Chapter 151 - Echoes of the Past

The whole sentence read: 'How much representation is inside a night beast's heart?'

Vern held the nib of his pen, moving it just enough to ensure the note wasn't finalized and sent to Nexus. After a few seconds, more runes converged beneath his query which was written in two distinct handwritings.

It's uncanny that I can even tell the difference. After all, visually, both of them were just some symbols in this runic alphabet, but his mind comprehended more. This language has too much nuance.

As runes engraved themselves onto the paper one by one, new words soon emerged in a third, entirely new handwriting. He read on with great interest, 'An acolyte like you doesn't have the right to access such valuable information. Work harder and become a trainee. We'll talk then. Until that day, be diligent and work harder.'

He looked at this odd…conversation with his mouth agape. What the hell is going on? What even is this?

Unsure what to make of it, he continued writing his original query. However, this time, he only reached 'How much representation is needed to send…' when the runes ahead of his words rearranged themselves and completed the rest of his sentence in a new handwriting.

The whole thing now read, 'How much representation is needed to send a fleet of barbarians across the oceans?' He stopped his pen once again as curiosity grabbed him. I didn't ask that, but I'd like to know, too.

The prior set of runes scattered before slowly coming back together and boring into the paper.

This time, the new words, which looked like a response to the question about barbarians answered, 'We will need three seafarers of second shade. But I don't know where we're gonna get them. Aizek might have some clues about their hideout, but we'll need to pay—'

However, that's when a burning sensation sparked in his eyes and his mind, forcing him to stop. The runes beyond this last word remained fuzzy, floating there with a beckoning charm.

Hmm, so there's some kind of mental cost to reading this? Perturbed, he focused harder, and to his surprise, a few more runes consolidated into words, "…but we'll need to pay harbor master his commission—"

Yet, after this, he really had to stop. The burn had turned into a sharp sting that tore at his mind. The more he read, the more it strained his mind and eyes.

His focus soon slipped, and only the initial conversation remained. He narrowed his eyes and thought, Is this really what I think it is? After a bit of deliberation, he decided to test it further.

To do so, he completely dismissed any notion of sending his words as a note to Nexus's spirit, removing her eminence's trace from his mind as he continued the sentence, 'How much representation is needed to send someone…' and stopped.

The floating runes lost their prior shape before engraving back onto the paper word by word as they read, 'How much representation is needed to send someone hurling using Gale Blow?'

Gale Blow? Is that some vision? How interesting, he mused as he waited for the reply to this question to show up.

The moment it did, he felt a light sting in his mind as he read the answer. It was somehow as straining as the last part of the previous answer.

Frowning, he pushed through and read the single line, 'We believe an average first-shade observer should be able to dish out three of them before running out of representation.'

Fuck. It's really that! He bolted upright and muttered to himself, "These are the echoes of conversations from the past that start with the same words that I'm trying to write."

"This…"

This was insane!

His heart ramped up as he paced around the hall once more, the implications of such a…tool slowly taking root in his mind.

Before long, he asked himself, Does that mean I have access to all conversations that happened using a convergence note?

In the best case, that would mean he could snoop on some of the most private conversations that might have occurred between people of power worldwide since the note existed.

That can't be true, right?

Tap Tap, his footsteps echoed in the hall as he digested this revelation and racked his brain to figure out how to best make use of such knowledge—forgetting all about his current predicament.

"First things first. I need to keep my expectations in check. It has some bizarre limitations."

He remembered the mental strain, which seemed dependent on two factors as of now. First was the length of the conversation, and second was the content. Length was straightforward. The more he wanted to read, the more he would have to focus. And the further the text from his key phrase, the more it costs.

The content, however, was far more interesting. When the note included any information of value, like the amount of representation needed to execute some vision called 'Gale Blow,' he had to try much harder, almost as hard as the other condition's worst case.

Hmm, then what exactly decides the value of the information? That was the most important question because it wouldn't matter if he could stumble on the most earth-shattering secrets in these conversations but was too mentally weak to read them.

Well, more like eavesdropping, he corrected himself. These conversations weren't really meant to be read by a third party like him. However, the ethical implications of reading someone's private conversations wasn't too high on his priority list right now.

Ethics were important in considering most decisions, but given he didn't know the people involved in these conversations, he just had to think of them as anonymized experimental data.

After all, knowledge was his one weakness—something he had a hard time giving up on. And to that end, knowledge was the highest power in this world of observers, making it even more alluring.

Feeling more assured about this, he made some mental terminology for the two important aspects of this process. He gave convergence note a 'key phrase,' and it returned an 'echo from the past.'

Once these concepts became clear in his mind, he gripped the pen hard, a terrifying, almost scary gleam shining in his eyes. Hmm, let's see…where to start?

With a quick thought, he penned, 'Observation Record of Subjectivity…,' and waited.

And to his utter surprise, the runes actually began to converge as they added to his sentence, '…by Cyrus L. Cartwright.'

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Fuck. Could this really be in here? And on the first try, at that!?

Before he could think any further, the runes coalesced and reiterated words that began his journey as an observer, 'The pursuit of objectivity is a necessary prerequisite to determine the facts about our cosmos. However, the acquisition of thesee facts is dependent upon the act of observation, but to observ is to shade reality with one's perception—'

Yet, they ended too soon. Vern clutched the pen harder, feeling waves of unknown emotions roiling within him. This…this was the start of it all.

This was what set him on his path as an observer. Not one day went by where he didn't lament losing access to the record.

So close…

Regrettably, he couldn't even read the first page here, much less the whole book. Simply trying to finish this paragraph was turning out to be impossible because of how many words it had.

After a few more seconds of wasting his mental strength, he let it go, and the runes split back into incomprehensible symbols—floating aimlessly.

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This was very interesting, still. Just the fact that the observation record of subjectivity was even accessible here raised many questions.

Is it possible I jumped to the conclusion of these echoes being the conversations held on this note? What if they're instead depictions of real-world events or something?

However, he soon shook his head. This was still the most sensible conclusion. It was very much possible that someone sent the whole text of this observation record to another person.

Adding to his conjecture was the fact that these words were written in beautiful handwriting which had a bunch of typos in it. Real conversations didn’t work like that.

Also, why could I read this paragraph without straining myself? There was no way the information about Gale Blow or whatever vision was more valuable than such an insightful introduction to the world of observation.

Looking out into nothing in particular, he mused, Maybe it's because I've already read it before. It's possible that factors into the cost my perception has to pay to reach and listen to these echoes of the past.

Not ready to jump to any more conclusions just yet, he decided to continue testing and wrote a single word, 'Dear.' A very common greeting used to begin letters and the like.

Soon, the runes completed his words, 'Dear Martha.'

'This beautiful morning, I woke up and decided to smell some roses, and that reminded me of you—'

Entirely uninterested in reading a vain love letter, he picked up the nib of his pen, making the runes disperse before writing, 'Dear,' once more.

He wanted to check if repeating the word would land him back into the same conversation.

It didn't.

'Dear Master, I humbly apologize for the folly of my children and assure you that they would never dare intrude upon your private chambers again. I hope—'

Interesting. But next.

'dear, how could he do such a cruel thing? Looking at his face, no one would think that he has a mistress hidden behind his wife's back. Men can't really be trusted—'

Why are people talking about mundane events on such an arcane mode of communication? He grumbled.

Next.

'Dear sir, here's the transcription of words of wisdom from the great resolver's seventh symphony—'

However, the words beyond these didn't form on their own and floated fuzzily. Intrigued by the premise of this query, he strained his mind, and runes came together, 'Ethrex Nous Viz—'

"Fuck!" he suddenly cried out and recoiled, his expression morphing from curiosity to anguish in an instant. Dropping the pen, he covered his eyes with his hand as blood seeped through his fingers.

After a few moments, he steadied his breathing, wiped his eyes with the back of his arm, and carefully regained his composure. Sitting back in his chair, he took several deep breaths, trying to steady the tremor in his hands.

The hall fell silent except for the soft whirring somewhere above him. Slowly, he lowered his hands and stared at the multiple 'Dear' symbols that dotted the notepad before him. Luckily, the glowing runes had dispersed the moment he lost focus.

This is what I get for being too greedy, huh? he reprimanded himself.

He almost felt lucky that he got some sense knocked into him before he stumbled into something really forbidden. That might have actually made him lose his head in this god-forsaken place where no one would even find his body.

Taking a deep breath, he made a simple rule for himself. Don't read anything that demands too much focus. Especially when the context behind it is ominous.

Wiping away the streak of blood from his eyes with his handkerchief, he waited a few more minutes before picking up the pen from the ground and wrote, 'Third Axiom…'

Runes combined and words formed, 'Third Axiom of making steam engines: Air. Harness the elemental trio—water, fire, and air. Remember, Hatham, to control the true power of steam, one must control the three elements and especially air.'

Vern's lips twitched. This is not what I meant.

Exhaling, he restarted, this time adding more context, 'Third Axiom of observation…'

It gave him a window into another intriguing conversation, 'Third Axiom of observation suggests that you're not just wrong, but also foolish. Henceforth, any theory you propose will need to go through stricter cheques and balances—'

This looked useful.

However, he was already at the limit of how many words he could read from this one. Ughh, why can't I just start in the middle or something? Why do they have to start from these points?

Then it hit him—start from the middle! Yes! Who said I can't start from the middle? After all, even the conversations he was reading right now were picked somewhere from the middle.

So if he just changed the key phrase to begin from the middle of the previous echo, he might just be able to pick up the conversation where the last one read and slowly figure out the whole thing one sentence at a time.

That'd be cheating…no?

Excitement bubbled in his chest, a feeling reminiscent of his childhood when he played with new puzzles and toys. Moving his hand, he wrote the last sentence of the previous echo, 'Henceforth, any theory you propose will need to go through stricter cheques and balances…'

If he was right, the echo to this key phrase should be the next sentence in the original conversation. Soon, the runes shuffled, and he waited with bated breath.

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His face turned sour as he read, '…through stricter cheques and balances ensuring our wives don't go out together. After all, they both think their husbands' friends are cheating.'

He deadpanned, This is an entirely different conversation. It doesn't even have anything to do with the first part of my key phrase that talks about 'theory.'

So he tried again and rewrote the last sentence. This time, the echo from the past was even weirder, 'Henceforth, any theory you propose will need to go through stricter cheques and balances. I will not tolerate my accountants being lazy.'

What the fuck? He scratched his head. This made no sense. It was almost as if the first part of his key phrase message was completely ignored. He'd understand if these conversations had totally new content but still somehow followed the full context of his key phrase, but they didn't.

The echoes seemed like a result of only a few words of the key phrase.

Which ones, though, and how do I test it?

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After racking his brain for longer than he'd hoped, he had an idea.

What if I combine all the prior conversations and use the whole thing as a key phrase, then see which context the resulting echo makes sense for?

It seemed like a good idea. It would allow him to narrow down the window of what was considered and what wasn't.

Nodding, he wrote, "Dear Martha, this beautiful morning, In the light of recent revelations, how do the elemental trio—water, fire, and air—contribute to the folly of our actions? Can wisdom from the great resolver's seventh symphony…"

And there, he stopped. If this whole message was being considered equally, there should be no echoes. There was almost a zero percent chance that someone before him wrote this exact string of words together, much less someone with access to a Convergence note.

However, against all odds, the runes bunched together. And when Vern tried to focus, it wanted to strain his mental faculties to the limit.

He frowned.

Why is the value of this echo also so high? Could it be because I've my key phrase doesn't exist, and it's trying harder to find an echo?

However, that would be a non-optimal way to go about it. If he understood this right, these echoes were just conversations others had using the note in the past. So an echo of the key phrase he'd just written shouldn't exist at all.

This actually made him even more curious. What would the echo be when the key phrase is straight-up non-existent? Or maybe it's like I thought, and it's only echoing based on part of the key phrase?

He tried to reason with his brain for a while. Told it how he'd just burst some vein in his eye and made a rule not to read anything that needed too much focus.

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He lost.

Taking a deep breath, he focused, and more of the runes came together, declaring, 'Ethrex Nous Viz—'

"Agh!!" he squealed. "DAMN IT! It's these whispers-like words again!" However, behind his wince, a smiled bloomed as he pressed the handkerchief against his bleeding eyes and doubled over from pain.

The smile grew wider and wider, "Hahaha," and his unsettling laugh echoed in the hall as he proclaimed, "I see what's going on here."