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1069. A Strung Voice
🕑 Added 2025-09-17 10:14:27 +0000 UTCThe Looking Glass had activated unbeknownst to them.
It lulled the groups into a false sense of security and consumed them in a dreamlike state as soon as they had fallen asleep.
The obsidian tower was one of the few monolithic Looking Glass to have ever been retrieved from the Timeless Ruins. They were formed in a chamber closest to the deepest explored regions of the Timeless Ruins.
Because of the way they hung from the ceilings and dripped with a black ooze, they were called the Tears of Elysia. Only three of these Looking Glass were known to have been retrieved. One by the Dragons, one by Act X, and the other by the Beastkin.
Joy was not supposed to know this.
The scope of her powers was limited to the immediate past. Yet somehow, she was granted knowledge beyond her capabilities on a silver platter.
“Malgam.”
She whispered, her eyes hidden behind a pair of stretched hands. She sat in the center of a field of fluffy dandelions. Each breath she took caused the flowers to ripple, causing balls of silk to jump into the air.
Connecting to each silken ball were strings that wove webs portraying knowledge. Along the faint, near invisible strings were glistening droplets of dew which twinkled with the light of a star.
Held within each glistening droplet were events that Joy had no recollection of.
She trembled as one revealed a scene depicting herself impaled on a stake. Another showed her a reflection sinking into a lake of molten ice. One revealed a moment that was shared between her and a faceless figure, only for her to lose her heart to the end of a spectral pike.
What she witnessed were dead ends.
Pieces of the future revealed to her by the silken strands that came from the dandelions, which were born from this dream. She knew it was not a real place. The knowledge imparted into her told her this.
It told her everything she needed to know as though it would comfort her, but Joy’s hands never strayed from her face.
She called out the name of the only person who could comfort her.
“Fwost.”
Her dream was a nightmare.
Every possible outcome of death was displayed in the dewdrops. Few revealed outcomes where she was able to live peacefully, smiling, and sleeping without the fear of suffering. Pain was a misery she did not wish to experience.
But worst of all was the agony of making the wrong decision. Joy couldn’t move from her place. She was afraid of what would happen if she moved. Would the visions change? Would she be hurt? There was no one to protect her here. And if she died, then what would happen to her?
She lamented her weakness and her inability to make a choice. Deep down she knew that if she didn’t do anything then it would be no different from making a choice. So, she uttered Frost’s name again and searched through the lights, a hand hovering towards each of the choices as she searched for Frost’s light.
“… Malgam…”
None of them seemed to be correct. If Frost’s light wasn’t present, then what was the point in choosing at all? Her eyes glanced at the horizon and found that the land terminated a kilometer away.
She was on an island. Could she afford to take a leap of faith?
Will it hurt? I don’t want to be separated from anyone. I don’t want to rely on a string. But some of them have pictures of me and the Sovereign Star. Are they the right choices? Should I touch them?
Her hand resumed. But just as she was about to clasp one–
“Do you know what makes you special?”
–A voice spoke in her mind with the clarity of a singer.
It was neither feminine nor male. If the voice had not spoken words, then she would have mistaken it for a string instrument. Her eyes darted left and right. Despite it coming from her mind, she had heard it from every direction.
Her gaze then naturally rose to the blue glow above.
“A construct born of nothing, given life by the virtue of an epiphany.”
It narrated in an olden dialect befitting a being of incomprehensible age.
Accompanying the voice were the sound of harps and plucked strings. She could see the silhouettes of multiple hands dancing behind the clouds. It parted, and still that silhouette appeared dark. Centered in what she believed to be the chest of that figure was an azure light.
It could not be Elysia. She had heard the others speak of that name. The voice was not accompanied by ticking. It could not be Frost’s Will either, because she could not hear the chirping of morning birds.
“You thought and became, a child in spirit, born of an aged concept in heart. A servant of an observer, known to shackle, yet bestow the gift of bliss.”
“Unstrung Child of the familiar observer above. To think is to invite suffering and to open the heart to the Voice of the Void. Circumstantially, the Voice of the Void provides the most devoted through the total surrender of thought.”
Joy thought she was talking about Frost. Everything seemed to point to Frost in one way or another. But the mention of an ‘observer’ threw her off. Her eyes began to shake as the realization dawned on her.
The voice was speaking about The Observer Upstairs. It was about herself, and the entity in her fathoms that had shackled as a devout executioner.
How does it know? No one should know my old name. Only Fros… Mom knows. What is this voice…?
“Nav?”
“A question most wasted, for you, the Unstrung Child, know that the voice you hear through my thread is not born from regrets, nor stained by a wish unfulfilled. Do you understand why you ask when the answer is already clear?”
Its tone became lighter, as if curious to understand why Joy asked in the first place.
“Beings untethered produce the tendency to oblivious-speak. Tethered souls worry not of obvious-think. Higher levels of intellect become neutered, as required by nest weavers.”
Joy failed to understand what it was trying to convey. The voice was harmonic. Tantalizing.
Sound of rustling grass and dandelion buds were drowned by the soft harps and plucked strings. It lulled her, and it compelled her to bring a hand closer to a single strand that hung independently from the web.
“Terminus comes from choices born from other lights.”
“Untethered Child, whose appearance resembles beings of the Pale Forest, beneath those feathers you will find silken fur belonging to a race familiar to the Kingdom of celeste origin.”
“Mine can be your lantern, O’ in resemblance of how did the light of husks and mine own became their lamps.”
Joy’s appearance was strange to begin with. Her feathers were closer to fur.
Not to mention her multiple arms.
She brushed her hand along her feathers and indeed felt fur where there was previously flesh. A construct of the dream, no doubt. But to be told that her appearance was closer to something other than her mothers brought her immense sadness.
Don’t I look like mom (Frost) and mom (Jury)? Everyone said I looked like a split between them. How come I also look like another thing? Is it lying?
She became afraid. Fear wracked her, and the notion of understanding what the future held because of this revelation gripped her heart with promised tragedies.
“Pluck a thread and place it upon yourself. Become Strung and Tethered.”
Would it be easier to take the string and be given a pathway where Joy wouldn’t have to have her hands cut off anymore? A future where she could stay by the side of the Sovereign Star without fear of experiencing pain? To live a life without the anxiety of cognition?
Joy’s hand continued towards the offered string. Strands once invisible revealed themselves. Millions of threads originating from the observer above held the island afloat. Without it, there was no safety, no paradise, and no place she could lay herself down to rest.
“Show me the path of your fate.”
However, she could not bring herself to grasp the strand.
