Chapter 4
The Fractured World
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It was the month of July, and the monsoon had started. The cold breeze blowing outside the house couldn’t penetrate the cottage. The glass window panes received the drizzle. The inside of the cottage was dimly lit by the pale light of the wall lamp. There was a spacious chamber, which held an old bookshelf on the right wall opposite to the pair of closed windows. There was a small room adjoining it, and a bathroom tucked away in the corner.
The wooden cabin creaked as the cat leapt down from the small attic above. It went to sit on the lap of the chair, on which some entity was resting. It appeared humanoid, but none would mistake it for being one. There were disimilarities, as it was ghostly pale and transparent. Its eyes had white pupils, macabre red threads of veins were leaking out. The parts of his upper cheek had tendrils of muscle fibre seeping out, in pure white, as if luminescent worms clustered inside were trying to come out.
His arms were all formed of crimson bones, joined inside an unorderly corruption of black liquid-like vessel, yet so delicately patting the purring cat. The tips of small crimson bone that formed his fingers were of pure white.
He was dressed in what seemed like an old robe, black, revealing his fragile human chest, with white bones protruding out in some instances. The robes descended up till his bare feet. Under the feet and the chair was a symbolic circle with mysterious patterns and ancient expressions.
The entity opened its eyes, as it continued to caress the fur of the cat. With a slow, deliberate movement, it turned its gaze towards the bookshelf. The entity’s fingers, skeletal and delicate, traced gentle patterns in the cat’s fur as it addressed the feline in a voice that seemed to echo from the depths of time.
"Fetch the tome from the shelf," it murmured, the words imbued with an otherworldly resonance.
The cat, attuned to the entity’s command, rose with a graceful fluidity. Its movements were silent and precise, each step a careful dance upon the wooden floorboards. The shadows seemed to part as it made its way to the bookshelf, where it paused momentarily, as if selecting the precise book the entity desired.
With an elegance that belied its small frame, the cat extended a delicate paw and gently pulled an old tome from the shelf. The book was bound in weathered, dark leather, its surface adorned with faint, arcane symbols that glowed softly in the dim light. Dust swirled around it as the cat lifted the tome, carrying it with a careful balance back to the entity.
Returning to the entity’s lap, the cat placed the tome with reverence, its eyes reflecting a knowing intelligence. The entity's gaze softened as it looked upon the ancient book, the whispers of forgotten ages seeming to emanate from its worn pages. With a measured, almost ritualistic motion, the entity’s fingers traced the book’s cover, activating the faintly glowing symbols that adorned it.
As the entity prepared to open the tome, the room seemed to grow even quieter, the storm outside momentarily forgotten. The air was thick with anticipation, the sense that within those pages lay secrets that could bridge the divide between the fractured world and the realms beyond.
With a deep sigh, in an ethereal voice, the entity spoke,
“In all her kindness, the diaphanous threads of golds, she chose to metamorphose, to endow me with her slender, yet tangible appearance.
A mere gaze would blind thee, yet one would consciously step forward. Yet none shall ever have the moment to ever grasp her completely.”
The entity's voice lingered in the air, like a whisper carried on a gentle breeze. Its words seemed to vibrate with a resonance that transcended the physical space of the room, reaching into the very fabric of the arcane tome that lay before it.
As the entity delicately opened the tome, the ancient pages crackled softly, revealing inscriptions of forgotten lore and intricate illustrations that seemed to shimmer with a life of their own. Each page turned with a care that belied the entity's grotesque form, the glowing symbols on the cover reflecting a dim light that danced across the room.
The cat settled back into the entity’s lap, its eyes wide and reflective, almost as if it too were entranced by the secrets being unveiled. The room itself seemed to pulse in response, the symbolic circle on the floor glowing brighter, the arcane patterns shifting subtly as if reacting to the knowledge being accessed.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The entity’s ethereal voice broke the silence once more, the words flowing like a melody,
“In the deepest voids, where light dares not venture, her essence lingers, unseen but ever-present. She is the weaver of destinies, her golden threads binding the fates of worlds. Yet, her form is but an illusion, a beacon of hope and despair, forever out of reach.”
The entity's skeletal fingers traced one of the illustrations—a depiction of a celestial being, radiant and formless, surrounded by swirling mists of gold and shadow. The being’s eyes were depicted as orbs of pure light, their gaze penetrating and eternal.
“In her embrace, time stands still,” the entity continued, its voice a soft lament. “She bestows upon the worthy a glimpse of eternity, a fleeting moment of clarity amid the chaos. Yet, like the mist, she vanishes with the dawn, leaving only the echo of her presence and the promise of her return.”
As the entity spoke, the room seemed to darken further, the shadows deepening as if drawn towards the ancient tome. The symbolic circle’s light pulsed rhythmically, the arcane patterns shifting and evolving, revealing glimpses of an otherworldly landscape—vast and incomprehensible, a realm of endless possibilities and unspoken truths.
The entity paused, its gaze distant and contemplative. “She is the harbinger of change, the unseen force that shapes the course of existence. To seek her is to embrace the unknown, to walk a path shrouded in mystery and wonder. Yet, even as she eludes our grasp, her influence is ever felt, a silent guide through the labyrinth of life.”
The cat, sensing the gravity of the moment, nuzzled closer to the entity, its purring a gentle counterpoint to the profound silence that had settled over the room. The entity’s cold, white eyes softened, and it reached out to gently close the tome, the ancient pages whispering in protest as they were sealed once more.
“In all her kindness, the diaphanous threads of golds, she chose to metamorphose, to endow me with her slender, yet tangible appearance,” the entity repeated, its voice a mere breath. “A mere gaze would blind thee, yet one would consciously step forward. Yet none shall ever have the moment to ever grasp her completely.”
The storm outside seemed to mirror the entity’s inner turmoil, its fury a reflection of the eternal struggle between the seen and the unseen, the known and the unknowable. In that moment, the entity and the cottage were as one—both standing at the edge of a vast, unfathomable abyss, their fates intertwined by the golden threads of a mysterious weaver.
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…
The ground had black grass, the sun radiating the light with purplish tint. The sky seemed to be shattered, and from the cracks, blacknees seeped into the canvas of the world. The city seemed still as usual, lively as if people did not mind the atmosphere, as if they were used to it. The coaches as usual threaded across the roads, busy as ever.
…
In a common house, a young man was resting on his bed, his imaginations running wild, all about the sky and the blackness. Everyone said it was nothing, but no one stepped up to explain the reason for it happening. Most of them believed it was the dawn of cataclysm, some believed it resulted due to the clashing of great old-celestial beings. But he wasn’t satisfied with all of it. He always had chased something that was far from the logical and scientific reality, to escape the world, and it had occurred a month ago.
The world had fractured.
…
From a secluded alley, a pool of blood seeped ominously into the main road, it's dark crimson staining the cobblestones with a chilling persistence. The usually vibrant bustle of the city came to an abrupt halt. The clatter of horse-drawn carriages and the hum of lively conversations ceased as if an unseen hand had silenced the very essence of daily life.
Residents, drawn by the growing pool of gore, paused in their tracks, their faces blanching in horror as they observed the macabre spectacle. Murmurs of disbelief and terror began to ripple through the crowd like a wave, spreading panic from one corner of the street to another. The air was thick with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the clinking of carriage wheels halting with jarring suddenness and the anxious shuffle of bystanders who dared not approach.
The once-busy thoroughfare transformed into a scene of grim apprehension. Bicycles, their metal frames gleaming faintly in the dim gaslight, were abandoned, their riders frozen in a mix of curiosity and dread. The faint glow of gas lamps cast long, sinister shadows across the blood-soaked street, making the scene appear all the more surreal and ominous.
Whispers of foul play and dark omens travelled quickly, reaching the ears of the local constabulary. Soon, a small contingent of lawmen, their dark uniforms stark against the encroaching twilight, arrived at the scene. Their footsteps echoed ominously in the eerie silence as they approached the edge of the alley, their faces etched with a mix of scepticism and unease.
‘These incidents are increasing a lot these days’ said the younger officer, but he did not know what was to come.
‘Is it yet another unknown body?’ the other asked.
‘Let us have a look. Be alert. It is too dark in there, bring two lanterns from the coach,’ the veteran spoke at last. Three law-men stepped into the pool of blood as they marched into the alley.
As they entered the periphery of the darkness, the ground seemed to have become deeper, the level of the pool of blood rising to their knees. Something was not right. The officers exchanged glances, filled with the look of extreme alertness and fear. They did not even dare to see ahead, and all of them only had one thought, turn back.
When they decided to turn back, there was nothing of the city awaiting them, but all the darkness and deeper sea of blood.