It started with a nagging thought, something so small and insignificant that I almost dismissed it outright. But as the days passed, it grew louder, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness like a persistent itch. It wasn't until I found myself staring blankly at an untouched plate of food that the realization hit me full force.
I hadn't eaten in days.
Not because I was too busy or distracted—no, this was different. My stomach didn't rumble, my body didn't ache for sustenance. There was no hunger, no craving, no need. At first, I told myself it was stress, exhaustion, maybe even some bizarre side effect of sleep deprivation. But deep down, I knew better.
This wasn't normal.
The Third Eye had changed more than just my perception—it was altering my very existence. The threads weren't just external; they were inside me, weaving through my veins, replacing flesh and bone with something… else. Something alien.
And yet, I felt fine. Better than fine, actually. Stronger. Sharper. More alive than I'd ever been before.
But the implications terrified me.
Every morning, I forced myself to sit cross-legged on the floor, attempting meditation despite the growing chaos within me. Each session was a battle—a test of willpower against the storm raging in my mind. The hands always came first, reaching for me with skeletal fingers, choking me, pulling me apart. Then came the whispers, their voices rising in a cacophony of laughter and screams.
*"You're changing,"* they hissed. *"Becoming something new."*
I tried to ignore them, focusing instead on the rhythm of my breath. Inhale. Exhale. Slowly, painfully, the hands would loosen their grip, retreating into the shadows. But the relief was fleeting. No matter how hard I fought, the madness lingered, waiting patiently for its next opportunity to strike.
Still, I persisted. Every day, without fail. Because if I stopped—if I gave in—I knew I'd lose myself completely.
One evening, after another failed attempt at meditation, I decided to take a walk. The city streets were alive with their usual chaos, but I barely noticed. My thoughts were consumed by questions I couldn't answer. What was happening to me? Was I still human? Or was I becoming something else entirely?
As I wandered aimlessly, I caught sight of my reflection in a storefront window. For a moment, I froze, staring at the stranger staring back at me. My eyes glowed faintly, an unnatural blue light emanating from beneath my skin. The scar on my forehead pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow, matching the beat of my heart.
I reached up to touch it, half-expecting it to burn beneath my fingertips. Instead, I felt nothing—just smooth, unbroken skin. But when I pulled my hand away, I saw the faint outline of threads coiling around my fingers, shimmering like spider silk.
A woman passing by glanced at me curiously, then quickly looked away, her pace quickening as she hurried past. I realized I must have looked deranged—standing there in the middle of the sidewalk, muttering to myself, surrounded by invisible forces only I could see.
But I didn't care anymore. How could I, when reality itself was unraveling around me?
That night, I returned to the notebook, flipping through its pages with desperate urgency. Surely, there had to be something—some clue, some explanation for what was happening to me. But the symbols remained indecipherable, shifting and rearranging themselves faster than I could follow. Frustration boiled over, and I slammed the book shut, throwing it across the room.
It landed with a dull thud, pages splayed open. As I stared at it, a single phrase caught my eye: **"THE THIRD EYE CONSUMES ALL."**
The words sent a chill down my spine. Consumes all. What did that mean? Was it referring to my physical body? My sanity? Or something far worse?
Before I could dwell on it further, the whispers returned, louder and more insistent than ever.
*"Feed it,"* they urged. *"Give it what it needs."*
"What does it need?" I whispered aloud, my voice trembling.
Silence. Then, softly, almost tenderly:
*"Everything."*
The next day, I decided to visit the man in the park again. If anyone could provide answers, it was him. But when I arrived, he was nowhere to be found. The bench where he usually sat was empty, the air around it eerily still. Even the birds seemed to avoid the spot, their songs fading into silence as I approached.
Frustrated, I paced back and forth, scanning the crowd for any sign of him. That's when I noticed something strange—a faint trail of crimson threads leading away from the bench, winding through the park like a bloodstained path.
Without thinking, I followed it.
The trail led me to a secluded grove, hidden from view by a ring of towering trees. In the center stood a stone altar, ancient and weathered, covered in intricate carvings that pulsed with a dim, otherworldly light. Kneeling beside it was the man, his head bowed as though in prayer.
"What is this place?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turned to face me, his expression unreadable. "A relic," he replied. "One of many scattered throughout the world. They serve as conduits for the Veil, anchoring it to our reality."
"And why are you here?" I pressed, stepping closer.
"To maintain balance," he said simply. "To ensure the cracks don't widen."
I studied him carefully, searching for any sign of deception. "Is that why you've been helping me? To use me as another anchor?"
His gaze hardened, and for a moment, I thought he might lash out. Instead, he sighed, shaking his head. "No, Akihen. I'm helping you because you're running out of time."
"What do you mean?"
"The Third Eye consumes everything," he explained, echoing the words from the notebook. "Your body, your mind, your soul—it takes it all. Eventually, there will be nothing left but the Eye itself."
My stomach churned, nausea rising in my throat. "So what happens then? Do I die?"
"No," he said quietly. "You become something else. Something neither living nor dead. A vessel for the Veil."
The weight of his words crushed me, pressing down on my chest until I could barely breathe. "There has to be another way," I insisted, though even I didn't believe it.
"There is," he admitted. "But it requires sacrifice. You must sever the connection between yourself and the Eye—rip it from your mind before it consumes you entirely."
"How?" I demanded, my voice cracking with desperation. "Tell me how!"
He hesitated, then gestured toward the altar. "Place your hand on the stone. It will show you the truth."
I stared at him, torn between fear and curiosity. Could I trust him? Did I have a choice?
Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and placed my palm on the cold surface of the altar. Immediately, visions flooded my mind—flashes of countless lives, each one ending in agony as the Third Eye devoured them whole. I saw Seers driven mad, their bodies twisted into grotesque forms, their minds shattered beyond repair. And I saw myself among them, kneeling before the altar, my eyes glowing brighter and brighter until they burned away everything around me.
When the visions finally subsided, I stumbled backward, gasping for air. Tears streamed down my face as I met the man's gaze.
"Now you understand," he said softly. "The cost of power. The price of survival."
I nodded, though my hands trembled uncontrollably. "What do I do now?"
"That's up to you," he replied. "But remember: the longer you wait, the harder it becomes to turn back."
As I walked away from the grove, the whispers returned, louder than ever, their voices overlapping in a symphony of chaos.
*"Feed it,"* they urged. *"Give it everything."*
For once, I ignored them.
Because deep down, I knew the truth.
The Third Eye wasn't just consuming the world.
It was consuming me.