"I see what's going on here."
He eyed the key phrase on the notepad that had tumbled to the ground, tinted red by the blood oozing from the edges of his vision. However, he focused only on the end of the long paragraph.
Flipping around the handkerchief to the side that had yet to be bloodied, he dabbed it lightly against his eyes and thought, Echoes are based only on the last few words of my key phrase.
The results of this test, even if painful, were evident.
After tens of seconds of heavy breathing, the pain in his eyes began to subside, but the one in his head lingered. It seemed that exposure to that seventh symphony of Visandra wasn't great for his mind.
Picking up the notepad and pen that slipped out of his hand, he settled them in his lap and held the nib of the pen over the parchment. Adrenaline still coursed through his body, but a lingering fear had also wormed its way into his head. No, maybe it was more of…respect rather than fear.
Every time he wrote something, an unknown echo awaited him. And while fearing such a thing had its own logic, he felt respecting it might be a better way to go about things. Would help him decide when to advance and when not to.
Shaking his head, he wondered, Should I narrow it down and see exactly how many words are matched with echoes of the past? For now, he believed it to be a window of three to eight words.
Nodding, he asserted, Let's do it.
So he thought for a while. What would be a good key phrase now that he knew this quirk? Maybe I should try to jump in the middle of observation record and subjectivity?
Seemed reasonable enough to get things going. So, he remembered some words from his time reading the actual book but wasn't able to get to them in his prior attempt to suss it out as an echo from the past from this thing and scribbled them, 'What constitutes objectivity within the context of observation.'
Exactly eight words.
Except that was eight words in Celestine's language. Who knew how much that was in this runic language or the alphabet this echo was originally written in? Surely, it wasn't written in Celestine.
He had a hard time wrapping his head around all the translations that might be happening under the hood. Still, the fact that the echoes showed up as runes could mean two things.
Either the echoes were stored in the weft as translated runes, or the people involved in these conversations actually used these glyphs daily. Vern leaned towards the first option.
If a runic language were so popular, surely common historians and Fundamentalists who loved to dig into the past would've found something. From his knowledge, nothing like this had ever been unearthed.
Also, it just made more sense that a grand vision like the Weft of Elyndor had its own internal representation of everyone's messages that wasn't dependent on societal constructs like language, as they would change over time.
The runes that coalesced quickly shook him out of this mental detour, and words formed, 'That's a good question, young one. Objectivity? It's akin to using a fishing net to catch the wind. Envision using a quill to sculpt marble. In essence, claiming objectivity in observation is much like trying to read by candlelight during a stormy night; one believes they see the words, but in truth, they're merely guessing the letters.'
Vern's eyes twitched. That's the worst explanation of objectivity I've read in all my time.
That wasn't the real problem here, though. It looked like it wasn't as straightforward to pinpoint back to that conversation where someone had transcripted the observation record of subjectivity.
He rubbed his chin, Hmm, this word limit actually makes it hard to jump in the middle of conversations. Because he couldn't add too much context, it was easy to land in other conversations that used the same phrases.
Also, this didn't help me narrow the window of the maximum words in a key phrase at all.
He set his jaw and racked his brain on how to tackle this. In his usual manner, he flipped to a normal paper on the pad, made some diagrams and connections, and quickly cobbled together a list of key phrases to test things out.
One set was simply the same sentence shortened by a word each time. Another, he planned to start with one random word and pick the next word from the echo and iterate to see if he could land on the same conversation.
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Half an hour later, he sat alone in the hall, his eyes bloodshot and face pale.
Things hadn't gone as anticipated. No matter how much he tried, he couldn't tailor his key phrase to make him land on the same conversations, making any direct test that could narrow down this window of maximum words somewhat pointless.
Regardless, after reading fifty or so mundane, out-of-context conversations, he believed it to be somewhere around four or five words. Anything beyond that was ignored.
However, there were some exceptions, too. Every time he wrote 'Observation Record of Subjectivity,' he managed to reach that exact transcription. The seventh symphony of Visandra was also the same.
Just that he didn't dare to actually read the echo and confirm if it was those whisper-like words. However, just the fact that it demanded so much mental focus was a sign that it was the same conversation.
Settling the notepad on the chair's armrest, he massaged his temples and groaned out aloud, "Here, I used to think divination was supposed to be easy. King Keras really made it look easy."
Heck, what he was doing was actually one step down the ladder compared to actual divination. After all, they divined the future, whereas he was just trying to stumble his way into the past.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
However, there was a common ground between these professions. They both had to understand some bullshit and esoteric laws and find ways to somehow twist them to find out what they needed.
He closed his eyes for a second.
.
.
.
"Damn it, no!" he jolted awake.
He wondered if he'd somehow slept for hours and wasted so much time. He hadn't. The pounding in his head made it clear that he didn't get much sleep. Probably just a quick shut-eye.
Standing up, he ran his hand through his hair and jumped for a bit before shouting, "Enough time wasted. Let's get out of here."
Sleep was already trying to claim him. If he didn't do something right now, his odds would only get worse when he started to get hungry, too.
"What was I going to do before all this, again?"
He smacked his fist on the other palm, "Right. Ask the Nexus's spirit."
He opened his notepad and made to write that question once again, but then he suddenly stopped. An introspective gleam appeared in his eyes as they stared at nothing in particular.
.
.
.
Hmm, instead of simply asking the Nexus, why not try to apply these echoes of the past to a practical situation like this?
He was a firm believer in balancing theory with practice. He'd spent so much mental energy trying to understand the workings of these echoes that it'd be a wasted opportunity not to put it all into practice for things he might actually want to 'divine' through it in the future.
The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. His curiosity was definitely overreaching here, controlling his actions, but the balance had yet to really tip.
Also, I might just get some interesting information out of this topic, he justified.
.
.
.
Alright, let's see. I need to think of a key phrase that's four to five words long, which can give me the information I need.
It was interesting to think about it this way. He had to think about possible conversations his predecessors might have had and find the key phrase that might just land him in the most relevant one.
However, after a while, he stuck to something simple and scribbled, 'Nexus of Elyndor'
An echo surfaced on the paper, 'is where the banquet of gods takes place. You may not know, but I heard the feasts there serve dragon meat as the appetizers.'
Vern's nostrils flared in irritation, Who the hell even gossips about gods? Are you not afraid they'll smite you down for this? And dragons? Really? If such a creature existed, society before Duskfall would've known of it.
But then another idea crossed his mind. What if this conversation isn't even from this era?
He didn't know. There wasn't enough context.
Not discouraged at all, he tried again, 'Nexus of Elyndor representation cost'
Prior runes dispersed into a harmless explosion, and he waited for them to come back together.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
They didn't move.
He furrowed his brows, Did I finally land on a key phrase that had never been used in any conversation before?
That was unlucky.
Thinking for a while, he scribbled, 'Nexus of Elyndor's teleportation'
Came an echo, 'is not what it seems. I have reasons to believe it's more complicated than that. I think it incorporates—'
The runes beyond that became fuzzy, and Vern perked his brows. Hey, I need more! Don't cut it off like that.
His eyes landed on a previous key phrase about the seventh symphony of Visandra, and he wondered if his fate would be the same this time, too, if he tried to focus and read what was further ahead in the echo.
He rapped the fingers of his other hand on the armrest and debated what to do. Only if I had some way of divining like Cedric did. He wouldn't blindly believe the numbers, but it would at least help him make an informed decision.
Made him wonder if he could somehow twist his own viewpoint of balance to help him divine the danger of choices like this.
Hahh, he sighed. Well, even if it's possible, it'll have to wait. I can't figure it out right now. Maybe I can ask Cedric for some pointers.
Not willing to waste any more time, he made up his mind. I should read this echo. It's different from last time. This responder seems like a logical person rather than some fanatic parroting the words of a god.
So, essentially, the context—as little he had—wasn't ominous enough to warrant not going through and reading the rest of the echo.
Taking a deep breath, he did it.
His eyes strained further, and runes came together, all reading, 'Nexus of Elyndor's teleportation is not what it seems. I have reasons to believe it's more complicated than that. I think it incorporates…Institute's ancient research on consciousness vir—'
Vern suddenly sat straighter, squinting harder than ever to try and read what was next. The letters blurred, twisting as if to evade his gaze. Bloodshot veins crept into the whites of his eyes, a stark contrast against the intense focus etched across his face.
His brain throbbed with the effort, the strain pushing him to the brink of endurance. However, despite his best efforts, the final word remained elusive, slipping away into the shadows of his mind, leaving him gasping in frustration and defeat.
Fuck me! Why is the cost of reading this echo so high?
The veins that had just healed themselves a while ago threatened to burst with more blood, and he had no choice but to give up. Ughh! He couldn't believe such a sweet secret was almost within his grasp but just out of reach.
"Fuck," he cursed one final time before letting the pen go. Runes dispersed, and he chewed his teeth in frustration for a while before taking a deep breath and internalizing these revelations.
So…
There’s a connection between Institute and Nexus? He frowned. He didn't expect that. Also, the writer alludes to the Institute's research being ancient compared to Nexus. Does that mean the Institute is actually older than even the Nexus and Elyndor itself?
That was…intriguing. Before he became an observer, his history knowledge only dated back to some nuggets from the last era—one that was supposed to be full of intellectuals that made something like the clocktower of Fulham borough and Elmhurt's bridges without being privy to Fundamentals.
This was more surprising than it sounded, given this current era had gone for over seven hundred years—if the historians are to be believed—and still hadn't managed to reach even half the technical heights of the past era.
At least until Fundamentals changed the world a couple of decades ago.
The conversation he just read seemed to hint that the Institute—the founders of axioms—were even older than Nexus of Elyndor—a contraption and a castle that was most likely from a previous era itself.
Just how many eras are even there? he wondered with a frown. How old is humanity? It was a question that he previously left for historians to waste their time to try and figure out.
Now? These questions seemed indelibly linked to observers and organizations that held terrifying knowledge and the world’s secrets in their grasp.
Heck, even Lady Sylphina talked about old paths. Just how many were there? What had they tried? What were their outcomes?
What marked the end of an era?
Terribly curious, he picked up his pen as his mind conjured tens of key phrases he could try to suss out some information about Prima's past.
Thankfully, his self-restraint stopped it just in time. Feeling the pinch, he sighed, "I first need to go back." Knowing the world's secrets would be useless if they would go with him to his grave in this ancient palace.
I've delayed it long enough.
Let's just ask the spirit first. I can always confirm with the echoes later if the answer I receive is positive. Otherwise, he might have to focus on regenerating his representation and think about how to best explore this palace.
He really was in no position to waste any more time. Need to balance my curiosity with the situation's needs, he concluded.
So when he finally extricated himself from these runes and looked up, he couldn't believe his eyes.
That half-ring of light on the pillar he'd filled with a big chunk of his own representation was now…replaced by three shining rings.
"H…how?"