“To understand the nature of all things, you must seek their essence, the unchanging truth beyond all illusion.” — The Maker’s Code, Chapter 11, Line

So, I was feeling pretty good about myself as I stepped through the newly revealed door.

It wasn’t just that I had managed to avoid any more unnecessary jogging – although that was certainly a big part of the spring in my step – but also because I had sensed I had passed some sort of test. Or, at the very least, not failed it. And let me give you the voice of my experience. It’s the tests you don’t fail that are the ones that count.

True mastery of time lies not in controlling its flow but in knowing when to let go.

I actually – despite my reasonably high threshold for bollocks - quite liked that as a saying. It didn’t exactly sound like the sort of thing I’d be expecting the Maker to want me to learn. Was there . . . I don’t know, a chance I was actually winning this Dungeon over?

That gave me a thought, and I checked the spot in my inventory where the Tao of Idleness had resided. Was it just me, or was all that dust looking a little more . . . coherent?

Interesting . . .

I looked around, half-expecting this next chamber to be another monotone nightmare of a challenge centred around another version of ‘you must knuckle down and obey’.

Instead, I was pleasantly surprised by what looked like a vast, empty space that stretched out in all directions, flickering between pitch-black and blinding white.

The light didn’t seem to come from any one source in here. It just . . . was.

After a few moments of light on/light off, I wasn’t quite feeling the sensory deprivation tank vibe, but fortunately, I didn’t have much longer to worry about it as there was a soft, almost melodic chime, and a new notification sprang up.

> Second Challenge: Concept of Form

> Objective: Engage with the essence of creation by confronting Primal Forms. Complete this trial to advance through the Well of Ascension.

> Failure Condition: Inability to adapt to or engage with the core forms will result in stagnation and reversion.

Awesome, another existential trial-by-compliance. Never let it be said the Maker wasn’t consistent.

After a few more seconds, the empty darkness rippled, and a shape started to form ahead of me, slowly coming into focus. It was a simple, perfectly round, floating sphere. Glossy, like an over-polished marble, and about the size of my head.

There was nothing particularly dangerous looking about it, as far as I could tell. Although I thought I’d seen it somewhere before . . .

Then it hit me. This was one of the shapes I had seen the world made up of during those strange ‘game mode’ cut scenes The Maker had run. That felt . . . significant, didn’t it? But I didn’t have a moment to consider that, though, as a constellation of new notifications fell upon me.

> Observe the sphere to reveal its essence.

> Contemplate to understand the Form.

> Engage to proceed.

“And a partridge in a fucking pear tree.”

I took a step closer and stared at the sphere, though it wasn’t clear what exactly I was supposed to ‘observe.’ No textures, no markings. Just a sphere, sitting there, seemingly benign and minding its own sphery business.

Nope.

I have nothing.

It felt like I was standing on the world’s most boring exhibit floor.

Maybe I had to, like, look deeper. I squinted, trying to summon some kind of insightful thought. “It’s . . . round,” I said aloud. “It’s very, very round.”

The chime sounded again, and a notification blinked up:

> Progress Acknowledged: Sphere observed at a basic level. Concept of completeness.

“Completeness?” I said, genuinely puzzled. “Because it’s round?”

The floating sphere seemed to vibrate slightly, as if it disapproved of my interpretation, and then split down the middle, forming two perfect halves. I had a memory of Lia’s flashing sword: I could imagine her achieving this sort of easy destruction.

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However, unlike the decapitated Loan Shark, inside this sphere wasn’t an endless stream of coins. Instead, there was . . . nothing. Just an empty hollow.

“All very profound, I’m sure, mate. What’s supposed to be my takeaway here? That the essence of the sphere is emptiness?”

The two halves hovered for a moment before joining back together, seamless and whole once more. A notification appeared.

> Understanding Prompted: True Form represents unity and the potential for division. Essence: The whole and its parts. Made.

“Okay, so let me get this straight,” I said to the sphere, feeling more than a bit ridiculous for speaking to it, but needing to verbalise. “You’re whole, but also – what - capable of being . . . not whole?”

Silence.

I had the feeling I was missing something important.

“Look, mate,” I said to the sphere. “I get it—you’re whole, you’re complete. But so is a pizza before it’s sliced. I’m not sure this is all as deep as you seem to think it is.”

The chime sounded again, louder this time, and the floor shifted beneath me. I was about to lose my balance when the sphere began to morph, stretching and reforming into something else entirely.

This time, it took the shape of a cube.

“Okay . . . fantastic. From Roundy to Boxy,” I said. “I can’t wait to see what revelation I’m supposed to pull out of this one. What’s the letter of the day on Sesame Street? Any chance Maria can come and help me out?”

Another series of prompts appeared, the blue text hovering in the air around me.

> Engage with the Cube: Consider its boundaries. Test its rigidity. Contemplate the notion of containment.

Containment, huh? Well, at least this was something I could interact with. I took a step closer and reached out to tap it. My fingers met a hard, unyielding surface, cold as stone. This was different from the sphere—it wasn’t fluid or malleable. It felt permanent. And, for the sake of clarity, was absolutely from a box produced by a non-branded Scandinavian toy supplier.

“So you, my little square dude, are all about boundaries. A solid, unchanging structure. You like . . . rules? No. Limitations? You’re basically the Maker, right?”

The cube pulsed faintly, as if acknowledging my thought. Another notification appeared.

> Insight Gained: Concept of Form is about containment and structure

boundaries that define existence. Essence: Stability within limits.

“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult here, but I thought this was all about understanding forms?” I gave the cube an experimental shove. “A form isn’t just some ‘perfect’ thing. It’s only relevant in the way you use it.”

Silence.

No reassuring chime this time, just a soft ticking noise—reminding me of all that sand again. What wasn’t I getting?

Do you know what? It turns out I’m struggling to care about the Maker’s ideas of essence and completeness. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I feel this Dungeon is trying to push me into some weird sense of . . .awe. That I was supposed to see each of these shapes as in some way deeply sacred and inviolable?

Yeah. I’m very much not at home for this.

“Dude, I don’t want to be funny or anything here, but I am absolutely not your guy if you think there’s going to be some profound moment of revelation here. This whole ‘be the sphere’, ‘be the square’ thing I’m sure goes over great with all the girls. But . . . look, I’m pretty sure my personality was set the first time I saw a nice pair of tits. You got any of them out there?”

No answer. Just that endless silence.

I took a deep breath and pressed my hand flat against the cube, resisting the urge to just bash my head against it for emphasis. “I’m sorry, but I’m not buying what you’re selling. The whole world’s built on imperfections and on compromises. Even your precious patterns are not untouched by flaws.”

The cube shuddered, and for a second, I thought I’d done something to actually anger it. Then, abruptly, it dissolved into fine dust, scattering across the floor and leaving me alone in the void once more. The voice echoed around me.

> “To comprehend a Form is not merely to name it but to see its purpose its place in the order of things. A master does not dismiss essence for utility.”

“Not this bullshit again. You know, there’s nothing wrong with a good bit of utility. The world does not have to be this fucking deep!”

The voice went silent, and for a moment, I thought I’d earned a moment of peace. But just as suddenly, the entire room shimmered, and a new form materialised in front of me: a massive pyramid, each of its sides identical.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m sure I’m supposed to see this as the ‘perfect’ structure, right? Stability. Probably power, too. Triangles are the way, right?”

The instant my palm touched it, a strange vibration echoed up my arm, like some kind of silent demand, urging me to acknowledge its perfection. But for the first time in this odd room, I pushed back, and not just physically.

“So you’re the Maker’s idea of stability and order, huh?” I said. “The idea of what holds everything together, I bet. Except, what if the world doesn’t want to be ‘perfect’? What if all the flawed, broken bits are what make it worth anything at all? What is your fucking cut-scenes aren’t where the good stuff happens?”

The pyramid started to crack along the base. Hairline fractures snaked up the sides, spreading like vines, and the hum beneath my hand grew weaker, fainter, as though it was losing its hold.

The voice returned, but it sounded strained, somehow less sure of itself than before.

> “To question is not to understand. Order does not yield to whim.”

“Suck my whim.”

The pyramid shattered. The pieces fell away, dissolving into dust, and I was left standing alone again in the featureless void.

Another notification blinked into view.

> Challenge Complete: Concept of Form

> Insight Gained: True mastery does not lie in static perfection but in adaptation and utility.

A small door appeared in the void, glowing faintly. I glanced at it and smiled. For once, I felt like being a slacker had actually put one in the win column for me.