2. On The Parapet

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Source: .writer/books/5. đź“ť Manuscript/3. Reality Jumps/2. On The Parapet.org

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2. On The Parapet

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Leaving the throne room, I began ascending a spiral staircase made of shimmering veruvkite. I reached the parapet, pushing open doors crafted from transcendent metal that hummed with their own form of consciousness. Stepping out into the open air, I was greeted by a sky teeming with layered vistas of our six-dimensional plane. The vibrant colors of the great hand on the sky flickering in and out of existence, seamlessly journeying through unseen dimensions, the land of poets. Their patterns illuminated the spheres in fluctuating geometries, colliding and merging like ethereal dancers that would never stop.

The wind caressed my face, a blend of airs and scents coming from the extremities and junctions of our empire, each carrying textures I could never precisely describe. And as I stood there, these breezes seemed to ripple through me, like dimensional waves, resonating across the full spectrum of my deliberate mind.

For a moment, I felt perfectly aligned, as though every dimension of my being had found its counterpart in the surrounding world. My thoughts returned to the throne room and the weighty responsibility I had just been given. For long I have desired such opportunity, and even though countless had been my eons, the eternity I should face seemed much lighter given now that I could finally prove myself. Sighing, I looked down at the sprawling city below, where buildings stretched harmoniously across the valssidian shroud and the nurtaro desert, their architecture a rich tapestry of intricate geometries going way into the smaller and bigger scales of life.

As I contemplated the path that lay ahead, it struck me that the challenge I faced was monumental, yet, it should be done. The Val-Renda must be defeated and sent back to their spirals of beyond no matter what. I was not merely a warrior seeking to reclaim the name my father has stained. The success or failure of my mission were to decide the fate of Brakanta itself, whether our realm should continue at the hands of our people or what the mercy of invaders. Even if I had to give my life and give up eternity, that I would do.

Was I up to the task, though? The layered winds seemed to whisper an affirmation, resonating harmoniously with every smarj of my yrna. The kingdoms above and below, it seemed, were all in tune with my quest, as if acknowledging the pivotal role I was to play in the grand tapestry of our destiny. I felt invigorated, ready to wield the thatons with honor, wisdom, and bravery, for much as I knew the path ahead was fraught with peril. I will repent my father, I repeated in my mind, clenching my eyes.

My mind rested as I locked my eyes onto distance. The blanja silhouette framed against the fractured horizon, the sky meeting an array of junctures that changed infinitely like hypercubes, each spiral intersecting another in a beautifully organized chaos. Varied spectra of hues flowed and morphed through these spirals, indicating the harmonic dance of overlapping dimensions. It was an ever-changing, yet comfortingly constant canvas—a fitting backdrop for the monumental decisions that lay ahead. Then I turned away from the panoramic splendors of the parapet and was about to make my way back into the palace, when all of a sudden Satavi projected herself a few meters ahead of me, smiling.

“I am here to wish you luck.” She placed her hand over my left tentacle, in a signal of good faith. “I heard that the your uncle has accepted your offer, to don the thatons in sheer combat.”

“He was merciful in his decision,” I said. “Eternity shall not be my tormentor forever, blood of his blood, for a crime I had not even committed. I was not born when my father tried to take power.”

“Those were horrible times, my child. Many were killed, much as destroyed. That which has been born throughout the work of ages, ceased to exist in the glimpse of an eye.”

"I know, and that is why I must restore what has been lost and reclaim the honor of my lineage," I responded, my tentacles curling involuntarily at the thought.

"You bear the weight of eons and the hopes of time. It's an insurmountable task for many, but not, I believe, for you," Satavi asserted, her eyes projecting a spectrum of comforting lights. "But before you venture out to face the Val-Renda, remember that even the mightiest warriors need their moments of respite. Would you honor me by joining our feast? The air will be filled with harmonics that can soothe even the most restless. You will do you good."

"I would be most pleased to," I answered, grateful.

"Then it's settled," Satavi projected joyfully. “Please, follow me.”

She dissipated into a cascade of fractal geometries, and I followed suit, merging into the same intricate patterns as we both left the parapet. Just when I thought I was moments away from stepping into the feast room, an abrupt dissonance in my reality unfurled. It was as if my very essence was suffering a severe malfunction, a disintegration that shattered my sense of self into myriad fragments, plummeting me into an abyss of disorienting insanity. The experience was akin to the erratic flickering and warping of a holo-display, one that emitted an overwhelming cacophony of vivid colors, discordant sounds, fluctuating sensations, and disparate feelings—all coalescing into a singular, chaotic mass of incomprehensible confusion.

For a brief moment I was both beings at the same time, one called Mike Rajhalo Spencer, and the other called Ardinka Brois, beings whose lives have been so metaphysically departed that this very intermingling of realities seemed to break the most fundamental ontological laws. In the blink of an eye, I felt my whole body strapped to a bed as my mind convulsed in a torrential downpour of psychic turbulence, my thoughts and emotions swirling in a maelstrom of existential dread and ontological chaos. The mental upheaval was so intense it felt as though the fabric of my consciousness was being torn asunder, shredded into dissonant frequencies that defied any coherent understanding.

The concentric circles of Kallom-4000’s eyes laid just above me, as if staring at my soul.

“Are you still here, Mr. Mike? Can you hear me?” I heard, but I could not understand. “Hold tight, Mr. Mike! I am applying mathboosters to get you back into full cohesion!”