The rift shimmered before him, a fracture in reality glowing a soft, golden hue laced with ripples of energy that felt both alien and familiar. It pulsed faintly, like the beat of his own heart, filling the room with an unspoken tension.
Merir knelt on the floor, the cool tiles grounding him as his trembling hands hovered at his sides. His hazel eyes were wide, fixed on the glowing tear that had appeared in the middle of his room, its golden light reflecting off the fractured mirror he hadn't dared to touch since the words "The mirror shatters" had reshaped it.
The system's cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind:
"Welcome, Mark Malaya. Your Ability has been activated: 'I Say, Therefore I Am.' Progression Level: Novice of Lies."
"Mark Malaya," Merir whispered, his voice hoarse. The name lingered on his tongue like a foreign truth breaking through the walls of his mind. He touched his chest as though the name might have been carved into his skin. "Who... who is that?"
The memories that came with the name remained distant—flashes of impossible metal spires piercing a smog-choked sky, streets bathed in harsh neon light, so unlike the divine glow of Lumina.
He felt like a stranger in his own skin.
"What is this?" Merir's voice trembled as he spoke, rising unsteadily to his feet. His knees threatened to buckle beneath the weight of the revelation. "What is happening to me?"
The tear pulsed in response, and the calm yet unyielding voice answered:
"This world defines your existence, Orphan of Light. Beneath your inherited name lies something far truer. You wield the power of spoken lies—shaping the unreal into reality. Use it wisely. Overreach brings consequence."
Merir staggered back a step, his heart pounding in his chest. I can shape reality? The words haunted him. "No," he muttered, shaking his head as though denying it could free him. "This can't be real." But his eyes flicked to the shattered mirror. *And yet it is.*
He turned back toward the tear, his breath coming quick. The spark of fear mingled with something he dared not name: exhilaration.
"Alright," Merir whispered, his voice barely audible over the silence of the room. "If this is real—if this power is real—then I need to understand it."
The voice responded, sharp and measured, as though it already knew his thoughts:
"Lie Gauge: 100%. Lie Slots Available: [0/5]. Recording system is online. Speak a command to proceed."
"What does that… mean?" he muttered, his mind racing. "Lie Gauge? Lie Slots?"
The system didn't answer. It left him with only the knowledge that these limits existed—boundaries he didn't yet understand.
Merir looked toward the fractured mirror again, its jagged surface reflecting distorted fragments of his thin, trembling self. "Fine," he said slowly, letting the words settle in his throat. "I'll start... small."
He closed his eyes, focusing on the simplest, smallest idea he could think of. The edges of the tear seemed to hum faintly with anticipation as he opened his mouth.
"I say, therefore I am: My footsteps make no sound."
At once, the tear rippled outward, a golden pulse washing over the room like a silent wave. For a moment, nothing seemed to change. Merir frowned, stepping forward instinctively—and froze.
His step had made no sound.
He stomped harder into the polished floor, panic flashing through him for a brief moment. Nothing. No echo, no vibration, no sign that his movement existed at all.
His lips parted in awe. It *worked.* Reality bent to his words.
The voice returned, cold but clear:
"Minor Lie Successful. Lie Gauge: 95%. Lie Available for Recording. Would you like to proceed?"
"Yes," he whispered, his voice breathless.
"Lie Recorded: 'My footsteps make no sound.' Lie Slots: [1/5]. Remaining Slots Available: 4."
Merir swallowed hard, taking another step, then another. The silence followed him like an invisible shadow, amplifying the beating of his heart until it felt like the only sound in the world.
"This is no illusion," he muttered, clenching and unclenching his hands. "This… isn't... Mirage."
But even as his exhilaration grew, curiosity gnawed at him. The command he had spoken was small, a flicker in reality. How far could the lie go?
---
He turned toward an empty corner of the room, where the faint light of the evening sun bled in through the windows and pooled across the gleaming floor.
"Let's raise the stakes."
Merir lifted his hand, his voice steadying as he shaped the lie. "I say, therefore I am: The light bends."
The words left his mouth and caught in the air like a physical force, rippling outward. The tear in reality shook violently, a louder pulse spreading through the room. Merir shut his eyes as warmth consumed him, then blinked in disorientation as the sensation passed.
Something was different.
Merir looked down at his hands—and froze. They weren't there. His throat tightened as he moved each trembling hand experimentally, watching as faint, warped distortions danced where his fingers should have been. The world around him flickered slightly as though an invisible veil had draped itself over him, hiding him.
"It… worked," he whispered, his voice filled with disbelief.
The voice of the system interrupted his thoughts, crisp and sharp as ever:
"Minor Lie Successful. Lie Gauge: 90%. Lie Available for Recording. Would you like to proceed?"
"Yes," Merir said immediately, eager to secure the lie.
"Lie Recorded: 'The light bends.' Lie Slots: [2/5]. Remaining Slots Available: 3."
Still invisible, Merir took a hesitant step forward, the silence of his footsteps now compounding with the eerie invisibility of his form. His breath came ragged, the air around his faint outline shimmering like a mirage in the desert. "This… this is power," he said, his voice trembling.
But his chest felt heavier now, strained. His footsteps faltered as he leaned against the wall, catching his breath. He could feel the energy draining from him, a faint exhaustion spreading through his body.
"Lie Gauge…" he murmured, remembering the earlier voice. There was no denying that using this ability—bending reality—was costly. Each lie pulled more from him, the strain threading into his core.
He stayed still as the shimmering distortion faded, his form gradually returning. His legs felt weak, his chest tight. He reached for the cracked mirror and leaned against it, wary now of how far he should push his power.
Something sharp rose in him then—a resolve that wasn't born from glory or pride but from sheer defiance. Mirage, the fragile flicker of a name, was supposed to define him? No.
For now, he was still too weak. But soon, this power would reveal who he truly was.