Chapter 55 - Third Rune

"Why do you have the rune of an Elden One in your mind?!"

The moment her words registered, he recoiled back, snatching his palm away from hers—hoping to get some distance.

But those hundreds of strands that surrounded him didn't disappear, and neither did he see the nexus of the station. It didn't fucking work. He was unable to get out of this space!

"Vern! Stop! Don't strain it. We can only get out of this together. Ahh! FUCKING STOP! DAMN IT! It hurts."

He tried everything. Mentally retreated as far away as possible from the world of strands, ignored them, rejected them.

Nothing worked.

This is bad. What should I do!?

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He stopped. The more he struggled, the more he would lose control of his thoughts—possibly divulging something far more consequential. It wasn't that bad yet. He could try and communicate. Figure out how badly he had fucked up.

"Yes, Vern, calm down. There's no point in trying to get out of this headspace. What will you do by leaving? Kill me? Just because now I know your little secret? You won't be able to. So give it a rest. And more than that, you don't need to. I can be…discrete."

Wow. She was digging up the darkest thoughts that had yet to even materialize in his own head. But he asked, still trying to collect his racing thoughts, "And why exactly would you be discrete?"

"First. Dead women tell no tales. So if we die, you don't have anything to worry about. Second, if we don't die, why would I antagonize a rune bearer? An alive and non-vegetative rune bearer!"

Did that mean that engraving runes was a risky endeavor? He didn't remember it being a challenge. But his circumstances weren't exactly ordinary, so what would he know?

After a few seconds of rest, he sighed and spoke, "I—I'm sorry. It was just unexpected…and personal. I am not used to sharing my deepest secrets with someone I met ten minutes ago."

"Right. Don't do it again. It hurt like hell. We both have to be on board with the idea of exiting for it to work. And do you think I am not freaked out? You have access to my Essence Strands—the Lightvein legacy. It's a rough situation, but let's make the most of it, okay?"

She paused, granting him a moment's grace— giving him the space to collect his thoughts.

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Once he had his nerves under control, he nodded. It was almost as if they had reached a quiet understanding amidst the chaos.

Her range of emotions went from admonishing to curious real quick as she said, "Anyway, given how freaked out you were, it seems you know just how precious—or cursed of a thing you got in there. These have been exclusively under the control of the Institute since forever. Are you a guinea pig of the Institute? Child of some Master from there? Or worse—a chosen vessel? Still can't believe you survived engraving it in your head."

The…what? Institute?

A little more level-headed now, he instead rapidly assessed the current state of affairs. He knew nothing about that rune, but she seemed more than just aware of it.

This could be a chance. A chance to uncover the details surrounding this enigma in his head. He had never willingly tried to mess with it for the fear of signaling Hensen. But if he understood more…

So he gave her some information to get the topic started, "No, Esther. It's more of a…noose around my neck. And I'd really appreciate it if you didn't pry me for its origins."

"That…I. Vern, I don't want to know too much about it, either. But it's the rune of fucking Cryptic Con…DAMN, I almost pronounced their name. Listen, I—I just need to be sure that you're not his vessel. I don't know if you know, but it will mean a horrible death for me and you not too far down the line if you're one. Worse than whatever those apostles could ever do to us."

Was there something wrong with pronouncing their name? Why?

And what was this about being its vessel? He didn't think his situation was anything like that. Hensen wasn't exactly the beacon of trust, but it was clear that he didn't have Vern engrave this rune for any such purposes.

"I don't think I am. I engraved it under dire circumstances that didn't include being some kind of vessel."

"I see."

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She remained silent for a while. Just when Vern was ready to ask her more questions of his own volition, she murmured, "Have you made contact already? What is it like?"

Made Contact? As in activating it?

He shook his head.

This time, when she spoke, her words carried an undercurrent of regret, tinged with a hint of pity, "That's…wasteful. It's almost tragic, you know? Visionaries of this era—and even those long gone—would practically kill for a word of revelation from you. A chance to pry open the secrets of the Institute or this very cosmos? People have done far worse for far less. I must say, I am tempted to start pleading."

The words sent a hint of panic coursing through him. This was why he didn't want anyone to know about these secrets. Not until he figured out their scope and volatility. But something didn't sit right with him about her last assertion.

"Beg me? Not torture or dissect me? That can't be right."

"Ohhoho. Just what is this situation? You have engraved this rune into your mind, but you don't know what it entails? This is very suspicious." She emphasized the last part of her sentence.

Darn it. He would be blushing if someone could look at his face right now. He barely spoke, "Dire circumstances, remember?"

She shook her head, "Sure. Whatever you say. Anyway, it's a miracle to have a functional human being that can make contact with the Elden Ones. As long as you don't run into religious or ideological enemies of the Constructor, the ones in the know will do anything to have you test their theories for them."

Theories? What kind of theories? This rune was really something far more bizarre than he could ever have imagined.

However, before he could respond, "Wow. You really have no clue? It's a pity. You haven't shaded your perception while having the rune of the Constructor! What are you? An invalid with no talent? Is your viewpoint really so useless?"

Huh, did that mean the rune somehow assisted him in Shading his Perception? Combining with the fact that she said it would help him test theories, didn't it mean that—

"What!? No response? Aren't you pissed? You should be pissed. You're supposed to be very smart, aren't you? How can you have a trash viewpoint?"

"…"

"Ahh, it hurts my brain. If we weren't on the brink of death, and I didn't desperately need your help, I'd be humming Jibberwick's Jolly Jig in both our heads just to scrub away the idiocy you've imparted on me."

"…"

Wow, she really just said whatever came to her mind. He just wanted some time to think through her words. Regardless, she was acting like it was all rainbows and sunshine. So he replied, "Well, there's a cost to everything—"

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"No shit, detective. Yeah, there's a cost. What about it? Is the cost not worth having your own Vision? Not worth having the most flexible Thought Space…oh, huh? Wait, wait, wait. You don't know what I am talking about, do you?"* she interjected, not giving him much of an opportunity to speak.

This was fucking mind-reading. She had to be mind-reading him. This made no sense.

"Frown all you want. This is where all my synergy partners start feeling like I'm in their heads. I'm not. I don't need to be. Simply analyzing the change of your emotions in reaction to my words is more than enough, you know?"

Well, she was really in his head—literally. Not having the mental space to think to himself for even short bursts was annoying him to no end. He had to get back some sense of control.

So his first idea was to turn this into a back-and-forth instead of being verbally abused one-sidedly.

"Esther, I'm practically a newborn Observer, so your soul-crushingly technical explanations and compliments are just what the doctor ordered. Now, if I understand it right, this rune allows me to test the validity of Visions without being subjected to the…whispers?"

"May Elysion bless the life. You actually know something! Yeah, that's what the books say. But you're missing the key point. Something that can be important to our situation right now."

He just let himself feel puzzled at her words, knowing she would pick it up from his thoughts.

And she did. Her previously animated speech turned solemn as she said, "If our first plan doesn't work out, you must make contact."

"Why? How would that help in this situation?"

"Why do you not know anything?"

"…"

"Well. You would've if you hadn't skipped your history classes. From what I remember, this was the third rune that was discovered by the Institute after hundreds of sacrifices. Both the recorded users who successfully made contact were said to have had their 'existence deconstructed' while they were in contact. You see what I'm getting at?"

Ahh! So they disappeared while making contact. A method to hide from the apostles?

He nodded, "I do," still, he asked with a little apprehension, "But what about the cost?"

"How the heck would I know? You survived the engraving, not me. No one would have the actual details of the inner workings of an Elden rune. Except maybe the Institute. These history books I mention are just recounting from students that managed to escape long ago—interesting, but incomplete."

So that was to say, he would have to deal with more than just the risk of alerting Hensen if he decided to go this route. This was not a great idea. Not unless he was forced into it. Who knew what kind of repercussions came from 'Making Contact.' Just the term alone had horrifying connotations.

Make contact with what? An…Elden One? What was Elden One? A concept? An entity? Was he supposed to make contact with Cryptic Constructor? Just the thought sent shivers down his spine. So he tried to change the topic a little, "This is all good and well, but why are we focusing on a Plan B before we've even talked about Plan A? Are you not confident in our chances?"

"Well, who the hell said I have no confidence. It's just practicality. And that this time-saving, faster-than-life communication we have going on only works when we talk between ourselves. Any changes we envision in reality will take time in seconds and consume our thoughts. So once we commence the 'plan A,' we can't communicate with this ease anymore."

"Fair enough."

"Right. So yeah, plan B. If we can't send the distress signal, your best chance at survival is to make contact…"

She trailed off at the end. But he realized what she was trying to nudge him towards. She wasn't giving him all this knowledge for free. So he played along with her games and inquired,"Seeing as you are suggesting I leave you to die while I test some 'theories,' how does this help you? Or, more like—how can I help you?"

"Oh, you actually understand nuance? Great. Well, if things go downhill, I will try my best to lure the apostles away from you. Then, if I don't come out of it alive," suddenly, her voice turned ruthless, "I need you to contact Kristha Lightvein, my mother in the Northern Senn Empire. She will give you more than enough remuneration to make it worthwhile. Incomplete records, representation, access to rare memory packets, whatever you want."

Hmm. I will have to think about it. Weigh the pros and cons.

"If you're scared about my Mother not holding up her end of the bargain, just ask around. You'll realize in no time that Lightvein's honor is famous throughout the Empire. Only an ideology of honor can nurture Observers of Lightvein."

Even his doubt didn't escape her, huh? But it was good to know. He would base his judgment on the validity of her statement later on.

"Anyway. Now that that's out of the way. We gotta figure out the problem at hand."

"Wait."

"Hmm?"

"Can you…umm. Tell me how to access Thought Space?"

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"Huh? Come again?"

Even her facial expressions couldn't have conveyed her shock and disappointment as well as the intent packaged with her words did.

Well, that was embarrassing.

"I…don't know how to access my Thought Space."

"Yeah. What the hell kind of question is that? You don't know Thought Space, and you call yourself an Observer? This is really befuddling. I need to get a reality check."

"I—had a rough Enlightenment. And I don't have an Observation Record to follow."

"Then how did you even manage your Enlightenment? Are you trying to say you synthesized a viewpoint without an Observation Record?"

"Kinda…?"

He had long since realized that the diagram in Observation Record of Subjectivity was out of the norm. Cera, Ambrose, and even Esther talked about Observation Records as if they presented an ideology or a viewpoint. The diagram had none of that. Actually, none of the pages he could read in that book had anything about a specific viewpoint.

"Oh, benevolent Elysion, guide this lost lamb who is dipping his toes into the cosmic cesspool of Observation without a star map. I don't even know what to say, Vern," she let out a deep sigh and continued after a while, "Well, it would be rude of this great Esther to not impart her superior teachings unto this wayward soul,"

He sensed the curve of a grin in her emotional aura, as if she found a dark humor in their narcissistic banter. It was an odd sort of levity, especially considering they were teetering on the brink of death. In a situation so dire, finding entertainment in such cerebral sparring was both bizarre and oddly comforting.

"Thank you, oh kind lady Esther, may your name echo through every steam engine across the realm."

"That was weirdly specific, but okay. Now listen. You got your perception, right? Interpret something in it."

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Oh, she means right now.

He got to it. Since she said 'something,' he just imagined where the typewriter and table should be on his right. Then, he began to interpret it based on 'complexity.' He interpreted different typewriter sections as shades of gray while making the table a bright white.

"Oohh. Interesting. So you see in shades of gray? I wonder what you can do with it. Wanna tell your master?"

"I doubt you need to know that."

"Oops. Busted. Whatever. Something tells me you've got a boring viewpoint anyway. Now just take these thoughts that are floating in your mind—the ones that you're constantly repeating to maintain the state of your perception, and imagine a shape for them."

"What kind of shape?"

"You don't want me to tell you that. Each person has a natural inclination. If I tell you, you're going to have a harder time with it. However, you look like someone that'd shape it into tiny little cogs and gears," she finished, scoffing.

Ignoring her jabs, he asked, "Does one kind of shape have any advantage over the other?"

She remained silent for a while before shrugging, "I don't know."

"Very helpful."

"My pleasure. Now get to it."

Well, if someone was talking about shapes, what was better than a sphere? But should it be a hollow sphere or a solid one? This sounded like an important choice. So he asked another question, "Would I be stuck with the shape I chose right now?"

"Enh, I don't think so. As long as you don't imprint a Vision onto it, it should be whatever. However, if it doesn't—then too bad, don't blame me. Also, lucky bastards who get to imprint a completely original Vision onto their Thought Space better not whine about little things."

He nodded and went ahead—imagining the perception around him to warp into a sphere. The edge of the white table became curved and bent as he envisioned this to be some kind of painting wrapped around a sphere wall.

Nothing happened.

*"Hahaha. You sure are dumb for a Savant." Her words dripped with scorn, but Vern sensed something else beneath the surface—an undercurrent of insecurity that wafted through the emotional strands linking them. His newfound skill in reading emotions in this peculiar headspace had just given him a subtle clue.

She doesn't really believe I messed up. She's deflecting, maybe even a bit rattled.

"You should reshape the thoughts, not what you perceive."

Oh, I took her too literally? I need to shape the ideas, not their end result. That sounded simple enough. It was just another construct for mental organization. This shouldn't be too hard. Actionable feedback was always great.

Nodding, he cleared his perception of any grays and started all over again. This time, when assigning a shade to the typewriter's head, he tried to imagine the idea going onto the surface of a sphere instead—long before it was interpreted into that shade of gray by his perception.

And as expected, words and ideas began to pile up as they took the shape of a sphere. But apparently, he designated the radius of the sphere to be too big, as all these thoughts barely covered a small chunk of this imaginary surface. It was akin to a small country on the globe of the planet, while the rest of the countries or water didn't exist.

Alright. Alright. Stop showing off. You got it. Happy? Pay your tuition in pieces of jewelry if we survive, okay? Can we move on now?