"To grasp the origin of Noësis, you must first understand its essence. Of course, that's currently impossible, but based on our current understanding, Noësis is not a singular force but a duality, two distinct ways of shaping the unseen into reality: Out-Threading and In-Threading."
Alright… Finally… Why the fuck does everyone say Thaumitonic QCD Charge Doublet…
"But what is the energy basis for these two methods?"
"It's Mana一" Isaac muttered under his breath.
"Thaumitonic Bose-Einstan Condensate." The class answered in unison.
…
Sorry?
The Beginning of the Perspective Shift.
(Here we go, try and keep up with the explanations that will be given in a separate document)
"Good. The formula of its interaction Lagrangian with quarks and Tau-9 receptor bio-currents is:
ℒᵢₙₜ = gₜ q̄ₜ γᵘ Aᵃ_μ,ₜ τᵃ qₜ + g_τ₉ Jᵘ₍τ₉₎ Aᵃ_μ,ₜ nₐ
Where:
Jᵘ₍τ₉₎ = neural Tau-9 bio-current four-vector
Nₐ = isospin projection vector selecting the coupling direction within the SU(2)ₜ space."
He writes this on the board.
"Now, how does one Out-Thread T⁰-BEC to induce Reality to the Thaumiton?"
Turaiya raises her hand…
"It is to control the BEC Formation. We excite local T⁰-bosons via neural QT with our brain acting as a Thaumitonic Emitter. We will then cohere the specific particles into a macroscopic quantum state, forming the 'circle' or, as we call Thaumitonic Zone. One's diameter depends on the coherence length of the BEC, ambient thaumiton density, and Stabilization of the field via topological defects.
Another student asked…
"Archvisit! Will you teach us to Out-Thread polygonal shields within our Thaumiton Zone?"
"Oh, dear student. Of course I will. Do you want a quick explanation now?"
The class votes for him to do so…
"Alright. You must engineer topological defects, pinning vortices in the BEC's wave function, then sculpting edges via phase-shifted interference. A triangle, the most basic form of shielding, requires three precisely placed singularities at 30° intervals.
Its stability is dictated by the coherence length and ambient Thaumitonic pressure; triangles fracture under resonance, while irregular polygons require synaptic precision to avoid wave function collapse. The shield's strength hinges on defect alignment where too few vortices, and incoming Clause-Constructs slip through the gaps; too many, and your brain's Thaumic emitter overheats, reducing your consciousness to a vegetable eigenstate."
"Remember these equations, as your life depends on them. Professor Aldrick will teach you selective defense instead of the inefficient Out-Threading of your Thaumitons across your entire 'Zone'. You will learn to coordinately place barriers in the trajectory of incoming Clause-Constructs, saving thaumitons and brain power."
…
Xuě Xīlián glances at me and back at the lecture…
For the first time since entering the class…
And for the first time since entering the Capital of Elenos…
This body isn't smiling…
…
"Getting back on track. Who can explain In-Threading Thaumitons to induce the Thaumitons to Reality?"
Caelum answers next, eyes fully golden, with a rigorous passion in enunciating his words clearly for the class to hear…
"Through Thaumiton-mediated electroweak transduction, a Wave Binder injects a T⁰-BEC of pseudo-scalar bosons into atomic nuclei via electroweak coupling. The Wave Binder's QCD color charge doublet perturbs the nuclear shell model, temporarily modifying valence quark orbitals and inducing β± decay or isomeric transition in the target nuclei, releasing energy in the form of transmuted elements, corresponding to the Wave Binder's Module Resonance Archetype. Shouting one's Clause-Construct can provide a better mental image of the clause-construct being In-Threaded and therefore allowing less strain on the brain."
Archivist scribbles more and more compositions of mathematics that someone could not have understood on the whiteboard. "Amazing explanation, Caelum. In fact, the ones with sufficient mental capacity can perform incantation-less In-Threading if they train sufficiently via operant conditioning in the most harsh case scenario. As was demonstrated by Princess Anzhelika in the NCAT."
The Go(at)latsyn bows.
.
.
.
what should I feel? what do I even know anymore?
pseudo-science shithole stories for magic were on earth, yes… but never fully explained…
it was a personal insult to my hard work in studying…
but seriously?
why?
Why this Story as well?
Magic was NEVER meant to be equations… It was meant to be beautiful…
Magic should be Magical…
Intent... Incantation… Invocation… That was the triad of my favourite game…
MY childhood game taught me that Magic was a mystery with a bit of science.
NOT fully science...
NOT this…
I could always remain the superior rational agent in all scenarios…
If Magic didn't exist, science wins.
If Magic existed but was reducible to science, science wins by incorporation.
Right? I'm sure— I'm so sure my logic is valid…
So why?
I grew up believing in spells cast from willpower, through ritual older than reason…
So why… why… WHY is this all just another branch of science?
Noësis… What a cruel reduction of my science.
Where are the Gods in their calculations? Where is the panophobic terror?
I feel like a ghost haunting the wrong era… An era I so desperately tried to usher.
Where is my analysis when I need it… I know… It's pointing me to the last 'Why'?
Why does it work?
I should be happy, no?
I should be elated.
Haha! Yes! Everything paid off, let's go!
Transmigrated into a world where my childhood fantasies are being played out.
Where what I studied my entire life occurs at a second thought.
The purpose of my post-comatose life was for the purpose of attaining Magic.
But… But…
I don't want it like this… I want to show that my science was superior to Magic.
Not just correct, but a necessary cardinality in mathematics.
Because if I could reduce 'Noësis' to equations… To perfect, predictable, exploitable laws...
Then maybe… Maybe I could reverse my regrets…
Maybe I could have rewritten the ending.
Magic MUST be Magical.
She died in front of me… She DIED in a hospital bed, organs failing, one after an—
Huh…
I'm smiling aren't I…
…
He pressed two fingers to the corner of his mouth like he could physically hold it down. It didn't move. C'mon… It had already finished moving. In fact, it was already there. His smile was being stretched over a sentence that should never once in the history of sense have been said with a smile anywhere near it.
Pulling down used to work…
Zygomaticus major. Zygomaticus minor. Risorius.
At one point in life, he named the muscles like naming them would make them listen to him.
Glkh— ha…ha… ha…
They didn't used to fire like this. Not since he was 9. Not since 11 months of a woman with a clipboard teaching him to catch it before it reached his face. He'd caught it every time since.
Every.
Time.
He was good at this.
Please… Isaac… Swallow…
Was.
I-I'm sure therapy got rid of it… I never had it for years…
So why now… What did I do wrong?
So why is it back now? Why is it back on this phrase? Why, out of every sentence available to it, did his face, let alone a face of a body not his, choose organs failing, one after another to finally relapse?
Unless it never left.
Unless it just hadn't had a good reason.
Is this what she saw?
At the end, did she look up at him from that bed, and see her son standing over her smiling?
No…
No… She was already gone by then. She couldn't have seen anything by then.
He needs that to be true.
…
I get it… In the first place… What did I do after her death?
I played a shitty game.
My goodness… I played a game after watching my mum die…
I did what she couldn't.
And I went off to do the math for Organ Healing Magic that SHOULD have worked BY THIS WORLD'S LAWS.
IT SHOULD.
Who's at fault?
Hah… Of course…
What differentiates this World from my World?
If it's trying so hard to be as realistic as my World…
Why are the impossibilities of my World possible here?
Why is an infinitely more insignificant world capable of producing results that I cannot…
My mother… Is her blood on my hand… Now that I know magic is possible with science…
I failed her.
I am superior to this world… And I can't do what a simple concept they treat as common…
The I, of a higher reality that sees this as fiction, cannot do what these realistic fictions can?
Tsk… Fuck you lot…
Genuinely fuck you, people…
You are telling me her death was just... a lack of study on my part?
That if I'd studied, theorized, and proved Thaumitonic Physics…
Something they so casually bring down and prove from a standpoint 22 magnitudes of infinite spatial dimensions under…
That my mother, who died of cancer in front of me before a cure could be produced…
Would be a-alive?
What if I manage to bind those 26th-dimensional particles to this 11th dimension and down to my 4th dimension to stimulate repair of the cells… To use the infinitely increasing magnitudes per dimension of the 26th Dimensional Thaumiton…
I could have reached through time…
To encode a cure and message to myself… my mother… and my family…
A cure that would have saved us a-all…
A message that would have them be alongside me as I graduated? A-as I went through life?
No… It w-wouldn't have worked, nevertheless…
That if I healed her… I myself would not have been put in a coma as a result of her death.
I w-would then have not discovered Thaumitonic Physics… a-and I would have not become me…
Bullshit… W-what bullshit…
Why is it fated this way? Why does destiny lead me down this road?
What the f-fuck is your issue with me?
W-why me?!
What sins have I committed in my Universe to w-warrant this hell?
Why does a rational and logical universe a-arrange my life this way?
To send someone who studied his entire fucking life to a world where his efforts a-are disproven years before his birth, by children no less?!
…
It's simple.
To Isaac;
New EAA is the maximization of the irony of his deprivation and the flaws in his ideologies.
…
It's that simple… Isn't it?
What is wrong… with me?
Me?
Me….
Yes, me…
That doesn't make any fucking sense, man~ That doesn't make sense~
Make it make sense, man…
…
His nose began running.
…
Even now… I can't help but think about my thinking…
A-anagnōrisis → Peripeteia → Pathos → Purgation.
Recognition. Reversal. Suffering. Purification.
Aristotelian tragedy.
I read about it… I wished it had never come to me…
What a cruel coping mechanism I have shoved myself into…
I a-always cope…No matter the situation.
And I try to step outside it, and I try to adapt, and when I do, I write the tragedy in my own authorship.
I find— make the story that makes it bearable.
I've done it since I was nine years old, screaming at a dead w-woman to admit it was a joke.
And yet even now…
This universe is denying me that…
I have the Anagnōrisis. I have the Peripeteia. God knows I have the Pathos.
But the purgation isn't coming.
Where is it? Why won't you? Where are you?
Just who am I calling out to?
Is it not coming because purgation needs somewhere for the grief to lie?
I see… Oh… I see…
I get it.
To me, a narrative frame into which the recognition and reversal can be integrated.
And the old frame is ash.
"Magic is bullshit." Gone.
"It was impossible to save her." Gone.
"I am superior to this." Gone.
There is no new frame yet.
So my recognition just sits… In the cavity where my metacognitive a-armor used to be.
With my Wong Family's name on it.
Hnff… Hah… Hah…
Why…
…
Anger settled.
He cussed and cussed and cussed and cussed in his head. Each time, his own voice got shakier than the last. If it was even his voice in the first place. He couldn't help but internally cry. As usual, no matter how frustrated, angry, and confused as Isaac was on the inside, his defence mechanism offered the generic smirk again as he gritted his teeth till his jaw joints popped.
He would not know his face was designed to betray him, just as he wouldn't at 9.
His dimorphous expression had been transferred as one of the only facets that did.
He was a boy involuntary smiling, with a single stream of tears running down his face.
As it once was, so it shall be.
As was on Earth, so is Agerea.
As above, so below.
It was noticeable at an angle from Xuě Xīlián's perspective, who kindly hid his face more.
The cost of vulnerability is what the victim has to lose.
She would know.
He wouldn't at the time.
Perhaps the child in all human hearts chooses the person they feel most comfortable with to show their worst sides, conscious or subconscious. Fate is as kind as she is cruel. May Destiny bring these two grieving souls together.
Isaac Wong. As a boy, no longer a teenager, no more an adult. But a boy, who tried his best to rely on himself solely after awakening from his comatose state.
To be exposed and laid bare to a person he had just met.
He would have called this the worst possible audience.
On the 17th of September 2024… Once… Twice… Thrice… So on and so forth, as a simple lecture forces him to listen to a life's work wasted and crumbling before him.
Isaac's universe.
Shattered.