[Fragment from Arthur's dream, unstable sunqu magic]
Pretending to live in order to survive is something I do very well. Humanity's nature is never black or white, it's gray, that's why.
*/ Who are you, Arthur? /*
A question, laden with innocence, lingered in Arthur's mind. After all, the "you" that answers is never who it truly is, but rather what it believes itself to be.
You call the body "I," but the body changes every day, cells dying and being reborn every moment of its existence; nothing of what it was yesterday lives in it today.
*/ Are you that? /*
Then you called your thoughts "I," but they blow like the wind on a mountain, one day lifting you up and the next day dragging you down.
*/ Are you that? /*
Then you called your memories "I," but memory itself is a broken mirror, and each fragment reflects something different to everyone.
*/ Are you that? /*
"Then what am I?" he forced himself to shout, only to realize that his mouth didn't exist, or rather, nothing existed—neither darkness nor light, only the emptiness of consciousness, the sensation of trying to perceive something where there was no form, no matter, not even anything.
Some live claiming to be monsters born from the darkest solitude, others who learned to hide the evil of the world by taking on the eyes of others.
Some tormented souls grew accustomed to pain, but even on nights, whether calm or stormy, they weep uncontrollably.
There are those who claim to be nothing, and others who, within that nothingness, discover a life that unites all lives. Everyone sees themselves reflected in their own eyes.
Some gaze upon art with joy, witnessing the effort of another soul; others seek to leave their mark on history; and a few doubt their own humanity.
Some love so deeply that they question why they love, while others destroy everything to understand why they don't.
Everyone responds in countless ways, yet all answers the same question—a question answered in a thousand different ways.
Humanity itself seeks answers in the stars, unaware that a universe lies behind its own eyes.
*/ Who are you? /*
"-"A stifled cry escaped Arthur, from where he should be, his book that had accompanied him until now being forcibly ripped from him.
You are not the character you play, you are the stage where it all happens, you are the sustained silence, the constant emptiness that shapes the world, and if you were to look without fear, without hatred, without love and without anything.
you would discover that there is neither you nor I, but a single existence completing itself, experiencing millions of forms, voices, and worlds.
So…
*/ Who are you? /*
You are not inside a universe, but the universe is inside you.
*PROLOGUE INTERLUDE; POV CHANGE*
Sergeant Duran was given a mission: to reach the entrance of a forest where a group of children on a hiking trip was last seen and rescue them if possible.
Clad in his matte black ORM light armor, alongside his reliable weaponry and his soldiers, he was only two minutes from the forest entrance.
--There's animal movement, Sergeant. Be careful-- he heard from base through the radio mounted on his helmet.
--Understood-- he barked in his heavy voice, then glanced around and saw a mutant deer.
A mouth covered in filth that extended to its stomach, alongside broken horns ready to kill humans, but without blood, so he guessed it hadn't claimed any lives yet.
*Bang*
A quick, clean shot pierced the beast's skull, followed by the usual thump before it fell dead.
--Sergeant, the signal is weak, be careful-- the communicator said, only to cut out.
The silence of the forest was deafening; after all, cities were only safe because animals still believed that living in a wooded forest was better than a concrete jungle.
"What the hell were they doing outside the city?" the sergeant wondered angrily, realizing this job would be tough.
--Sir, I see the bus the kids were on in the distance-- a soldier said, pulling him from his thoughts.
In the distance, an ordinary bus was parked on the side of the road, with a small light emanating from inside.
--Let's go-- the sergeant barked, only to be met with the typical "Yes, sir."
As he approached, he felt the air was awful; the stench of rotting plants and burnt plastic was unpleasant, but for a soldier born in the slums, it was almost like returning to his childhood.
Entering the bus, which was still illuminated from within, they found nothing. There were some backpacks and clothes, but curiously, no blood or anything to indicate a struggle.
--Sir, what a waste of time-- the corporal muttered irritably, only to sit down where the driver had been to test if the engine still worked. It certainly was a waste of time; finding nothing would only force them to remain in the area to prepare a full report.
--The engine's dead, Sergeant
Duran cautiously surveyed the scene: dead engine, missing children, but no trace of blood, a sign of lost communication. Everything was so bad, as if it had been... planned.
*Crack*
Pointing his weapon at the source of the sound, he glanced over and sighed, his paranoia creeping in. The sound was coming from the corporal, who was testing the engine and, just now, also some crackers he'd found.
--Would you like some crackers, sir? -- the corporal asked Duran, handing him the newly discovered package.
--Out in single file, we'll search the perimeter and get out of here-- he barked, his last words coming just before he heard small footsteps emerging from the woods.
Behind a tree, a boy no more than five feet tall watched them, his clothes clean and spotless except for his sleeves, stained with mud and something slimy.
--Why are you eating my cookies? -- the boy asked as he approached the group.
Durán was old; well, not so old as to be bedridden, but old enough to know that something was seriously wrong. The saying "Beware the old man in a profession where you die young" was absolutely true.
Besides, how was he supposed to know they'd eaten his cookies if the driver's cab was so high it blocked his view?
--Excuse me, kid, where are your friends? -- the corporal asked, trying to find out.
--Eating-- the boy replied matter-of-factly.
--That's enough, Vargas, open a signal, request transportation-- Duran shouted to Vargas, dismissing the situation.
As he got off the bus and Vargas created a signal to request transportation, the boy approached, his small footsteps echoing on the grass.
--Sir, I'm hungry-- the boy said, tears welling in his eyes and his arms trembling slightly. He was hungry, and his friends were eating; this didn't make sense.
--Sergeant, open communications! -- Vargas shouted, simultaneously requesting support.
*Crack*
--Leave the cookies, Corporal! -- Duran shouted angrily, but what he saw was unexpected. The corporal kept clutching his stomach, as if it were on fire, then he staggered and fell face up beside the bus.
--It hurts, sir! -- he screamed before his stomach ripped open. A grayish liquid oozed from his navel and reshaped his entire skeletal form.
The corporal is dead.
--And now it's my turn to eat-- the boy said, his smile masked by tears, joyfully.