Chapter 9, Part 4: The Art of Obscurity

A profound decision settled in Elías's mind, one that would mark the very fabric of days in the intelligent village. He began to delve into human anatomy, not from polished medical texts, but through a primitive, observational approach. His goal was chillingly pragmatic: to create molds and special mechanisms to fashion the body of an adult, specifically that of an old librarian. Elías had no desire to expose himself. His cold logic dictated that to reveal himself as a brilliant young prodigy would only invite problems for his beloved village. Instinct, bolstered by his unique connection to nature's subtle cues, told him this was the wisest course. He was an anomaly, a quantum mind in a world unready for him.

His next move was a subtle, intelligent plan to introduce himself to the rural village chief. In these parts, old ways lingered; village chiefs, though less supported by central governments and more akin to laborers needing to frequent larger cities for trade, were still a common fixture. Elías would spend his days in the library, tending to the books, offering quiet greetings to the children. From his vantage point, arranging and rearranging the volumes, he observed the nuanced desires of each child as they read. They, in their innocence, simply thought he was the diligent caretaker of the books.

Yet, in Elías's mind, a vivid fantasy played out. He saw himself as a child prodigy, unveiling his revolutionary books to the world, guiding the children, proudly boasting of his creations that changed lives. But as night fell, and a normal, powerful wind swept through the farm – a normal wind, yet chemically a disaster in his dreamscape – his vision twisted. The dream shifted towards exposure. He found himself questioned relentlessly, his newfound wealth and reputation attracting unwanted attention. White sheep from his own village, or influential relatives from the capital, began to expose him, disagreeing with his rise, their resentment fueled by his sudden prominence. In this dream, as he matured, he resolved every challenge, but at an unbearable cost: he was exposed to the scrutiny of the nation where he was born, and then to other global powers. Without sufficient time or freedom to grow at his own pace, he was forced into a visibility he never desired. His life, once his own, became a pawn for others with ill intentions.

His quantum brain, even in slumber, accelerated time. He saw himself graduating, achieving everything possible within society without revealing his true nature. But in this dream, where accomplishments were based on fantasy, his parents vanished. The government, a dissecting force, tore him apart. Though he managed to escape and grow strong in this dream, he found himself utterly unable to adapt to a life of constant self-destruction. The dream culminated in a harrowing realization: true geniuses, he understood, were those capable of remaining hidden, avoiding exposure, kidnapping, and the destruction of their families. Elías was an anomaly; if his existence were known, he would be used for good or ill, his life no longer his own.

He fled in the dream, wounded, yet unable to confront the crushing forces of the entire world. Cornered, his advanced intelligence was useless; every path was closed to him. He faced all the world's powers in this dream-state. Just before he was bombarded, annihilated, he looked at the stars, focusing on that single, pristine moment, indifferent to how his body was being destroyed. The world, he perceived, was but dust before that cosmic wonder.

Upon waking, Elías remembered nothing of the dream's narrative. Only one word lingered by instinct: "occultation." The skill of concealment. Hiding merits, burying fame. With a cold jolt, his mind snapped back to reality, analyzing the profound difference between fantasy and truth. Reality was permanent, unyielding, and there was still a long road ahead. He sighed, the dream too fragmented to recall fully, yet its core lesson burned brightly. He methodically arranged the books, and as night fell, returned to the farm with his parents.

Driven by a greater passion now, Elías continued writing. This time, he aimed to make the books interesting, but deliberately not overtly attractive to adults. He gave them unassuming covers, designed to blend in, to not draw undue attention. Yet, his quantum brain still wove basic history and philosophy into these new volumes, solely to awaken the children's interest in truth. He felt a quiet excitement, aspiring to be a medium for biological and cognitive change, a silent investigator. He began to focus on new condiments, perhaps experimenting with natural flavorings from the farm, and he continued his quiet quest, searching through discarded "trash" for forgotten books and materials, ready to transform them into intellectual gold.