⸤Whoever is reading this, don't you dare die, whether others want your blood spilled, or you decide life is no longer worth living. These words are not compassionate — not a plea to avoid wasting your precious life; rather, they are a warning of something I cannot speak of…⸣
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*Hiss...*
The ear caught a faint, resonant, obscure sound — barely noticeable, yet undeniably there. Simply, it was the sound one hears in the void — a place that knew no sound.
A silent figure stood there, as unmoved as the medals, sashes, and insignia before him. They were a testament to his long legacy and achievements, memories manifesting in the palpable.
Frayed and dulled by dust and rust, these honours already bore the incipient signs of inevitable end. The man knew, without doubt, that time would claim these things.
⸤Empty glory...⸣ he muttered, followed by a thin scoff.
...
The apartment in which the man resided was modest, much like the dwellings of ordinary folk, or perhaps humbler still.
This wasn't because he was poor; in fact, he was rich, but he was always preoccupied with other matters. Whenever he spent, it was either for the absolute necessities of his life, for almsgiving, or for the prosperity of the land.
In one of the dwelling's rooms, the man changed his clothes at an exceedingly slow pace, as though he had reached the twilight of life. A classic white shirt dotted with tiny black flowers settled over him; he fastened the belt of his plain-looking black trousers and looped a glimmering silver chain over his head.
In other words, his clothing was simple and effortless. And speaking of simplicity , the man handled his jet black hair in the same manner, with indifference. He drew the hair at the back — longer than that of the front — into an unruly man bun.
The contradiction, however, was in the effort evident in the rest of his hair. He deliberately parted his hair down the middle, and from his right temple, two Dutch braids trailed down.
Perhaps it wasn't really about refining his appearance.
...
The wide windowpane allowed the weary eye, stripped of its honey-brown glow, to behold the crowd of passersby far below.
The man did not know whether it was a sight to marvel at or to mourn — seeing the world move on its own, everyone on their own, towards paths utterly unpredictable, completely outside of his being. Looking back, even if he had seen this many times before, it was always peculiar.
—My people... No, they were never mine, nor did I ever want them to be.
—To be a ruler is to be selfless. When I assumed the mantle, I accepted devoting my life to them. My time was spent solving the nation's crises, helping many along the way, yet sacrificing that very time no one could compensate me for.
—Despite the bitterness in my heart, I don't really feel regretful. I never did it to receive gratitude or benefits in exchange after all, or because I was shackled by morals, afraid of the thought "since you can help, then you have to. If you don't, you are evil".
—But, why did I do it then? It was simply for the pursuit of... the pursuit of what? I can't recall...
At that moment, the man averted his gaze. But for a fleeting second, and from a certain angle, the light passing through the window flipped, and what had been the outside scene became a mirror, reflecting the man's face.
In the blink of an eye, his reflection shifted from that of a youthful figure to his real self: a man who had just recently stepped onto the stage of old age, unsure when his end would come, with wrinkled folds and the mottled traces of time.
⸤...⸣
After the fleeting glimpse, Svak Yeoraz shut his eyes. He turned his back on the reflection, on the sight of his people outside too, dragging himself away from the window with calm steps, through a shrouding murk, as the sounds of neighbours, the distant vehicles, and the keening of the wind were no longer audible.
—So be it. At least I may finally find 'the treasure'... So please, don't be a mere myth... The man murmured in his mind, wading through the dark mist.
He bid farewell to himself, to everyone and everything.
Only in the face of the end, perhaps death, would he gain certainty: either everything amounted to nothing, or it meant — absolutely — everything.
...
After what felt like a flicker, Svak opened his eyes, and was met with a glorious sight. Before he could react, he fell into a shallow pool beneath.
The light quickly returned to his eyes. He witnessed a place pictured only in fiction. The fascinating, water-like liquid stretched beyond what the eye could see, more alluring than any bioluminescent waters one might witness on Mother Earth. It glistened in soft, shimmering waves. And it was warm and fluid, yet it refused to wet his clothes.
Standing up, absolutely mesmerised, he raised his head to find a celestial masterpiece — the night sky, vast and bright, painted with sparkling stars, galaxies and nebulae.
⸤...⸣
He froze in his place for a while, contemplating the scene. While looking around, he turned to face yet another celestial body — a turquoise moon shining with an ethereal glow. Reflected on the water like a perfect mirror, the mystical creation seemed so close yet so far — descending relatively quickly and approaching the horizon like an earthly dusk.
Unaware whether this was a reality or a dream, the man felt moved by the scene, to the point he almost shed tears of joy. As the turquoise moon got closer and closer to the horizon, he saw a dim light afar, appearing out of thin air.
Frantic, he began walking towards it. With each step, his speed increased, running in hopes of catching what he desired the most.
⸤The treasure I've always longed for?!⸣
As his pace quickened, his footsteps birthed quiet ripples that gradually turned into vivid arcs of bioluminescent spray. The light was about to grow brighter than that turquoise moon, but before he could reach it, he fell, and a loud splash followed. Then his consciousness — faded.
...
A blurred interval of time had passed. A millennium perhaps, or only a dozen days.
The man regained his consciousness at last, lying on the ground in a grassy field. The plain was vast and tranquil. The grass was deep verdant and reached his knees, and the sky gave a relaxing yet unsettling feeling.
This sky wasn't the usual cerulean blue, but a richer cobalt blue. Semi-clear, its clouds blended the grey with the cobalt. And although the mood might've seemed gloomy and dark, one could clearly tell it was still daytime because of threadlike sunrays — honey filaments.
Naturally, Svak was in turmoil, feeling extremely dizzy. But the dominant sentiment was disappointment — born of his failure to reach the dim light afar. He stood silent for a handful of breaths, as the gentle breeze swayed his hair strands back and forth.
Many questions crossed his mind — Where, how, and why? He also felt oddly energetic and lighter. This faint sensation introduced a possibility almost too good to be true.
—Wait! He thought, as he pulled out his phone.
And there it was, the reflection of his younger self — a stupefied man with clear skin, no grey hairs, and no eyebags. He was brimming with vitality.
⸤I'm young again! Matter of fact, I look better and healthier than ever,⸣ he spoke in a subdued, awestruck voice. His regal composure broke.
⸤Have I been granted my wish at last? Is this my second chance in life? To live for myself for once...⸣
Of all the literary works he had read — religious, philosophical, scientific, and even fictional, he had no answer to what he was experiencing now. Reincarnation? He hadn't even felt the throes of death. Migration to another world? But he had never dabbled in the forbidden arts.
Regardless of what the answer might be, he couldn't afford to linger for long and speculate; he was now in an alien environment, having no provisions. And who could guarantee his safety from hostile humans and carnivorous animals, should any exist?
...
Soon enough, and as he kept marching ahead, hands in his pockets, he discovered a flowing river.
He drank with relief; the water was crisp and invigorating. And so he voiced his regret: ⸤It's a shame I'm not carrying with me anything useful. If I had a bottle, I could've stored some if this water. I guess I should memorize the location of this river, or better yet I can just walk alongside it. I may even find some people residing near it.⸣
He proceeded forward, inhaling the fresh air. Never in his life was he this excited and optimistic, no matter the slight fear of the unknown.
Several hours had worn away. The nature of water remains the same, no matter which world — it is the source of life.
This was most likely the reason why there was a little cabin in front of him, sitting at the river's edge.
Standing before the wooden door — ordinary, yet unusually low — he was almost certain that whoever resided in this cabin was human, or at least similar.
Before he even decided to stoop to knock, the man noticed a parchment affixed to the rough-hewn wood.
Reaching out for the parchment, he unfolded it with care, careful not to tear it. At the first words, his eyes narrowed — he recognised the letter was unmistakably in the same language he himself spoke...
...
—Whoever is reading this, I hope you're doing well, although I know it is futile to hope for such a thing...
—As I'm writing this, I already decided to leave this cabin of mine by the next day. I'm just tired from the loneliness, and from losing my memories bit by bit, as my anxious heart cursed me with amnesia. Now, I cannot even include my name in this letter.
—It is unfortunate that I can't leave a story for someone to remember, but on the very least, I'm leaving this cabin to you, after it had served me for decades, or even for centuries. Maybe it will be of use to you.
—Before these words end, there's one humble advice I must offer: if the distress made you a forgetful person like I, and you forgot that one thing you mustn't forget, then you could only carve this instinct in your heart — to never dare die, whether others want your blood spilled, or you decide life is no longer worth living. These words are not compassionate — not a plea to avoid wasting your precious life; rather, they are a warning of that thing whose name I'm still too afraid to mention…