It was just another day at the university.
Or so I thought.
I'd been here only a few days, still finding my footing in this new world. Classes blurred together, assignments piled up. The upcoming art exhibition everyone was raving about? Not even on my radar. The school was famous for its extravagant showcases, sure, but I was too busy trying to keep my grades afloat.
Then came that Wednesday afternoon.
Between lectures, I needed a quiet place to sketch—somewhere away from the constant buzz of campus life. Wandering aimlessly, I found myself descending into the lower levels of the university—a maze of hallways I'd never explored. The air down there was cooler, the silence almost palpable. Most students avoided these corridors unless they had a reason to be in the labs.
I wasn't expecting much. Just a secluded spot to think.
As I passed one of the rooms, I noticed the door was slightly ajar.
Curiosity tugged at me.
I glanced inside.
The room was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the bright studios upstairs. Rows of computers lined the walls. At the center stood a large workbench cluttered with sketches and blueprints. The soft glow from a nearby monitor cast eerie shadows across scattered papers.
Something drew me in.
An eye.
Detailed. Mechanical. Almost lifelike.
It was sketched over and over, annotations scribbled in cramped handwriting filling the margins. Words like "Bionic" and "Optical Enhancement" jumped out, repeated obsessively as if someone was desperately trying to perfect the design.
I stepped inside, heart pounding. Who was working on this? And why hide it down here?
I moved closer, careful not to disturb anything. The diagrams became more intricate—not just sketches but blueprints of a complex machine, far beyond anything we'd touched in my design courses.
At the top of one page, bold letters read:
Oculus Aeternum – Prototype III
Technical specifications filled the pages, equations and schematics that might as well have been written in another language.
"This isn't just art," I whispered, flipping through more papers. "What is this?"
Footsteps echoed in the hallway.
My stomach dropped.
I quickly returned the papers, my hands trembling, and slipped out the door just as a shadow stretched across the corridor.
I walked away briskly, trying to look casual, though my mind was racing. The sketches, the blueprints, the mysterious "Oculus Aeternum"—none of it made sense. Was this some secret project for the exhibition? But why keep it hidden?
The rest of the day passed in a haze, my thoughts tangled around the mysteries of the bionic eye prototype. Every step through the campus felt different, as though the secret I was carrying had shifted my entire world. The excitement of the discovery was tempered by the weight of the unknown—who had created this device? Why was it hidden in such an obscure place? And most importantly, what did it mean for me?
I couldn't focus. Even back home, the questions lingered, swirling in my head like an unsolvable riddle. To distract myself, I did what any sleep-deprived university student would: I lost myself in a video game.
By midnight, I was sitting in front of my PC, my room dimly lit by the glow of the screen. I fired up Black Myth: Wukong, the first Chinese AAA premium game that had taken the world by storm. In just two weeks, it had sold over 15,000,000 units, and it was easy to see why. The gameplay was seamless, the graphics stunning—each battle felt like an epic showdown between myth and reality.
For a while, the game did exactly what I needed it to. It transported me to another world, distracting me from the reality that had been gnawing at the edges of my mind since I stumbled upon the Oculus Aeternum. The thrilling boss fights, the rich Chinese mythology, the immersive gameplay—all of it pulled me in, if only for a few hours.
But as the clock ticked past 3 AM, I shut down the game, the silence of my room settling in like a heavy blanket. The day's events pressed against my consciousness, refusing to be ignored. The Oculus Aeternum was more than just a device—it was a door to something far greater than I could currently understand. And now that I had seen it, there was no going back.