Chapter 153 - Return
"H…how?" he asked no one in particular as he stared at the pillar that housed First Observer's throne.
He'd spent almost all of his representation filling up just one-half of the bottommost ring. To fill it all the way up the third ring where it was now, he would have had to infuse a similar amount another five times.
That would have taken him more than a day, and that was when he focused all his mind on just sparking new thoughts and regenerating his representation.
He left the notepad behind and walked to the pillar before kneeling to get a closer look at the thin rings. He furrowed his brows and monitored it closely, wondering, How did it happen? Does the Nexus have some kind of self-regeneration?
That sounded plausible, except his eyes drifted to the pillar from time to time during his experimentation, and he hadn't noticed a single change.
He strained and recalled his memories of the past few minutes, and this little introspection gave him a simple answer.
Whatever happened must have taken place in the last couple of minutes. He was so focused on that final echo that he'd forgotten all about his surroundings.
Conjectures ran through his mind, but he soon narrowed his eyes and turned back to the chair where the golden runes floated around his notepad.
Could it be… he trailed off.
That would make no sense, right? What did his queries and the echoes have anything to do with the representation that Nexus just recovered? There was no reason to assume a link between the two except for the weird timing.
He spent a couple of minutes brainstorming it and realized the other options were actually less likely than even this. No way that Rupert or any of the Visionaries from before suddenly felt generous and sacrificed more representation to keep the Nexus running.
Yeah, that was impossible. He bit his lip, Only if I wasn't so engrossed in the runes to miss out on such a change in my surroundings.
Maybe I could have used my perception to keep an eye on the environment? he thought.
But he soon shook his head. His goal was to conserve his representation so he could funnel it into the Nexus later. Using it to survey his surroundings when there were no enemies around would have been a waste.
"Aghh, it doesn't matter," he huffed. "It's a good thing there's more energy now."
He briskly walked over to the notepad, stopped dallying, and went right back to doing where he'd stopped. A weird thought surfaced, I am going to ask the Nexus's spirit this question, no matter what. Nothing will stop me. He'd been interrupted so many times while trying to do this that he almost felt like some higher force was stopping him.
Shaking his head, he imagined Lady Sylphina's trace and wrote, 'Is there enough representation in the Nexus to send me back?'
He doubted that half a ring that he'd filled would've been enough, but with this unexpected windfall of three rings, it might just do the trick.
Luckily, nothing stopped him from contacting the spirit this time, and his note went through. A few seconds later, a bunch of lists emerged, and he quickly glanced at the proximity list. It was empty. Which made sense but also didn't because then that meant Nexus’s spirit wasn't located around here.
Regardless, his hand moved on its own, and it read, 'Primary reserves scant of the necessary flux. A minimum of five percent is imperative for secure passage.'
However, as these words emerged on the note, his eyes flickered, and he noticed that the almost full third ring suddenly depleted by a small amount.
Ah, hells. he groaned, Even asking questions costs me representation now? What a scam.
At least it wasn't too much, or his heart would've bled for having asked the question in the first place. After all, these rings and the 'flux' they represented were his ticket out of here.
For some reason, He liked 'flux' far more than 'representation.'
Dismissing this as collateral damage, he focused on the main point. So, it needs five percent, huh? How much is it at right now?
Though tempted to query the Nexus directly, his innate thrift urged him to figure it out on his own—which he did. Observing the pillar, he estimated it based on the height of each illuminated ring. He deduced that the entire pillar might accommodate a hundred or so similar rings.
Which meant each ring was about a percent of this flux.
Then, it's currently at about three percent right now?
He paced around the room. According to this logic, his prior infusion amounted to only half a percent. This meant that to reach the required goal of five percent, he would have to regenerate his representation—no, flux—about four or five more times and infuse all of it into the Nexus.
Fuck. Why is it so expensive?
Thump. he settled on the chair and assessed the new options. He could either spend more of Nexus's energy and ask the spirit questions that might help him figure out more about Nexus and it's workings.
Or… he eyed his notepad.
If his finding echoes of the past related to Nexus or Institute had really somehow recharged these rings, then what if he could do that again? After all, the only cost he had to pay to peruse through the echoes was his brain cells.
His own…uh, flux was hard to regenerate, and Nexus's was even harder. The only thing he could afford to spend freely was his own mental prowess.
Well, maybe not too much, given it's been abused so many times today.
.
.
.
Anyways! This is my best shot for now. He didn't know if it was his curiosity speaking, but if simply finding echoes that had something to do with Nexus could regenerate its reserves, then it was a crazy good deal that he'd be stupid to pass up on.
It sated his thirst for the history of observers, all the while helping him get out of here. Where would he get a better deal than that?
Having made up his mind, he cracked his neck and focused on the note once again. Alright. Give me something about… he wrote, 'Elyndor.'
An echo surfaced, and it strained him a bit to read, 'is at war with Kristswelt. Do you think we can profit off of this? I have some goods that I can't sell in the main continent.'
Interesting
So, Elyndor was like a city or country? Not just an organization of special observers? he deduced. Also, what's up with the main continent? And at what point in the timeline did this even happen?
Sighing, he gave up on trying to answer these impossible questions and eyed the pillar. There was no change. The first two rings were full, while the third maintained its almost complete state—not increasing or decreasing.
He leaned forward, a thoughtful look on his face. So, just any information about Elyndor doesn't trigger the infusion.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
In a few seconds, he dismissed the previous echoes and wrote, 'Elyndor,' once again.
Runes came together, ‘is erupting with maddening whispers. Do NOT, and I repeat, DO NOT chart your route through that place. You will lose your mind if you get close. If you really need to go west, go through—'
The words ended there.
Erupting with whispers? What exactly happened there? Also, this note somehow seemed to be from a different time than the previous one.
Regardless, it didn't increase Nexus's flux either. Am I asking the wrong questions here? He wondered. Maybe I should stick to Nexus and Institute? He'd hoped to get to Nexus using conversations about Elyndor and work his way up from there. But it looked like the conversations of people from the past didn't work like that.
So he tried something else, 'Institute.'
However, the moment the echo formed, he realized how stupid he'd been to use such a common word as a key phrase.
The echo read, 'needs to refund me my tuition. It's a scam, I tell you. I learned almost nothing about observation there! It's just some grumpy old monsters that don't even know the first letter about teaching.'
He was speechless.
Yeah, I need to try harder. This isn't the institute I want to know about. This echo obviously didn't do anything to Nexus's reserves, either. Looked like single-word key phrases weren't getting him anywhere.
That's when he remembered something that Horace—the confluence's initial speaker- had mentioned about the fate of people from Elyndor.
Vern's hand moved before his heart could match the sudden excitement that coursed through him. This question was bound to be interesting! So, he penned, 'Elyndor's assimilation by First Observer'
And waited.
.
.
.
To his utter delight, the runes moved. Yes! he cheered. There's actually something about this in here.
However, right when the shining symbols were about to merge and form something anew, they halted in their tracks. Almost as if stopped by some magical force, they tried to move closer but failed.
Vern's gaze sharpened. It's not going to be cheap, huh?
Well, it just meant the cost of reading this echo was quite high, and even without further thought, he was more than willing to pay it. He was just that curious.
So he strained his eyes, and the runes reluctantly converged.
'Elyndor's assimilation by First Observer must be stopped! The cycle mustn't go on! They can't keep—'
"Ahh! God damn," he suddenly cried out as a sharp pain rushed up his head. The pen fell sideways, and the runes dispersed without any fanfare.
However, before his mind could recover from the shock and register the echo's implications, the room turned a little brighter.
Gripping his head with one hand, his gaze snapped to the base of the glassy pillar. There, the third ring, nearly complete, intensified in brightness before it surged, filling the entire circumference of the pillar.
Immediately after, a fourth ring sparked to life above it. Starting with a faint glimmer, it rapidly spread around the pillar's edge, illuminating fully in a seamless flow.
That did it!? How? Why?
But it wasn’t over yet. Soon, a fifth ring materialized.
Then a sixth.
And a seventh.
Vern's jaw dropped, his pain momentarily forgotten in the wake of his awe. The successive illumination of the rings filled the room with a dazzling light, each one sparking more intensely than the last. His heart raced as the reality of what was unfolding hit him—this was working, actually working!
The magic electrified his senses, propelling him onto his feet. He watched, wide-eyed and breathless, as the eighth ring blazed alive.
Just what is going on!?
Was the echo that just surfaced really that significant?
Before this attempt, he remained somewhat skeptical despite evidence suggesting that his inquiry about Nexus and the Institute had boosted Nexus's reserves from half a percent to three.
Just how the fuck did his reading old conversations top up Nexus's reserves? Energy conservation was the most basic law in mechanical arts, but this chain of events blatantly defied all such principles.
So, the realization that what happened last time was not merely a fluke but a reproducible phenomenon with some underlying rationale unnerved him deeply.
He oscillated his gaze between his notepad and the pillar as the eighth ring mysteriously materialized and filled itself. He even scrutinized it with his own perception to confirm nothing was amiss.
Yet, just as he was about to sink deeper into his confusion, the droning from the canopy intensified, followed by a distant, monotonous voice, "Flux rekindled. Proceeding with unfinished duties."
"What…" he blurted out, but suddenly, his arms began glowing blue, and an unnatural tug pulled at his body.
"Wait. No. This…" he exclaimed, but the pull was merciless.
Until now, he'd been doing everything to get out of here, but now that things actually turned out this way, he realized he didn't want to leave just yet. I still have so much to explore here!
He wanted to go out of here on his own terms.
Panic surged through his body and he envisioned a quick burst of instability in the ground underneath him, hoping to propel himself forward as he made a mad dash towards his notepad.
If I can get my hands on the pad, I should be able to interrupt the process.
Unfortunately, the ground was too sturdy for his vision, and the blue haze dissolved his outstretched arms in an instant, whisking the rest of his body away.
"No. Stop! At least let me grab my notepad!"
What if it wasn't sent back to him because it was not on his person? That would be disastrous. It was his longest surviving notepad.
However, the Nexus didn't give a damn. His vision quickly faded to black, and he lost all his faculties.
Fuck! he shouted, wanting to break something. That notepad had so many pages of convergence note, too. Yes, he had more of them in the original that Esther had gifted him, waiting for him in the Hotel, but each and every one of those pages was precious!
He couldn't waste them like this.
Hahh…who would've expected Nexus's spirit to be so diligent and remember the tasks it had to finish even after losing and getting back its flux?
.
.
.
Not having a body to rage did wonders in calming him down as he perceived the oversaturated tunnel around him once again. The sight made him forget his woes for a second, and he remembered that one interesting echo.
It talked about how this whole process wasn't teleportation but something related to consciousness instead.
Almost made him wonder if this was some esoteric vision from an ancient shade sequence. Maybe even part of Lady Sylphina's weft?
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With a sudden gasp, he jolted back to awareness. A warm, comforting sensation enveloped him as the firmness of polished wood pressed reassuringly against his spine. His eyes fluttered open, blinking away the remnants of otherworldly visions.
A sense of serene familiarity settled over him in the dimly lit confines of his chamber. The rich aroma of aged mahogany filled his nostrils, a scent intimately tied to hours spent poring over his myriad studies in this very spot.
He leaned forward slightly, his hands instinctively finding the edges of the sturdy table that occupied the center of the room. Across from him, his notepad sat there, the one he thought might be left behind.
After all, he had been perusing some notes inside it just before being swept into the confluence.
Now, the room was quiet, save for the soft ticking of the wall clock, its pendulum swinging with the comforting regularity of a heartbeat.
"Hahh," he sighed, a mix of relief and disbelief coloring his voice. "I'm finally back." And in one piece, no less. His notepad wasn't lost in some ancient meeting place of gods either!
His head still ached, but the quiet moments seemed to dull the pain. Before long, the silence brought back a flood of questions that had been pushed aside, urging him to dig deeper.
Why was everything exactly as he had left it? The unchanged setting almost convinced him that he had never left, that perhaps it was all just a figment of his imagination—a dream.
"That would suck," he murmured. Seeking some reassurance, he flipped through his notepad, the pages rustling softly. One after another, pages filled with bizarre key phrases like 'Dear,' 'Institute,' and 'Elyndor' greeted him, and he chuckled, "Well, if that was a dream, I must still be dreaming."
Shaking his head, he snapped the notepad shut—ignoring the insistent runes, and positioned himself in front of his bed.
Without bothering to extinguish the gas lamp or take off his coat, he collapsed face-first onto the bed and rationalized, "I can figure it all out tomorrow."
Sleep enveloped him almost instantly, whisking him away into the realm of genuine dreams.
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"lrd…a..x…lp"
Vern shifted in his bed, his subconscious pushing the pillows against his ears to block out the noise.
"ar…te…lnce"
Yet, no matter what he did, faint whispers persisted, burrowing into his consciousness.
He couldn't tell the time, but his room shouldn't be this noisy, ever.
"acc…os…qa…pr"
"fr…gi…vo…es"
"zx…ph…mst…w"
"bv…rld…qs…ny"
Thump. he suddenly bolted upright, cold sweat dampening his forehead.
Frantically looking around, he realized the voices weren't emanating from his surroundings.
Panic surged through his foggy mind, and a singular thought took over.
"Am I losing control?"
The whispers had never been so vivid. So relentless.
Why? What did I do wrong?
"wq…xr…lt…nz"
No. Stop!
He attempted to steady his breathing, repeating to himself, Let's not panic. Let's not panic.
"gr…nk…ub…lv"
Managing to disregard the voices, he checked his thought space.
It appeared normal, surprisingly more vibrant and cohesive than usual.
He scowled. Then, what is happening?
Wait!
A realization struck him. These aren't whispers!
Rather than trying to shut them out, he decided to concentrate on them—a risky move if they were indeed malevolent.
"Oh, Arbiter of Fate, the Supreme Axiom who reigns above all. I, the seventh son of Ascendant Minthra, humbly seek the honor of your protection and the privilege to serve under your mighty wings. I shall…"
As Vern listened to these…'whispers,' an odd expression spread across his face.