Chapter 6 - Perception

Flames purple and vermillion blazed all around him, encroaching forward from both ends of the floor. The two-toned fire ate through everything in its path. Flesh, books, glass, whatever came in its wake, only served to fuel this ghastly sight.

In a blurry glimpse of this macabre scene, his sluggish mind snapped to wakefulness in an instant. People were lying limp everywhere in this maze of shelves. Some lay there in odd postures, while others had their face to the ground, probably from a bad fall.

Then, there were the unfortunate ones—a serene expression hung on their face as flames engulfed them bit by bit, scorching their flesh and melting their skin.

Rows upon rows of shelves were torched as years of history turned into smoke, threatening to cover the hall in a fatal deluge of poisonous soot. Curiously, a few people around him had their eyes open, blankly staring ahead, while the rest seemed unconscious as they fueled the fire, their bodies melting away with a terrible stench.

Vern took a shallow breath, repressing the disgust and terror that came from this sight and turned around to where Ariane was supposed to be. She was right there, next to him, lying atop a fallen shelf with her eyes closed, breathing in a serene rhythm. He scanned her body and heaved a sigh at her mostly unharmed state.

The fire was encroaching from both ends of the hallway, one wave closer than the other. Despite all that smoke, it still looked like it was bearable due to the sky-high ceiling and the natural ventilation in place.

Shaking his head, he focused on the task at hand. I can probably save a few more people if I am quick. He turned to Ariane and squatted down, reaching for her head and knees.

And his hands passed right through her.

He stared in disbelief at where his hands should be. As if right on cue, a prickling sensation crept up, starting from his palms that he felt 'inside' her head and knee. They were definitely there. He could wave them around, make a fist, and even clasp them together, but not see them.

He looked down and saw his clothes lying down on the ground in the outline of a man, and it clicked.

Repercussions of enlightenment? No. That can't be right. Yharl Ballin, as suggested by Ari's description, was a man of flesh and blood. Unless I am mistaken in assuming that Yharl himself is an observer, this shouldn't be their standard form.

Then, it must be some sort of special transitional state. It must be. But I – She doesn't have time. I don't fucking have time for this! The melting husks of these unknown scholars were bearable, but he didn't even want to imagine Ari getting engulfed by the flame as he stood there, helpless.

No. I still have options, but I need more information before I can model this.

He could barely keep his eyes open as it was, so he would need to fall back to his usual approach to the problem as a fundamentalist. Analyze the variables, look for patterns, build a hypothesis, and then figure out how to use these patterns and properties to nudge the result in an intended direction.

If he considered the conflagration as a test environment and himself as the subject, it might be easier to fall into the usual habits and zone out the prospects of failing in this reality.

Vern stepped back a bit and reached for his coat on the floor. His hand passed right through the coat's collar and tingled as it did. He went for it again, but this time, he stopped his hand when it was 'within' the collar and concentrated on the sensation.

The tingling returned and soon turned into an odd burning impression. Vern retracted his hand and closed his eyes to concentrate on the feeling. It felt like frostbite, numbing and freezing for most part.

The more I focus on picking up the coat, the worse it gets. In a general case, that would mean if I try to interact with corporeal objects, it puts a strain of some kind on this form.

But that can't be the full equation. How can I firmly stand on the floor? If the focus was the only factor, I should plunge straight down to the Prima's core.

Tapping his invisible foot on the floor, he stretched his legs into the coat, and it went right through the fabric without any resistance as he shivered from the chill. Then, he stepped on a book nearby, and a prickling sensation arose from his feet touching the solid floor.

Retreating from the book, Vern ran his hand through his hair and snapped one. He pulled that invisible strand on opposite ends with both hands, stretching it taut. He positioned his hands so that the strand passed through the collar, but its ends were held tight.

A few seconds passed by, and nothing happened. Rising back up, he walked towards the fire and didn't even think twice before he plunged his hand right into the inferno.

Not even a prickle.

He furrowed his brows and walked into the flames. As expected, nothing happened again. His theory had the right direction. It had something to do with his subconscious' desire to interact, but some absolute limits restricted and penalized it.

Done with his experiments, he retreated back to Ariane. The conclusion was simple yet distressful.

There was no quick way to make his body interact with corporeal objects at will. He speculated that if he could somehow trick his mind into thinking that Ariane was just some flooring, it'd be possible, but he had no clue how to go about doing that. Observation might work, but if he knew how to make proper use of it, why would he go to all this trouble and not just straight up solve the fire itself?

His conjectures may not be grounded in proper logic, but he just did not have the time to experiment properly and gain any worthwhile insight.

All this while, the fire only got closer and closer. Three minutes, or maybe four, before it would devour Ari. This is beyond sense. Why the fuck is nothing ever straightforward! Why now!? This will not work.

The very plausible mental image of Ariane consumed by the inferno, fire searing through her flesh, singeing her into a charred lifeless husk as he stood there doing nothing, was a torment that sliced through him sharper than any physical blade ever could.

Not now. Not right now. It just wasn't the time to wallow in self-pity. He had yet to try and leverage whatever was inciting this tortuous pain in his eyes. Still, this very pain gave him the confidence to stay somewhat calm in this whole disaster.

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Under the assumption that it would be comparatively faster to figure out this temporary form instead of the whole subjective observation business, he had done all these silly tests. But as usual with everything else today, he’d been wrong.

FOCUS!

Something had very literally been melded with his eyes, and he felt the difference. It was as if there was another set of ethereal eyelids that closed him off from the world, but they weren't there to impede light or something so simple.

One leg inside his coat, Vern braced himself, took a deep breath, and opened his elusive eyes.

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Illeana closed her eyes to focus on all the new sensations that stemmed from her true perception. She had just witnessed the most terrifying thing that could exist, yet she was disappointed in herself. The fact that it had riled up her emotions to such a degree, knowing full well it wouldn't be fatal to someone of her caliber, was just shameful.

But this wasn't the time to reflect on her loss of control. She had barely made it back in time.

Within her true perception, even without cutting off the incomprehensible aspects of it, she felt a wave of vibrations heading towards her at a leisurely pace. Those calm vibrations were just so obvious when everyone else was struggling to hold onto their sanity from that being.

It is just how Father said it would be. The world she 'saw' with her true perception was unlike any composition she had ever experienced. Alas, she didn't have the time to marvel at the breathtaking symphony.

She quickly singled out the truth she sought from the thrumming tapestry and instantly felt exposed. Something caressed her thoughts with a gentle touch, and the noise faded away as out came the oscillations.

The fluctuation of the very world itself pulsed in her mind, the vibrations weaving a choral symphony. Inanimate objects around her seemed to have found their own voices, each one ready to sing out its story.

The paintings spoke of pride, while the walls told of age and weariness. The crackling of fire whispered of warmth and comfort as the chandeliers articulated their radiance.

The rhythm and cadence were her means to peer into the window of emotion that resided in everything.

Or at least that's how she saw it.

However, amidst this orchestra of serene vibrations were howls and shrieks, the shuffling tiny footsteps, and the mad ravings of things unknown, leaking out from the fluctuations of her royal guards outside and maids that took care of the mansion. In this passive and tense cacophony was one set of calm vibrations, becoming louder by the second.

Illeana jolted out of her reverie, and her thoughts raced. She could finally hear the emotions, and it was just as exciting as she'd hoped. All that was left now was to become familiar with it.

She stood up from her bed and opened her eyes. There was no need to be as tensed and focused now that the hard part of enlightenment was over. Her beautiful chamber, adorned with paintings of the most renowned musicians, was jam-packed with many instruments.

In the corner of the darkened room, a grand piano rested elegantly by the tall window, its polished black surface reflecting the flames from the hearth. A mandolin hung next to it, a gift from her father. A harp and a violin had their own stations too, as did many other musical apparatus.

Playing them and learning their unique cadence had always soothed her mind and calmed her nerves. But tonight, their sight broke her heart.

She knew that staying here in her own kingdom was an impossibility. Without her father around, there were too many strong characters vying for the throne, and she didn't have the strength needed to rightfully succeed him. Yet.

And she couldn't take anything with her, not while she was still in free representation. It allowed her great insight into the truth and unknown, yet it came with the small cost of making one intangible.

She had heard little about free representation from her father, and many aspects of it were just bizarre. If she tried, she would phase right through the piano, yet the walls and windows would act like usual bounds. Not trying to make sense of the insensible, she focused on the task at hand.

She had two options. One was to start running away right now to save some time and possibly engage her pursuer in an unknown environment once they caught up with her. Another was to stay right here on her personal stage and compose a satisfying piece.

She obviously chose the latter. If all she wanted was safety, she could very well have hidden away long before all this began. Father was gone, and she had to take things into her own hands. Gather her own information, make her own decisions, and send her own message to those looking forward to her death.

Regulating and assessing her emotions in a life-and-death situation sounded like a perfect opportunity for her debut as an observer anyway. If she managed to die with all the advantages at hand, she only had herself to blame.

Though it did miff her that she didn't have her clothes on. Made her lose a little bit of that self-confidence. However, it didn't matter much. The most anyone could perceive someone within free representation was a silhouette, so her noble image wasn't really being tarnished.

While she waited for the culprit to arrive, she took the time to get familiar with the observation. Recalling all the teachings her father had crammed into her in the last few days, she tested the pulses and the emotions attached to them.

No amount of training could have helped her grasp these concepts beforehand, and all theories needed practice for proper implementation. However, she had a precise awareness of what would work and what won't. It was another one of those parting gifts from Father.

She didn't like the tone of 'Soul Seer,' but according to her father, it was the only observation record that was closely related to her own viewpoint, and didn’t come with catastrophic repercussions.

It included insights from those who had walked a similar path and taught her how to weaponize emotions in an effective manner, even though it came along with nonsense about souls. She didn't plan on following the record religiously. One's viewpoint had to be unique, or they were destined for mediocrity.

She remembered her father's words, "To shade reality with your perception is a matter of intuition. It is to use your understanding and comprehension of your viewpoint to manipulate the truth and bring forth the change."

It sounded like some enigmatic and complex process back when she was learning the theory from Father and the book. But in free representation, she felt like anything was possible, which was actually the case.

Free representation was the time for an observer to gauge the extent of a viewpoint, its harmony with their method of isolation, and assess their compatibility. Maybe there was more to it, but she didn't know or need to know.

She listened to the rhythm of fire and hummed a counter to it along with her will, and the room turned pitch black without any light. Noticing the dark, she was reminded of the dim vista outside the window. It was a bright morning before all hell went loose.

Her guards had jumped right in and demanded she evacuate. Illeana had to assure them about her safety multiple times before she got fed up and ordered them in the name of the princess herself.

Shaking her head, she mimicked the earlier rhythm of fire with a low whistle. The melody of fire came back alive in an instant, joining the passive ensemble as wood burnt with great vigor.

A little too much there.

Now, for her next test, the windows had to go. She didn't have the heart to break anything else in the room for the sake of experimentation.

The world itself was helping her achieve her visions. So it was as simple as imagining the tones of the glass reaching an emotional crescendo to converge. Followed by releasing the tension in a sudden plunge as the glass shards cried out in agony, flying all around her, through her.

A lightless dark vista of her city greeted her, filled with eerie quiet and impassive vibrations as her eyes stung with a newfound intensity. To avoid overloading herself with the myriad pulses and sounds from everything outside, she limited her perception, which alleviated some of the pain. It was so dark her normal vision couldn't even resolve the trees in her garden.

Minutes passed by as she kept trying new things, all to build up enough proficiency to finally play the piano without breaking its keys.

She converged some of the ubiquitous muted emotions around her into a cylinder and willed it forward as it struck the key. When suddenly, the vibrations and their tone grew noisy—and she crouched down right where she stood, next to the piano. A beam of utter darkness coursed through the air, annihilating everything in its path.

The wall, the piano, and a painting had gaping holes burnt through them as the ray died out, disintegrating even the ashes. An off-beat note reverberated in the room with a lingering dissonance as Illeana looked at the piano with a quiver before she turned to the door. It is time for a live performance.

"Greetings, princess."