Weight of Eternity

All these thoughts of figuring out whats real, right and wrong, whats truth, the right path, the right people. These all thoughts kept swarming in my mind. Now I even feel strange to call it my mind. Its not mine at all. I am not in control. 

I have wasted good amount of time all these days since the appearance of this scar. Despite the realization. I still want to waste more time or rather give myself some time.

The world outside my apartment buzzed with life—cars honked, people chattered, and the city pulsed with its endless rhythm. But inside, there was only silence. The walls of my small, dimly lit room seemed to absorb the noise, creating a cocoon where time itself felt irrelevant. I sat cross-legged on the floor, my back against the bed, staring at the faint glow of the scar on my forehead reflected in the cracked mirror across the room. The scar pulsed softly, a quiet reminder of the power I had been given—or cursed with.

Money, the thing that once dictated the lives of everyone around me, meant nothing now. I had no use for it. Everything I want right now, cannot be gained through money. The pursuit of wealth, status, survival—it all felt trivial, like a child's game I had outgrown. I wasn't aging. My body was frozen at 22, a cruel joke played by the Fractured Veil or whatever force had chosen me. I was stuck in a loop, a perpetual state of existence where the world moved forward, and I remained still.

"What is time to someone who doesn't age?" I muttered to myself, my voice echoing in the empty room. "A river that flows around me, never touching me, never changing me. But what does it matter if I'm just a rock in its path? A rock doesn't feel. A rock doesn't think. A rock just… exists."

I leaned my head back against the bed, closing my eyes. The whispers were quieter here, as if even they respected the solitude of this space. But the silence was its own kind of noise, a deafening emptiness that pressed against my chest. I had power—more than most could ever dream of—but what good was power if I couldn't understand it? If I couldn't control it?

"Why me?" I asked the air, my voice barely above a whisper. "What's the point of all this? To see the threads of Aether? To bend them? To what end? To protect a world that doesn't even know I exist? Or is it just chaos, random and meaningless, like everything else?"

I opened my eyes and stared at my hands. They looked the same as they always had—pale, slender, unremarkable. But they weren't the same. They had woven threads of Aether, shattered walls, and touched the impossible. They had carried me into the Fractured Veil and brought me back. And yet, they felt empty now, like tools without a purpose.

I stood up and walked to the window, pulling the curtain aside just enough to peer out. The city sprawled below, a labyrinth of lights and shadows. People moved through the streets, their lives interconnected in ways they couldn't even see. I envied them. They had purpose, even if it was small. They had each other.

"Humans are social creatures," I said softly, my breath fogging the glass. "We're not meant to be alone. We're not meant to carry the weight of eternity on our shoulders. But here I am, standing on the edge of something vast and incomprehensible, with no one to share it with. No one to tell me if I'm doing it right. No one to pull me back when I go too far."

I let the curtain fall back into place and turned away from the window. The room felt smaller now, the walls closing in around me. I had spent so much time chasing power, trying to understand it, control it. But now, I realized, what I really wanted was connection. Someone to stand beside me, to see what I saw, to feel what I felt. Someone who wouldn't betray me, manipulate me, or leave me.

But who could that be? The man in the park was a mystery, his motives unclear. Liora was a ghost, her presence fleeting and dangerous. And the people outside—the ones living their normal, mundane lives—they could never understand. They would never even believe.

I sat back down on the floor, my legs folding beneath me. The scar on my forehead pulsed faintly, its warmth a constant companion. I reached up and touched it, feeling the raised skin beneath my fingertips.

"Maybe that's the price," I said to the empty room. "Maybe power like this demands loneliness. Maybe the Fractured Veil doesn't just take your sanity—it takes your humanity. But if that's true, then what's the point? What's the point of being strong if there's no one to share it with? What's the point of seeing the threads of Aether if I'm the only one who can see them?"

The silence answered me, heavy and unyielding. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath, trying to push the thoughts away. But they lingered, like shadows in the corners of my mind.

I needed someone. Not to guide me, not to use me, but to stand beside me. To remind me that I was still human, even if the world around me was anything but. But for now, all I had was myself—and the whispers that never stopped.

Why can't people I meet answer my questions seriously with simplicity , everyone has to be weird. They just think about their own life and act accordingly. But my freedom has been taken away from me.

The path ahead was uncertain, and the weight of eternity pressed down on me. But I would keep going. I, myself do not have control over me. I had to thrive. Because if I didn't, who would?

I just wished I didn't have to do it alone.