"It is a very strange request…"
The man had remained standing, motionless, long after his interlocutor had ascended and evaporated, as if her essence had become too heavy, too inconsistent for this place. It was an unusual phenomenon, yet the man seemed troubled not by this departure, but by the words the young woman—who had been with him just a moment ago (if the term "moment" even exists in this world)—had left behind before leaving.
"Strange, very strange."
The man repeated these words in his deep and melodic voice, which was quite peculiar, given that the very existence of this individual and the place where he moved seemed to defy the impossible.
It would certainly be difficult to describe the surroundings in a natural way; indeed, the visual concept of spatial perception did not seem to apply here. For the simple and good reason that space did not exist in this place.
No, it would be more accurate to say that space did not follow physical or material logic. There was nothing tangible, nothing palpable, and it existed in disproportionate scales that reached down to the subatomic level. Yes, nothing could exist here—nothing in shape or in color.
Yet, more than being seen, an environment could be perceived, and instinctively, the answer as to why revealed itself. This place is a conceptual dimension, a space of primary ideas and notions that intertwined and gathered at this point. Thus, it is not through vision but through the representation of this place that one could describe it.
And so, a floor of white stone slabs is represented, in a circular shape, or at least carrying the idea of a circular shape. All around the room, in a most bizarre display, a massive hurricane swirled, serving as both wall and boundary. The hurricane in question seemed limitless, extending far below the platform and high above it, composed of a myriad of colored cords, each different from the next, moving up and down with infernal velocity.
Yet, despite this seemingly violent phenomenon, a relative calm reigned around the man standing with his back turned in the middle of the platform. He wore a long midnight-blue boubou that trailed to the floor, adorned with white patterns representing complex line diagrams and golden embroidery.
Hanging from the sky-blue fabric belt cinched around his waist, as well as on each of his wrists and his neck, were amulets and gris-gris composed mostly of white cowrie shells. His complexion was black, like chocolate, and his black hair, streaked with gray, was styled in a simple two-tone shave.
His presence in such a place was unusual, for nothing living should be able to exist there. Yet, hearing him mutter to himself, one could hardly doubt his status as a living being… human, if not humanoid. Thus, a simple conclusion imposed itself: he, too, was a concept.
A living concept.
The man in the boubou, hands behind his back, walked with slow and steady steps, even if it was difficult to see any progression in his movement. Around him, the hurricane of lines now hummed loudly, like a boat engine, making a low and threatening noise as he moved. The man suddenly raised his right hand, making the cowries on his wrist click like bells, and the vortex calmed instantly. The colored cords composing the hurricane continued to move up and down, but with great slowness, as if in slow motion.
The man kept his hand raised, fist clenched, and continued to whisper to himself.
"It is the first time I have seen such an evolution in the infinity of alternate universes. It is true that this version of her is the only one in all reality capable of speaking to me, but she is, above all, the only one to ask for such a thing. Very strange. She is not supposed to think or react this way…"
The man paused for a moment of reflection, as if putting his thoughts in order. Then, slowly, he moved his left hand from behind his back and raised it as well. The hurricane froze instantly, the lines stopped mid-motion. The man then opened the palms of both hands, and several of the lines unraveled and contorted in every direction, filling the space.
In an instant, he was surrounded by colored cords floating everywhere and glowing faintly while vibrating, as if coursing with energy.
Most of the cords were composed of several fibers of different colors intertwining; there were also rare cases where a single color predominated. And finally, one could see two black cords with a crumbling appearance, as if they had been charred. Slight dark filaments detached and gravitated around them. The man, still with his back turned, drew these two exceptions toward him with a wave of his hand and let them slide delicately over his fingers. At this simple contact, the fibers composing them disintegrated further, producing more dark particles in the air.
"Is this still your influence, Majesty?" the man asked in a dreamy tone.
"Or did I simply fail to notice such a difference because it will certainly not carry much weight in the grand schemes? No, knowing myself, I would not have ignored such a case… Especially since it is a brand-new universe…"
The man let the two black cords slip away to float back into the air and reached out his hands to catch another combination of threads. This one was gifted with a myriad of colors, but those that stood out the most were the black and white colors intertwining.
"Perhaps I should have taken more interest in this new alternative, seeing as those two chose it to find each other again. Mind you, it is never really too late for me…"
The man let the multicolored cord swirl around him for a moment in a most hypnotic undulating motion before catching it delicately with his right hand. The cord stiffened into a perpendicular straight line that lost itself in the depths of the motionless hurricane.
"Let us see your influence on existence through the sembou", the man said, snapping his fingers.
The snap seemed to reverberate along the cord, which vibrated with energy. Then the phenomenon occurred, causing the man to take a step back. The myriad of cords from the hurricane, along with those already floating in the air, gathered instantly around the perpendicular line, drawn to its center. So much so that the man was now inside a kind of tent made of energy threads, the summit of which was an imaginary midpoint of the multicolored cord.
The man contemplated the phenomenon for a long time, plunged into a stunned silence. Then, faintly, a light laugh was heard. At first hesitant and almost nervous, then louder and louder before descending into hilarious hysteria. The man rejoiced like a madman, like a being who had not known joy for centuries. He gave himself over to this pleasure with the same fervor as a man in a desert of white sand who, after long days of painful wandering, has found a source of pure water and gorges himself on it.
The laughter seemed to last an eternity, but also an instant. In any case, the man eventually calmed down and regained his composure.
"Well, it is a bit embarrassing to lose control like that." he whispered to himself.
"There is nothing left that is truly joyful for me in this story, but it has the merit of being entertaining. Thus, here is the convergence of worlds… Let us see if all things will survive their end."
The man gripped the colored cord, and the hurricane returned to its original form, swirling gently around the stone platform. He let the cord slide over his wrist, and reflections of images appeared like a hologram just above his head.
First, the image of two hands joining, surrounded by power energy. Then the scene changed to show incandescent chains glowing brightly and casting sparks. Finally, the projection stopped on a blood-stained man, his entire body covered in signs and engravings that glowed with a bluish light.
The man holding the cord groaned as if this last image irritated him.
"Let us move forward a bit in time, and change lines." he muttered, spinning the cord around as if changing frequency.
The projected images became blurred for a moment before stabilizing again. Now, one could see a child with a bloody face and a hollow gaze, surrounded by flames. The image changed again, this time representing a young girl with long, heavy locks and a cold, mischievous smile on her lips. Then, a succession of fast-paced images: a heavy bronze blade sinking into the ground; a valley strewn with corpses; a warrior in golden armor and scarlet clothes, holding two long, curved swords in an immense meadow of flowers resembling amaryllis.
Then, finally, the final image represented a desolate landscape, covered in gray ashes under a metallic sky, before the projection dissipated. A new silence fell. The man turned slowly, revealing his face in profile.
He e had fine, chiseled features, a set jaw, and a slightly flared nose. He could have been of great beauty, if his eyes were not two hollow, dark sockets with a ragged appearance, as if his eyeballs and all the flesh around them had been forcibly torn out. At the bottom of these sockets, a faint blue light glowed softly, like a will-o'-the-wisp flickering in the darkness.
Within this most monstrous appearance, another element seemed to add to the strange. A translucent liquid flowed from his socket down his cheek: a tear, against all odds.
— What a tragedy… No matter the world, you will then never find rest…
The man gently wiped away his tears with the back of his hand before letting the thread rejoin the vortex of the hurricane, which resumed its initial speed.
"But who would want such a story?" he muttered, putting his hands back behind his back.
"No one wants a tale without hope, even less a lost hero… And even if the king were to alter the situation, I do not see any particularly happy alternatives."
The man turned completely, tilting his head as if lost in thought. The flames in his sockets flickered.
"Who would want…"
The man did not finish his sentence. He straightened up suddenly, having finally noticed the anomaly he failed so long to sense, and, despite the fact that he had no eyes to speak of, observed the being who had been present throughout this story: you.