March 20th「WebNovel Exclusive」

(V)—

Feiyu reclined within the enormous frame, his figure leaning against its intricately carved border. 

The gilded design beneath his fingertips felt cold, its surface textured with centuries-old etchings. 

Serpentine lines intertwined, forming a continuous pattern. 

Above him, the sky stretched into the painting's depths, enhancing its illusion of endlessness. 

Alas, this immense artwork severed the 'real' world beyond it.

In the distance, a boy sat perched on a low cloud, his figure diminutive against the expanse. 

An angel, ensnared in a world of oils and pigments, with brushwork so fine it blurred the truth between reality and art. 

His white wings folded neatly behind him, layers of sleek feathers overlapping.

"Did you know," Pherris mused, his voice resonating through the painting, "on the twentieth of March, a young man appeared in my dream?" His gaze was distant, yet his words reached Feiyu's ears as if spoken from directly beside him.

Feiyu tilted his head back against the frame's edge, exhaling softly. "Is that so? Did he have a name?"

Pherris nodded, and answered, "I've already deemed him the man with white hair in my mind. Though, according to another man I saw; who bore a strange resemblance to you—his name is Zhou Fang."

Feiyu hummed in contemplation. "And the one who looked like me?"

Pherris hesitated. His sandy eyes flickered indistinctly before he finally answered. "I do not know his name. But I am certain that he was not you."

Feiyu's hand stilled against the frame. 

Maintaining an even tone, he couldn't help but feel a growing curiosity. "What makes you so certain?"

Pherris nodded slightly. "My mind doesn't create; it merely reflects. I perceive only the memories of those who inhabit The Sequel. No one remembers you, so there is nothing to recall."

Feiyu observed him for a moment before leaning forward.

As his body inclined further into the painting, a familiar lightness enveloped him.

It was an odd sensation; the deeper he sank, the more he felt he belonged within the painted world.

He wondered if moving just a fraction more would cause Pherris to step out instead.

Pherris's voice pulled him back from his thoughts. "You're searching for him, aren't you? Zhou Fang."

Feiyu's lips curled faintly. "So, you've been paying attention."

The boy's wings rustled, his expression remaining unreadable.

After a brief hesitation, Pherris reached beneath his immaculate feathers.

His movements were slow and deliberate, parting the plumage as though sifting through fine silk. 

Each plume gleamed under the painted sky's light.

Finally, he withdrew a folded slip of paper.

Pherris extended it toward Feiyu. "I cannot move beyond this point. You will have to assist me."

Feiyu chuckled softly, his fingers grazing the frame before he shifted, allowing his legs to drape over into the painting.

The peculiar sensation intensified, as though he had been submerged in water, though he felt no wetness. 

For a fleeting moment, he almost sensed a breeze.

He reached out and grasped the slip between his fingers.

Once he had it, he withdrew, stepping back into the solidity of his own world.

The silence lengthened between them as Feiyu unfolded the slip.

His usually steady fingers tightened over the fragile paper.

A resigned sigh escaped him, his grip whitening his fingertips by three shades.

Without turning around, he asked in a far lower tone, "Where did you find this?"

Pherris leaned back onto his cloud. "I did not find it."

Feiyu remained silent, waiting for the small angel to elaborate.

The boy's voice remained soft, despite the gravity of his words. "I heard my brother say it before they slaughtered him."

Pherris glanced to his right as if expecting to see more than the painting's surface revealed. "The white-haired man seemed taken aback after he said it as though he recognized something. So, out of curiosity, I wrote it down."

Feiyu's fingers pressed harder into the paper, forming faint creases along the surface.

Pherris observed him from the corner of the frame. "No matter how many times I examined it, I couldn't grasp its meaning. Perhaps it's a poem, a riddle, or something only he would understand."

Feiyu exhaled softly through his nose, his lips parting slightly.

His eyes scanned the words as if they held more than mere ink.

His hands gradually relaxed, allowing the card to straighten slightly.

He tilted his head, gazing beyond the painting where Pherris lay.

The angel's expression was neither expectant nor indifferent.

Feiyu turned his attention back to the card.

Finally, he muttered under his breath, "You heard your brother say it before they slaughtered him."

Pherris inclined his head slowly. "Yes, his voice lacked sorrow or anger. Rather, it seemed to carry desperation which puzzled me the most."

Feiyu abruptly posed an unexpected inquiry: "An odd choice of words to utter at one's end, wouldn't you agree?"

Pherris responded with a contemplative hum.

Neither exchanged further conversation.

With a measured breath, Feiyu turned away from the painting, stepping down from its frame. He offered neither farewell nor further gratitude to Pherris.

His steps echoed softly against the polished floor, which mirrored the vibrant hues within the painting's frame.

Each footfall drew him deeper into contemplation, as the vast chamber swallowed the sounds.

Towering bookshelves lined either side, their untouched spines holding knowledge he had perused countless times.

He halted before an unlit candelabrum, eyes drifting once more to the card in his hand.

Then, as if he had been prompted by an engrained response, his gaze lifted.

At the top of the card, the date was meticulously inscribed, a timestamp of its origin, present even in The Original.

Feiyu pondered for a moment before arriving at an evident conclusion: 'This year and timeline don't exist in The Sequel. Therefore, aside from the individual who originally inspired this narrative's prelude, only the author could have comprehended his words.'

What the man had spoken in his final moments, was never intended for Zhou Fang, Hoku, or even his own sibling.

They were meant to reach another.

If that were the case, then that individual must have always been present in some capacity.

Unbeknownst to everyone else, the one they had eliminated was the sole person capable of recalling The Abundant Creator, thereby understanding his role and the fragment of his ability that had been disclosed to him. 

Similarly, that man had been the only one aware and still traversing the Sequel.

A faint chuckle escaped Feiyu, devoid of humor or warmth, followed by a grin that stretched across his face.

The Abundant Creator mouthed the words silently as if voicing them would tear through the fragile boundary between knowledge and revelation.

"I have finally found you."

. . .

"On this day, 02|15|1991

I dreamt. From this dream, I wrote. 

A story long and winding. 

So it would be forgotten, just as they do when a mystery lingers beyond measure within their universe.

When it is finished, I will unwrite the final stroke from the epilogue—and descend into endless rest.

To this dream, I will return, and I will stay... 

for eternity."

[II]

"03/20/2001

If I wake, and you still linger in this remnant of our past—

Then I will leave, and I will not turn back.

I will walk to the end alone.

And in doing so, I will forget you.

When I reach that end, you too will have forgotten me.

For it is not by my will, but by the Creator's actions, that I can never truly return.

And the reader, who is blind to what they have yet to decipher; will not grasp the weight of all they are about to lose."

「Extracted portion of "The Original"」

-End-