The man in the park didn't waste time. His instructions were brief, cryptic, and unsettlingly vague—just like everything else about him. He handed me a small, leather-bound notebook filled with diagrams, symbols, and notes written in a language I didn't recognize. Some of the pages were torn, others stained with what looked suspiciously like dried blood.
"This will guide you," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "But it is not enough on its own. You must seek out those who have walked this path before you."
"Other Seers?" I asked, flipping through the pages. The symbols seemed to shift and writhe under my gaze, as though alive.
He nodded. "Yes. But be warned—they are not allies. Some may help you, others may see you as a threat. Trust no one."
With that ominous warning, he stood and walked away, disappearing into the crowd without another word. I stared after him, clutching the notebook tightly in my hands. For a moment, I considered chasing him down, demanding more answers—but something told me it wouldn't do any good. Whatever secrets he held, he wasn't ready to share them yet.
---
Back in my apartment, I spread the contents of the notebook across the floor, examining each page carefully. The symbols continued to shift, rearranging themselves into patterns that made my head ache. It was as if the book itself was testing me, probing the limits of my sanity.
One diagram caught my attention—a spiral surrounded by concentric circles, with lines radiating outward like spokes on a wheel. Beneath it was a single phrase written in bold letters: **"THE WEAVE IS LIFE."**
I traced the pattern with my finger, feeling a strange warmth emanate from the page. As I did, the threads around me shimmered into view, responding to my touch. They pulsed with energy, vibrating in sync with the rhythm of my heartbeat. For the first time, I understood what the man meant when he talked about weaving. It wasn't just about manipulating the threads—it was about harmonizing with them, becoming part of their flow.
But understanding and doing were two very different things.
---
That night, I attempted to practice what I'd learned. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, I focused on the threads, trying to channel the energy within me. At first, nothing happened. Frustration bubbled up inside me, threatening to derail my concentration. Then, slowly, the threads began to respond. They coiled around my arms, wrapping themselves around my body like serpents. Their touch was cold but not unpleasant, sending tingles down my spine.
Encouraged, I pushed further, attempting to weave the threads together. It was like trying to braid smoke—they slipped through my grasp, unraveling faster than I could bind them. Sweat dripped down my face as I fought to maintain control, my muscles trembling with effort. Just when I thought I couldn't hold on any longer, the threads snapped taut, forming a glowing lattice in front of me.
For a brief moment, I felt invincible. Powerful. Like I could reshape reality itself.
Then the lattice shattered, exploding into fragments that pierced my mind like shards of glass. Pain erupted behind my eyes, blinding and unbearable. I collapsed onto the floor, gasping for air, my vision swimming with spots.
When the pain finally subsided, I found myself staring at the ceiling, my chest heaving. The whispers returned, louder than ever, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of laughter and screams.
*"You're weak,"* they taunted. *"You'll never be strong enough."*
I clenched my fists, fighting back tears of frustration. Maybe they were right. Maybe I wasn't cut out for this. But giving up wasn't an option—not anymore.
The next day, I decided to follow the man's advice and seek out other Seers. The notebook contained a list of names, each accompanied by a location scrawled in the margins. Most of them were crossed out, but one name stood out: **Evelyn Cross**. Beside it was an address—a dilapidated building on the outskirts of the city.
As I approached the structure, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. The windows were boarded up, the walls covered in graffiti. A faint hum vibrated in the air, making my skin prickle. The threads here were denser, darker, twisting together in chaotic knots that seemed to pulse with malevolent energy.
I hesitated at the entrance, unsure whether to proceed. But curiosity—and desperation—won out. Pushing open the door, I stepped inside.
The interior was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from flickering fluorescent bulbs overhead. The air smelled of mildew and decay, and the floor creaked beneath my weight. In the center of the room stood a woman, her back turned to me. She wore a long coat that hung loosely on her frame, and her hair was tied back in a messy bun.
"You shouldn't be here," she said without turning around. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a knife.
"I'm looking for Evelyn Cross," I replied, my tone cautious.
She turned slowly, revealing piercing green eyes that glowed faintly in the darkness. A jagged scar ran down the side of her face, marring her otherwise striking features. When she spoke again, her words carried an edge of menace.
"You found her. Now leave."
"I need your help," I said quickly, taking a step forward. "I'm a Seer. Like you."
Her expression darkened, and she let out a bitter laugh. "A Seer? Is that what they're calling us now? Pathetic."
"I don't have time for games," I snapped, losing patience. "The Veil is breaking. Cracks are forming. If we don't fix it—"
"I know what's happening," she interrupted, her voice dropping to a growl. "And I also know there's nothing we can do about it. The Third Eye isn't a gift—it's a curse. It consumes everyone who wields it. Eventually, you'll lose yourself too."
Her words struck a nerve, echoing the doubts that had been gnawing at me since the beginning. But I refused to believe her. Not entirely.
"There has to be a way," I insisted. "If we work together—"
"We?" she spat, stepping closer. "Listen to yourself. You think you're special? That you can save the world? Let me tell you something, kid—the world doesn't want saving. It's already broken. And so are we."
Before I could respond, the threads around her erupted into motion, swirling violently like a storm. She raised her hand, and a bolt of energy shot toward me, forcing me to dive out of the way. The impact shattered a nearby wall, sending debris flying in all directions.
"Get out!" she shouted, her voice reverberating with power. "Before I decide you're not worth sparing!"
I scrambled to my feet, adrenaline coursing through my veins. As much as I wanted to argue, to convince her to help me, I knew it was pointless. She wasn't going to listen. Not today.
Backing away slowly, I turned and ran, the sound of her laughter ringing in my ears.
By the time I reached the safety of my apartment, my body was trembling with exhaustion. The encounter with Evelyn had left me shaken, but it also clarified one thing: relying on others wasn't going to work. If I wanted to survive—if I wanted to fix the Veil—I would have to do it alone.
As I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the notebook in my lap, the whispers grew louder, their voices overlapping in a symphony of chaos.
*"You can do this,"* they urged. *"You must."*
For once, I agreed with them.
Because deep down, I knew the truth. The madness wasn't just a side effect of the Third Eye—it was fuel. And if I could harness it, I might stand a chance.
But at what cost?