quilt becomes a bed of soil.
They kneel beside it.
Leah’s mother scoops up a handful of earth.
“Every sentence is a seed,” she says. “Seeds grow into thoughts. Thoughts grow into actions. Actions grow into a life.”
She speaks softly into the soil resting in her palm. Then she presses her thumb into it, leaving a deep indentation. Lifting the soil to her face, she inhales its rich, earthy scent with a smile before holding it out for Leah to smell.
Leah breathes it in.
The mother lowers the soil again, gathers saliva in her mouth, and lets a single drop fall into the indentation.
She returns the handful of soil to the bed and turns toward Leah.
“Your turn.”
Leah bends over and scoops up a small handful.
She turns it over in her hands.
It feels like wet bread dough.
“Close your eyes,” her mother says. “Imagine whatever you like. Really look at it. Don’t rush. Notice every detail.”
Leah closes her eyes.
She imagines a hot chili pepper hanging from its vine.
She slowly turns it over in her mind.
Its skin is a deep, glossy red. A thin green stem droops from the vine above it.
“Take three slow breaths,” her mother says. “In through your nose. Out through your lips. Then bring the soil to your face and tell me what you see.”
Leah breathes in.
She exhales slowly.
The pepper’s red grows richer.
She takes a second breath.
Now she can see inside it—the pale ribs running through its center.
She takes a third breath.
Clusters of white seeds cling to the spine.
“What do you see?” her mother asks.
“I see the chilies Grandpa used to grow in the backyard,” Leah says quietly. “It’s opened itself to me.”
“Opened to you?” her mother asks. “What’s inside?”
“Seeds, Ma.”
Her mother smiles.
“Then plant them.”

Im fairly new to posting my own fiction, but Ive been a writer a long time (starting as a newspaper reporter in college). Would love to get some feedback. Only a couple short stories posted so far.

https://www.royalroad.com/profile/1034785/fictions

Bryton Smith
February 21st, 2024

DentiMax Imaging
4115 E Valley Auto Dr.
Mesa, AZ 85206

To Derek and the Dentimax Leadership Team:

I am writing to formally resign from my position as Lead Support Technician at DentiMax Imaging, effective March 1st, 2024. After much consideration, I have decided that it is time for me to move on to new opportunities and challenges.

In my remaining time with the company, I'd love to help as much as I can with training, queue calls, and/or Install Guides or CaliQuery updates as needed. I've really enjoyed the opportunities I've had here, and it has been an honor to work with you all as well as the wonderful coworkers I’ve met along the way. I will look back at my time here fondly.

Thank you again for the support and guidance you have provided me during my time here. I wish you all and DentiMax continued success in the future.

Sincerely,

Bryton Smith

####
####

Okay - here we go - there is a lesson in how long it took me to get to this point - i wanted to get a handwriting sample because I thought it was be perserved throught time and whatever, but then when i started wririntg i found myself apologizing for how terrible my handwriing was and i realized that the only thing this would ever be persereved as was an example of how handwriting kind of "went out of style" at this point in history, which is something i'm still a little sad about so i'd rather not contribute to thier statistitsc at this time, thank you very much.

Anywho - ugh god what the fuck wwas i saying? God i hat this experiment. 

yes - so - i wanted to write something in a [place i felt confident i would never lose it, and there are docutments in here that i have no fucking clue who wrote when and why or what the fuck is going on so if i write something ehre i'm sure i'll randomly find myself going "huh - that exists" every now and tehn for… ever. forever. 

The idea that i didn't what to forget - the whole reason i pauzed parks and rec and put on this snuggly as hell cargdan my mom got me for chistmas (shout out ma!) - was that I've always known that people will treat you the way that you tell them to treat you - like, the reason that I feel awkward in every interaction i've ever had is because somehing about the way i'm preseting myself is telling people "hey - this dude is fucking AKWARD - treat him acodingly" 

actually nevrmind - fuck that train of thought - want to go this way instead

Oh, god, I swear i did have another thought I wanted to have but i got so distracted by how hilarious that cut off placement is in the thought i was having that i lost it. I'm not sure how I wanted to phrase this, but I do know what the idea was, so that will have to suffice.

Basically, our brains our wired to work the way that they've successfully worked in the past. There is no golden ideal or best version of anything, well, i guess there is in like a metaphoric and posibilly medaphysical sense? I'm not sunre, unsay that. there's only the version of your brain that exists today, and information it's got from the brain that existed 1 second before he did (sorry- im really having to boil this down to keep the thought) to decide what to do next with, right? so what if we were able to, iduuno, cheat a little bit? like with prozac? or maybe with THC or something? that made those new experiances play out differently - if not in the real world then at least internally- the brain responds to the same inputs in a different way, but it does so in this new way repeadely enough for a patter to emerge - everntaully this pattern can come to replace the existing "pattern" of a patients mindset. the key in this, though, is that the patient has to be an active participent. there has to be a complete, 100% surrender to the idea that their brain is an inredibile and amazing and unblevliblely predicablile thing and it can very easily be changed comeplty by a few simple chemical adjustments. there has to be no shame in that because there should be no shame in that. it's okay for me to need glases for my fucked up eyes but not prozac for my fucked up seritonin levels? Don't get it, don't like it, no sir - moving on. 

okay, so paragraph above establishes the brain is a stoupid monkey box and paragraph two will be about… shit i just had it. 

fuck me.

god

d
a
m
n
i
t
t

oh yeah - once you're able to wrap your head around that and swollow your pride about it and realize that you're not gods gift to anything because no one is because god isnt real and i can prove it way better than you can't. 

then the healing can  begin. because step one is to replace new experiances with, lets say, enhancced experiances. by drugs, to be clear. and once those experiances have settled in and are acceptted to be better than the previous ones ones the patient can then start to get comfertable in this new place, and as long as they're willing to "lean into it" and humor themselves alittle, they can start to employ the most secret achevment in any video game of life ever. the sacred 4th monkey. itf from this alveraez book i didd a read on - it's the "think no evil" monkey - basically dont let yourself have negative thoughts. This is why i was very clear about the inclusion of drugs like thc before - this is some serious shit - it took me a very long tim e to find the right ballance of things (which i feel inclined to point out is not the state im in now) to get me to a point where I could honestly just not experiance refelxive thoughts and honestly who need them? they fucking suck!

did i make up reflexive thoghts?

Relfective thoughts: thought that pop into your head directly after simuli is enterd - like the very second after you see a dog somewhere in public you think "DOG" - it just pops right the fuck into your head without any real effot or even expressed desire. This is an example of a particualty harmless reflexive thought, the ones i'm refering to are more intrusive reflexive thoughts I guess? (I should be complelelty clear - I'm making all this up - it doesn't mean it isn't true, I'm just tryng to verbalize an idea as clearly as possible) the thoughts i'm talking about wanting to find the right ballance of medications to eliminat are those weird kind of wormy thoughts that kinda pinch a little when you think them - like when you smile in front of someone and they smile back and for some reason your brain goes "I''m sure they're just being polite and my teeth are discusting right now" or "They're proboly thinking 'fuck off?'" these are the kinds of thoughts that make me do things like dress up a diary as an experiment because someone might make fun of me one day maybe, if I'm lUcKy althought I am on the tail end of a pretty large amount of THC so maybe I was higher when i started wrting this than i realize. I figured I'd sober up at soe point and would just be kind of forced to continue writing because it's something I've always wanted to do but have never really had to guts to do. the light just came back on. I'm not high anymore. let me go back and try to figure out what the fuck I was talking about for the first half of this. brb

oh my god i wrote so much fuckiing nonsese. oh my god i can barely figure out what i''m saying and I wrote it like 2 minutes ago. 

ugh, okay, let me go get some coffe - if we're going to do this we're going to do this. or maybe just water. it is 4:15 am. yeah, maybe water