The Hidden Answer

"Brute, brute… bye, bye.

Light, light… hi, hi.

Punch, punch… no, no.

Loose, loose… gone, gone."

I stared at those words for long seconds, my facial muscles tightening in sheer frustration.

"Now I understand why they say the giants were a lost cause," I muttered, grinding my teeth.

What kind of nonsense riddle was this?! 

My mind was racing, searching for patterns, connections—anything that could help me make sense of what the hell those words meant.

"Rough, rough… bye, bye? Loose, loose… gone, gone?" None of it added up. What did "rough" mean? What did it mean to be "loose"? What exactly was this riddle trying to tell me?

Countless questions popped up in my mind like thorns, each one more confusing than the last. A headache started to pulse at my temples, the result of both mental strain and the ridiculous amount of time I'd been stuck in this endless loop of madness.

And then…

"Woof." The wolf pup stirred in my arms, letting out a small, lazy sound, stretching as if nothing unusual was happening.

My eyebrow twitched. "Sleeping Beauty finally decides to wake up, huh?" Irritation dripped from my voice. I needed to vent my frustration somehow—and right now, the pup was the only viable target.

He lifted his head, blinking slowly at me before letting out a second bark, short and sharp.

If I had to translate, it sounded something like "Not my fault you didn't sleep."

I took a deep breath, feeling my patience slip away.

"You know what… you're right." My eyes unfocused slightly. "I miss being that carefree. Wish I could go back to being so…"

I stopped. My mind froze for a moment.

And then—click.

"Carefree." My eyes widened. "Non-Newtonian fluids!" The answer had been right in front of me all along.

A shiver ran down my spine. How had I not seen it sooner?! The words in the riddle were describing the behavior of a non-Newtonian fluid.

"I'll never complain about Carlos' boring lectures again," I murmured, nearly laughing in disbelief.

It finally made sense. The lines "Rough, rough… bye, bye" and "Punch, punch… no, no" meant that if I applied too much force, I'd be repelled.

Meanwhile, "Light, light… hi, hi" and "Loose, loose… gone, gone" indicated that if I moved gently, I'd sink. 

"Depending on the force applied, the reaction changes!" This wasn't a meaningless riddle—it was a warning. "But a warning about what?"

I glanced around, searching for anything—anything—that might fit within this revelation. But there was nothing here for me to "sink" into. The liquid dripping down the wall was too far away, and even if I reached it, it was too shallow for anything to submerge. The walls, though worn down, were identical—no ledges, no differences that could explain the riddle.

What the hell was I missing? The only thing truly moving here… was me. Me and the wolf pup, tumbling through this endless void, trapped in an infinite fall.

I closed my eyes for a moment. "Alexander, breathe in… breathe out… breathe in… breathe out…" I murmured to myself, forcing my mind to settle, to organize my thoughts.

Amidst the chaos, I focused on controlling my breathing, and without even realizing it, the wolf pup unconsciously mirrored me.

"Woof, woof."

My attention snapped back to him. The sound was soft but… oddly rhythmic.

My brow furrowed. "Skipping the terms and going straight to the concepts." I muttered, barely aware I was speaking.

And then—my eyes widened. Those were the exact words I had said to White Wolf. My mind stalled for a second.

I glanced at the pup, who blinked at me with innocent eyes. 

'I must be imagining things' I shook my head, trying to clear away the scattered thoughts. But no matter how absurd the idea seemed, something about it made sense.

The answer wasn't in the words themselves—it was in the concept behind them. I wasn't supposed to focus on what was written literally, but rather on what the message was trying to teach me.

"I know what to do." Without hesitation, I adjusted my breathing again.

This time, slower.

Calmer.

The pup followed my lead once more, his small chest rising and falling in sync with mine.

I closed my eyes.

I let every muscle in my body relax completely.

I emptied my mind.

I let go of fear, of tension.

And for the first time since this endless fall began…

I surrendered to the flow of the unknown.

...................

My consciousness was an ocean of fog.

The void around me seemed to dissolve, the endless fall replaced by a strange sensation… as if I were being pulled. My mind wavered between reality and the unknown, a heavy weight pressing against my head, making it nearly impossible to think clearly.

And then, mechanical voices began to echo in the darkness.

— "Protokollr virkr."

— "Jaktar dómarinn byrjar…"

A sharp ringing shot through my mind. My brow furrowed, my body tensing instinctively.

'What…?' The words hammered into my skull, reverberating in the depths of my mind, yet they made no sense.

— "Villr. Villr."

The metallic voices layered over one another, as if dozens were speaking at once.

My chest rose and fell heavily. My eyelids fluttered, but they were still too heavy to fully open.

— "Mistak. Erfingi óhæfur."

'Erfingi…?' That word… it felt familiar.

My heart skipped a beat. I knew this language. I'd seen it before.

It was Jotundrim.

— "Endurstilla mælikvarða…"

A shiver crawled down my spine, something was wrong. I tried to move my fingers, feeling an odd numbness spreading through my muscles.

'What was happening?'

— "Greina aðstæður…"

The voices were getting louder. Closer.

I tried opening my eyes again, but all I could see was a pale glow… and shadows flickering around me.

— "Leita að valkostum…"

'What the hell is happening…?!'

My breathing quickened. The discomfort in my chest grew sharper as the voices continued, more intense, more piercing.

— "Úrvinnsla…"

A buzz sliced through my head, like something was being driven into my skull.

No… it wasn't just a sound. It was a presence. Something was here, something was watching me.

— "Engir valkostir tiltækir."

My breath hitched.

The voices stopped. And then, a final phrase echoed—heavy, absolute.

— "Virkja Verndara."

A blinding light consumed my vision.

And I finally woke up.

My mind was still hazy, my senses scrambled, as if I'd been ripped from a deep sleep without warning. Everything around me felt warped, muted, unreal.

But then, I saw it, something was there. Too close, a tall, shadowed figure loomed before me, watching.

"HAAAA!" Panic took over my body before I could even think.

Instinctively, a burst of wind erupted around me. The current flung me backward, pushing me away from that thing. My feet hit the ground, skidding against the smooth surface. My breath came in ragged gasps, my muscles coiled tight.

But… it didn't retreat. The figure moved again, closing the distance without hesitation.

This time, I stayed still. 

I watched.

And it watched me.

It circled around me, its body gliding unnaturally smoothly, without making a single sound. It was tall. Thin. Completely black, covered in golden markings—inscriptions or pulsating circuits. Its four limbs were linked by mechanical joints, moving with absolute precision.

A machine?

A robot?

'You've got to be kidding me…' My mind struggled to process everything, but one thing unsettled me more than anything else.

It was staring at me.

Observing me.

And… The worst of all. It had no face.

A shiver ran down my spine. 'I hate mannequins…'

The mechanical figure halted abruptly, as if reaching a conclusion.

And then, it spoke. — "Greining erfingja…" — A metallic, low, distorted voice echoed through the space.

'What the hell is it saying…?!'

"Reikna…"

The machine tilted its head—or what should have been a head—slightly to the side, as if analyzing something invisible to the naked eye.

"Frávik í viðbrögðum… óvænt hegðun…"

My fists clenched. I didn't know whether to run or try to figure out what the hell was happening.

"Samanburður við fyrri skrár…"

The machine lifted one hand.

I tensed immediately.

"Óþekkt breyta uppgötvað… erfingi sýnir frávik…"

I swallowed hard.

'Erfingi… it's talking about me?!'

It began moving again—this time slower, more deliberate.

I felt like I was being studied.

"Metur viðeigandi ráðstafanir…"

My eyes widened.

'Wait… 'appropriate measures'?!'

The machine tilted its head slightly toward me.

— "Ákveðið… HALDA ÁFRAM."

The metallic voice reverberated through the space.

And then—it lunged. Fast. Precise.

Before I could even think about reacting, I felt something cold press against my forehead.

— SHNK! —

Something thin and sharp pierced my skin.

But there was no pain. No blood.

My breath hitched in my throat. My muscles locked up.

It was so fast… so precise…

If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have even felt it.

The machine withdrew immediately, its movements calculated, smooth—like an automaton untouched by any external force.

My hands shot to my forehead, my fingers probing the spot where it had touched me.

Nothing. No wound. No mark. No strange sensation.

I stared at the machine, my heart still hammering against my chest.

"..."

I didn't dare move.

It remained still for a long, unsettling moment. Then, its body trembled slightly, as if adjusting itself. It made a series of strange motions—rolling its wrists, tilting its head from side to side, its limbs contorting at almost impossible angles.

And then…

"Initializing… Language Module activated."

My expression shifted entirely.

'I understood that.'

This time, I understood what it said. The once-distorted metallic sound now made perfect sense in my mind.

'But how?!'

Before I could process it, the machine trembled again.

"Module Two activated… Executing the will of Abel Dracknum."

'Abel Dracknum?!'

The shock barely had time to settle before the machine's body began to reshape itself.

Its limbs contracted, its metallic frame folding and remolding as if it were living clay.

From its smooth, featureless face, shapes began to emerge—lines carving themselves out as if something was forcing its appearance to take form from nothing.

Its eyes—once nonexistent—began to take shape, gaining depth, glowing with an intense golden hue. Its previously black and cold surface gained texture, warmth… color. Human skin—unnaturally pale.

From within its joints, tissues began to emerge, weaving themselves into its form. Clothes materialized out of thin air, wrapping around its torso and arms. 

Hair began to sprout from its scalp, growing slowly—white as snow. A short, well-groomed beard formed along its chin and jaw, seamlessly blending into its newly formed face.

And when the transformation was complete… The machine was no longer a machine. It looked like… a man.

Tall. Very tall. Commanding. His posture unwavering. His golden eyes glowed faintly as they scanned me from head to toe.

He wore deep blue garments with black and silver accents—clothing reminiscent of the ceremonial robes of noble figures or the grand warriors of centuries past.

Then, he sighed.

He sighed, as if he had lungs. As if he were truly alive. And then, he spoke. "Never thought that after all these years, the first one to appear would be so…"

His eyes traced over me.

The tattered cloak. The torn clothes. the slightly scorched right hand. The unkempt, dirty hair. The hollow eyes, sunken with exhaustion.

"So… so pitiful." There was a restrained disdain in his tone. "But well, it is what it is."

He lifted his shoulders slightly, as if resigning himself to an inevitable fate. "At least you're a descendant. Better than nothing."

My heart skipped a beat. 'He… he knows who I am?'

Before I could react, he finally looked me directly in the eyes. A faint smile—almost ironic—curved at the edges of his lips.

"Welcome, descendant. Son of Dracknum."