Hahaha. You won’t be able to chase me here.
I’m sick of you—living freely in the virtual realm, playing with lives as if they were toys.
You won’t get what you’re looking for.
Tell Esthee to bring everything they have.
I will not retreat.
I will block you.
Let this vanish beyond your reach.
Take it—if you can.
“…What?”
Andika frowned.
This wasn’t what he expected.
The mural he thought would be a key—an instruction, a map, an exit—was nothing more than the ranting of someone deeply unhinged. Some words were distorted, likely a consequence of his cracked screen, but most of it was disturbingly clear.
One thing stood out: the text wasn’t meant to be read left to right.
It spiraled—from the center outward.
“That’s new…”
The virtual realm. Esthee. Something being carried away.
Did the same person create all of these murals?
Andika took another photograph, this time in sections, piecing together the missing fragments.
Nothing useful.
Except one word.
Open.
It sat alone in the lower-right corner, written in a different language—clean, deliberate, unlike the chaotic message above it.
He stepped closer and placed his hand on the symbol.
“Erhhsvia.”
The mural reacted.
Starting from the center, its surface warped—bulging, receding, turning translucent. The wall peeled open, revealing a short corridor no more than five meters long.
Andika stepped through.
On the other side awaited the same room.
Same murals on the sides.
Only the front mural had changed.
He repeated the process.
Photo. Touch. Read.
Don’t think passing one means you’ll find it.
I know what you sacrificed to come this far.
How does it feel to lose—
Love.
One.
Freedom.
Try again.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
I guarantee your failure.
Hahaha.
Open.
The writing this time flowed vertically—from top to bottom, left to right.
“Amenakash.”
The mural peeled diagonally, from upper-left to lower-right, dissolving into another passage.
Third corridor… How many of these are there?
I’m hungry. Thirsty.
Please—let the next one give me answers.
Give up already.
You’ll be trapped here forever.
Under my authority.
Stop breaking these walls.
Only through me can you pass.
Despair.
Sorrow.
Call Thesee.
They are your hope.
But you will never return.
Hahaha.
Open.
“Thesee… another name. Esthee. Thesee.”
A large group, then.
An authority?
His thoughts shifted.
Is the book I took… an authority?
After all—
He could sense gates by touch.
Read murals by contact.
What kind of system is this? Identification? Permission?
Too little data.
He stopped theorizing.
Survival first.
“Faufia.”
The next corridor opened.
The fourth mural was… different.
Die All of You.
Die All of You.
Die All of You.
The words repeated endlessly—die, die, die—using the harshest, most debased form of the term.
Andika shuddered.
This isn’t just hatred. This is obsession.
My comprehension is improving…
Why? Usage? Time? Exposure?
He reached for the final open—
Then stopped.
Something felt wrong.
The text was horizontal again—but each line was divided by a raised bar.
A script style he recognized.
Indian-derived scripts… they use a head-line to bind words.
He moved closer.
Before touching it, meaning arrived.
The line rises and sinks—barely noticeable.
Hidden beneath the curses.
I know you are not them.
Their heads are too high to read this.
Enter.
Prove you are the one I seek.
Open.
“Laera.”
This time, not the mural—but its left side opened. A narrow passage, human-sized.
He entered.
The door sealed behind him.
Five minutes later, the corridor ended.
A small room.
A bed.
A table.
A book.
Nothing else.
So this is it.
He sat, inhaled deeply, bracing for pain.
The book was thin. Dark cover. No title.
He opened it—eyes closed.
Nothing happened.
No pain.
He opened his eyes.
It was just… a book.
Written in a new language—yet readable.
Before you search for me, know this: I have been dead for a long time.
Whatever authority you used to reach this place, it proves you are not the kind I despised.
If you were, you would already be dead—either in the previous room, or on this bed.
In Ars, there is no authority higher than the ability to read intent.
Andika jumped back.
Cold ran down his spine.
The bed hadn’t reacted to him.
Meaning… my intent passed.
Ars?
Reading intent?
This bed kills those it rejects?
Heart pounding, he returned.
Welcome, then—perhaps the one destined to inherit my authority.
If your body can no longer contain additional authority, you may leave through this corridor.
The next page was blank.
But the implication was clear.
Multiple authorities are possible.
But there is a limit.
“Huff…”
He placed the book in his bag.
Facing the empty wall, he spoke the word he’d learned.
“Vicin.”
A passage opened.
He emerged into a vast domed chamber.
Seven doors lined its perimeter.
At the center stood an altar, glowing blue.
As Andika approached, the light dimmed.
When he reached it, only a book remained.
Thick. Blue cover. Gold trim.
The surface moved like water under light.
Four dots formed a square.
Below them, a name:
aestella
Later—
Andika sat by the river, eating fruit.
After taking the book, he had fled immediately, focusing on a familiar place—this place—and the gate had obeyed.
Now, beneath a broad tree, he opened aestella.
No pain.
Only coolness.
Like waves washing over him.
Unlike illiis, this book offered only one concept:
Water.
But the sensation overwhelmed thought.
His body ached for water.
He stood, drawn toward the river—
Unaware that inside his bag, something was glowing.
