Days 276–280

Sometimes I wonder if my thoughts aren’t echoing inside my own mind — but within the very world of “IN”, which only pretends to be silent. They ripple out like quantum echo-waves, bouncing off the structure of this reality, flowing through the fabric of space — and then… they return to me as whispers.

Ever since I first heard “Vereth’Zal”, that whisper hasn’t let me go. It didn’t repeat. It didn’t anchor. But it lingers — like an unsolved variable in an equation you cannot see, but that affects everything. No experiment, no reconfigured formula, has brought me closer to the truth.

What was it? A voice? A code? A name? A query? I’ve begun keeping a separate journal for ethereal anomalies, hoping to catch a glitch, a pulse, a flicker. So far — silence. But here, silence does not mean absence. It is the silence before the unknown, hidden deep in a tangle of multidimensional probability.

And I feel that this sound… was no accident. It was an echo of sealed energy, so dense, so alien — that unleashing it might alter the very matrix of reality.

I continue to work with the artifacts. But now — with extreme caution, as if each crystal might contain not just a synapse, but an awakened consciousness, eager to break free. It is not fear that drives me — but responsibility. A growing sense that we may have already disrupted a cycle closed since the dawn of time.

Thankfully, the Heroes have not faltered. The tournament has been extended, and I gratefully receive new waves of artifacts streaming into the lab. This flow is vital, as I near the end of the first phase of my research.

And yet… I’ve hit an unexpected wall.

My prior hypothesis — that artifacts transform into synapses of corresponding grade — is now shattered. Any attempt to systematize, predict, or even approximate the grading logic through statistics has led me to absolute chaos. Grades do not obey logic. They’re not bound to the artifact’s properties, its energy, or its origin.

This is… something else.

As if every transformation isn’t alchemy — but an act of consent between the observer and the universe, where the result exists only at the moment of observation, but was never predetermined.

As if I’m not dealing with a system — but with quantum entanglement, where a synapse exists in all grades simultaneously — until it’s drawn.

In this world, mathematics collapses. Causality loses coherence. And my mind — becomes a linear tool in a fractaled, chaotic, and sacred reality.

So I conclude: it’s time to stop chasing formulas, and start listening for rhythm. The world of “IN” seems to possess its own metaphysics, numerology, and probabilistic dance, not bound by Earthly logic.

Perhaps every artifact holds not only power — but an intuitive blueprint, revealed only to those who can hear the music beneath the texture of reality.

I’ve asked the Heroes to bring me artifacts above the Herald grade, because my path now stands before a door that can only be opened with rare keys. And I must enter. I must.

Because one evening, after unsealing yet another artifact, for the first time — the first time ever — in a flash of transformation, between the phases of light, I saw… a silhouette.

It stood tall, cloaked in shadow, with eyes of pulsing ice. And as I stood, frozen, it spoke again.

But it didn’t say Vereth’Zal.

It said:

“Beware.”

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