Visionless

Ligh reappeared in her living quarters, stretching casually as if teleportation were nothing more than a light exercise. Adam stumbled in after her, doubling over as nausea hit him like a punch to the gut. His breaths were ragged, and his face was a pale mask of discomfort, but he managed to keep from vomiting. 

After a moment, he straightened up, his eyes scanning the room. The simplicity was almost unsettling. A single bed leaned against the stone wall, accompanied by a small desk holding a lit candle, a piece of parchment, and an inkwell. The floor was bare stone, cold and unwelcoming, and the walls were featureless save for two closed doors. 

"Is this your place? It's... uh..." Adam started, hesitant to finish the thought. 

Ligh gave him an indifferent shrug, her masked face betraying no emotion. She gestured for him to follow as she picked up the candle from the desk and grabbed something else—small, metallic—but Adam couldn't make out what it was. 

She walked to one of the doors, opened it, and motioned for Adam to enter. He hesitated but stepped forward when she thrust the candle into his hands. 

"What's this about?" he asked, his tone cautious. 

Instead of answering, Ligh tossed the metallic object into the darkness ahead. It struck the stone floor with a sharp clang, the sound echoing in the emptiness. Adam instinctively leaned forward, trying to glimpse what it was, but the dim candlelight revealed nothing. 

Before he could question her further, Ligh stepped back and closed the door. The lock clicked, leaving Adam alone. 

He stared at the door, his mind racing. "...Master? What's happening?" 

There was no reply. 

Adam turned back to the room, holding the candle out in front of him. Its weak flame illuminated only a small circle of the pitch-black chamber. The clang of the object she had thrown still echoed faintly in his ears, but he couldn't see where it had landed. 

"Okay..." Adam muttered to himself, trying to focus. "This is the test, right? Just find the thing and... what? Walk out? Seems too simple." 

The air felt heavy, thick with an almost tangible silence. As Adam took a cautious step forward, a sudden draft swept through the room, cold and sharp. The candle in his hand flickered violently before extinguishing completely. 

"Great," Adam muttered, his voice strained. He was plunged into absolute darkness, the kind that made him feel like the room had grown twice its size—or maybe twice as small. 

His breath quickened. He held the now-useless candleholder close, as though it might offer some comfort. The sound of his own breathing filled his ears, but then... 

A faint echo. A shuffle, barely audible, from somewhere deeper in the room. 

Adam froze. His grip tightened on the candleholder. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. 

"Okay, this... this is fine," he said to himself, though his voice betrayed his nerves. "It's just a test. Totally normal magic training stuff. Happens all the time." 

Despite his words, a grin began to spread across his face, nervous and unsure in the pitch-black room. 

He took a step forward, the faint shuffle sounding again. Whatever was in the room with him—or whatever wasn't—Adam was ready to find out.

________________________

Ligh, feeling rather accomplished, locked the door to the pitch-black room where Adam was now stumbling around and decided her job here was done—for now. Without so much as a second thought, she teleported herself to the headquarters of her boss lady.

The lavish hall she landed in was a stark contrast to her usual haunts—gilded chandeliers hung from the ceiling, polished marble floors gleamed underfoot, and tapestries with the royal crest adorned the walls. None of it seemed to faze Ligh as she skipped down the hallway in her usual silent, cheerful manner.

Arriving at a grand set of double doors, she knocked with the daintiness of someone who had no idea they were probably interrupting something important.

"Enter," came the familiar voice from inside, tinged with exhaustion.

Ligh pushed open the door to find her boss, the queen of the entire empire, seated at an enormous desk drowning in paperwork. Her long red hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders, the fiery hue matching the crimson gown she wore. Though undeniably beautiful, her face bore a perpetual scowl that made her look as though she hadn't had a proper nap in a decade. The dark circles under her sharp green eyes didn't help either.

"Ligh," the queen said, her voice flat as she set down her quill and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why are you here? Is it something urgent, or are you just here to throw my day further into chaos?"

Ligh didn't answer aloud—of course, she didn't. Instead, she grabbed a piece of paper from the queen's desk (earning an eye twitch from Her Majesty) and quickly scrawled her explanation. She handed the paper over with a flourish.

The queen skimmed it, her scowl deepening. "'Smugglers' whereabouts'... fine, good. 'Potential recruit'... what?" She paused, then reread a section before leveling a tired gaze at Ligh. "You've taken on a student? For what? None of you know magic! How do you plan to teach him magic?"

Ligh stood tall—well, as tall as she could, given her stature—and clenched her fist dramatically. She mimed her resolve as if she were delivering an epic monologue in a silent film, her expression under the mask as determined as ever.

Meanwhile, the queen leaned back in her chair, looking as though she wanted to climb out the window and leave the entire empire behind. "This is why I need a vacation," she muttered.

Ligh wasn't deterred. In her mind, the plan was perfect. She wouldn't actually teach Adam magic—oh no, she had no idea how to do that. Instead, she'd train him to rely on deductive reasoning and survival skills. The "locked" room Adam was in was part of the test. He'd have to use the candle to inspect his surroundings, realize the object she threw was an illusion, and figure out that the door wasn't really locked. If he could do all that and escape the room, he'd be ready for proper training.

Of course, what Ligh didn't know was that her teleportation had snuffed out the candle entirely, plunging Adam into absolute darkness.

The queen stared at Ligh's clenched fist with an expression bordering on disbelief. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Ligh nodded emphatically, miming writing, fighting, and some vaguely inspiring gestures that likely symbolized Adam's supposed potential.

"And you think he's going to be... what? A bodyguard for me?" the queen asked, her voice tinged with a dangerous edge of sarcasm. "You've trapped a child in a dark room, and that's your big plan to produce the perfect bodyguard?"

Ligh mimed an enthusiastic "yes," then gave a little bow for added effect.

The queen stared at her for a long moment, then rubbed her temples. "I need coffee. Or wine. Maybe both."

__________________

Adam was... not well. Far from it. His body trembled, his mind raced, and he was teetering on the edge of despair. "Master, that's enough. I give up. Please open the door," was the plea screaming in his head, but he bit down on his lip to silence it. Giving up wasn't an option. His entire future—his very survival—depended on this. Whatever this was.

"Alright," he muttered to himself, clutching the extinguished candle in the oppressive darkness. "Let's think this through. Master wants me to open the door, right? She said nothing, but the key is here. She threw it in. And she gave me a candle. Then… then the candle went out. That wasn't an accident. No, no, no—this is intentional! She wants me to light the candle again!"

As if the realization had hit him like a lightning bolt, Adam straightened up, his grin sharp and unhinged in the dark. "I see it now! She's testing me. Testing my ability to conjure fire! That's what this is all about!"

He clenched his fist around the candle, his voice growing reverent. "Of course! She wants me to learn magic under duress. Stress, danger, desperation—they're the catalysts for magic, aren't they? You're a genius, Master! I swear, I'll be the best student you've ever had!"

But then a shadow of uncertainty fell over him. He frowned, tapping the candle against his forehead. "Okay… now, how do I actually light this thing?"

Adam paced in the small room, muttering theories under his breath. "Fire… fire… What is fire, anyway? Let's break it down. Fire's not some mystical thing—it's science! It's a chemical reaction caused by combustion. When a fuel source reacts with oxygen, the heat excites the molecules, causing rapid vibrations. These vibrations release energy in the form of light and heat. Boom! Fire!"

He stopped, his grin returning as if he'd cracked the code of the universe. "So, to make fire, I need fuel, oxygen, and heat. Metal and wood might work, but… no! That's thinking small! I need magic. Magic can manipulate energy, right? And if fire is energy being released, then magic is just… science I haven't figured out yet! Yes! Magic is science, and science is magic! It's all particles, friction, and reactions!"

And so, Adam threw himself into the task with all the intensity of a mad scientist.

At first, he tried clenching his fists and shouting, "Fire!" Nothing. Then he tried rubbing the candle furiously against the stone walls. Still nothing. He attempted visualizing flames in his mind, whispering to the candle like it was a sentient being, even slamming it on the ground in frustration. Nothing worked.

"Come on, come on!" he hissed, pacing the room like a caged tiger. "Friction! Heat! Vibrations! Think, Adam, think! Particles in the air, moving at high speeds… Wait, wait! Maybe I can… rub my hands together fast enough to generate a spark?!"

For the next three hours, Adam tried everything. He snapped his fingers until they ached, blew on the candle as if his breath were flammable, and even attempted striking the floor with the metal base of the candlestick. All the while, the dark room mocked him, its silence unbroken except for his frantic mutterings.

At some point, he slumped against the wall, sweat dripping down his face. His voice was hoarse, but his determination remained unshaken. "Alright, Master," he whispered to the darkness, "I get it now. You want me to think beyond the obvious. You want me to embrace science magic! Fine. I'll do it. I'll light this candle even if it takes all night. And when I do…"

His grin returned, wild and determined. "ill never be controlled again."

______________

"Light, it's getting late," the Queen said, rubbing her temples as though trying to massage away her exhaustion. "I think you should return to your… work—or your so-called student. And if you're so confident about him, bring him here next time. Let the others meet him. Plus…" Her amber eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I want to make sure you didn't just kidnap some random lunatic."

Ligh nodded enthusiastically, her mask bobbing with the motion, and vanished in a ripple of shadow. She reappeared in her quarters, still glowing with the thrill of the Queen's approval, when something immediately felt off.

Her senses caught it first: a faint, acrid tang in the air. Then her eyes. Smoke. Her invisible gasp sent her into a panic. (Smoke?!) she screamed internally as she dashed to the door. In her haste, she fumbled with the handle and swung it open—only to freeze, dumbstruck, at the sight inside.

Small, flickering flames danced in the air, bobbing and weaving as though alive. The room glowed with the soft, hypnotic light of firelight, casting moving shadows against the stone walls. And there, in the very center of it all, stood Adam, wild-eyed and grinning like a man who had seen the face of God and decided to punch it.

"Look, Master! I've done it!" he yelled, his voice a crescendo of triumph and madness. "I'VE DONE IT! I CAN LIVE! I CAN SURVIVE! I CAN—" His manic grin widened impossibly. "—I CAN FUCKING KILL THAT FISH!"

Ligh blinked. For once, her silent demeanor was genuinely disrupted. Her masked face tilted as she tried to process what she was seeing. Adam stood amidst the flames, his body trembling with exhilaration, his hands twitching like they couldn't decide whether to clap or combust. This wasn't just a breakthrough. This was… chaos.

(This… wasn't the plan. Not at all. Not even close.) Her internal monologue spiraled into an odd mix of awe and alarm. But then, an emotion bubbled up that she hadn't expected: excitement.

She clapped her hands together silently, her movements erratic and brimming with glee. Her whole body shook as if barely containing her energy. (This is perfect! Oh, the boss lady is going to love this kid! She wanted proof, and here it is—proof that I didn't just find a random lunatic… I found a genius lunatic!)

Adam, oblivious to her spiraling thoughts, twirled one of the tiny flames on his finger like a circus performer. "I didn't need a key, Master," he said, his voice calmer but still laced with his peculiar brand of madness. "Because fire isn't a tool. It's freedom. And now I'm free to kill that fish and anyone else who gets in my way."

Ligh threw her hands up in a silent cheer, practically skipping in place as if to say, Yes, yes! That's the spirit!

(He's perfect! Absolutely perfect!) she thought, clenching her fists in delight. (This isn't a student. This is a masterpiece!)

Meanwhile, the flames continued their eerie, mesmerizing dance, the chaotic prelude to what would undoubtedly be a partnership for the ages—or a cataclysm waiting to happen. Either way, Ligh was thrilled.

____________________

After hours of futile attempts, Adam's frustration boiled over. His shouts shattered the oppressive silence, ricocheting off the unseen walls.

"Fuck! Fuck this and fuck you!" he screamed into the darkness, his voice cracking from the strain. "How the hell am I supposed to… to… fuck!" His words stumbled into a defeated mutter, his anger dissipating as quickly as it had flared.

Collapsing onto the cold, unyielding floor, Adam felt the weight of despair pressing down on him. "Magic…" he muttered, his voice hollow and tinged with bitterness. "Magic is impossible. Guess I'll just die here. Why not? No big deal."

For a moment, he lay still, staring into the oppressive void. The pitch-black room swallowed him whole, erasing any sense of up or down, left or right. He stretched a hand out into the empty air, reaching for something—anything—that wasn't there.

His thoughts drifted. Fire… air… oxygen… friction… friction, he mused, the words circling in his mind like vultures over a dying man. Somewhere in the deep recesses of his consciousness, the fragments of knowledge he had clung to began to align, though he wasn't entirely aware of it yet.

Stillness settled over him. For the first time in hours, he stopped moving, stopped yelling, stopped trying. He lay in complete silence, allowing his thoughts to unravel and scatter. The anger, the panic, the manic energy—it all melted away, leaving only a raw, empty calm.

Time blurred. Minutes felt like hours, or maybe hours felt like minutes. In that void of thought, something began to stir.

He felt it first in his chest: a faint warmth blooming in his heart. At first, he thought it was a figment of his imagination, a desperate trick of a starving mind. But then it spread—to his lungs, to his shoulders, and finally to his hands. It was subtle at first, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through an overcast sky.

Then it grew.

The warmth intensified, growing hotter and hotter until it wasn't just warmth anymore—it was heat. It coursed through his veins, radiating outward like a wildfire catching dry grass. His fingers tingled, then burned with an intensity that was almost painful. He clenched his fists, trying to contain the sensation, but it only surged stronger, consuming him.

And then, in a flash, the darkness was broken.

A spark ignited in his palm—a tiny, flickering flame no larger than a candle's wick. It danced and swayed, illuminating his face with a warm, orange glow. Adam stared at it, wide-eyed, his breath caught in his throat.

"Fire?" he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief. "Fire?"

The flame grew slightly, responding to his rising excitement, and he shot to his feet, holding it aloft like a trophy. His manic grin returned, wider and wilder than ever.

"FIRE!" he shouted, his voice filled with triumphant glee. "I DID IT! I FUCKING DID IT!" He laughed, loud and unrestrained, the sound echoing through the room.

The flame in his hand flared brightly for a moment before stabilizing, flickering steadily as if it were a living, breathing thing. Adam stared at it, his heart racing.

"This isn't impossible," he murmured to himself, his voice laced with newfound conviction. "This isn't impossible at all. It's science. It's heat and air and friction. It's fire."

He looked around the dark room, the flame casting strange shadows against the walls. His grin widened. "And I'm going to master it."

In the quiet aftermath of his breakthrough, Adam stood tall, the tiny flame in his hand a testament to his resilience. For the first time since stepping into the dark, he didn't feel small or helpless. He felt powerful.

And that was a dangerous thing.

"I see now!" Adam's voice broke the silence, his tone sharp and crackling with energy. He clutched his head, wild-eyed, as though the revelation was too big to stay contained. "I get it! I finally get it!"

He spun on the spot, his ragged grin stretching ear to ear, his voice gaining an almost sing-song lilt. "I was so stupid—so, so stupid! Trying to find magic inside me, like some kind of storybook hero. What an idiot!" His laughter bubbled up, starting as soft giggles before erupting into something louder, filled with a manic glee.

Adam's hands shot out, fingers splayed as he twirled in place, gesturing to the empty darkness around him. "But it was never about me! That's the joke, right? I don't have magic." He paused, eyes wide with wonder as he gazed at the tiny flame still dancing in his palm. "But the world? The world is magic. It's always been magic!"

He crouched low, cradling the flame like a precious secret, then leaped up with a giddy laugh. "That's the trick! That's the answer! The world's been holding all this magic—hiding it in plain sight—just waiting for someone to see it!"

His laughter softened into a breathless chuckle, but his eyes remained alight with unbridled enthusiasm, his face a mix of childlike delight and unhinged determination. "Oh, the world's going to regret giving me this key. Just watch! Hahahaha!"

Adam held the flame high above his head, spinning once more before clutching it close, whispering to it like a conspirator. "You and me, little spark. We're gonna change everything."

_________________

"Anyway, that's how I made fire... So, what do you think, Master? Did I pass?" Adam asked, his voice calm now, almost sheepish, the wild edge gone. He glanced up at Ligh with expectant eyes, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.

Ligh tilted her head, staring at him for a long moment. Then, with zero ceremony, she reached out, grabbed him by the armpits as if he were an oversized kitten, and hoisted him into the air. Adam yelped in surprise.

"Hey! Wha—what are you doing?" he stammered, legs kicking slightly as she began to spin him in a wide, playful circle.

Ligh didn't say a word—she never did—but her silent amusement was obvious. Her shoulders shook slightly, and the corners of her mask twitched, as though she were grinning beneath it. In her mind, she mused, (I have absolutely no idea what he just said. Something about the world, magic, and... what? Fish? Insane. Completely insane. Ahahaha!)

Adam, dangling helplessly in her grasp, let out a defeated sigh, though a small smile crept onto his face. "Master, you could just say 'well done' like a normal person…"

Ligh finally stopped spinning, gently plopped him back onto the ground, and patted his head. Her silent applause came next, a light clap of her hands, before she pointed at him with a nod.

Adam's smile widened. "So, I did pass!"

Ligh gave him another nod, then ruffled his hair again, her motions oddly fond for someone who'd just treated him like a toy. Adam's heart swelled with pride as she started silently twirling herself now, clearly still amused by her own antics.

"...Master, are you having more fun than me right now?"

Ligh's eyes gleamed beneath her mask, a spark of excitement igniting in her chest. It's time, she thought, her lips curving upward in a rare, almost predatory smile. Finally, I'll be the one at the top... they'll be so jealous!

Without another word, she scooped Adam up once again, this time cradling him as one might hold a small, mischievous creature. With a flick of her fingers, they disappeared from the room, teleported to a new location.

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation when they landed. They found themselves in a dimly lit bar, eerily quiet, though it was well-furnished. The scent of dust and aged wood filled the air, the kind of place that seemed forgotten by time itself. Adam, still clutched firmly in her arms, looked around in confusion, the silence pressing on him like a heavy weight.

Ligh stood still, her gaze fixed ahead, waiting for something. Then, one of the marks on her mask began to glow faintly. A delicate green light—shaped like a clover—flared and pulsed in rhythm with her quiet anticipation.

The door to the bar creaked open.

One by one, masked figures entered. Each wore the same attire: dark, shadowy clothing that clung to them like second skin. But their masks—oh, their masks—were anything but uniform. Each one was different, an expression of their personality, their essence, their role in the world. Ligh's gaze flicked over them, pleased with the gathering, her excitement building.

The first to enter was tall, almost unnervingly so. Their neck stretched unnaturally, a serpentine grace that drew the eye. Their mask was angular, sharp, and their movements were precise and calculated, as though every gesture was deliberate. There was no noise from them, save the rustle of their clothes as they slipped into a corner, pulling out a delicate musical instrument. They plucked at it idly, but the strings emitted no sound, as if to mock the idea of music itself.

Next was the largest of them all, a rotund, balloon-like figure whose bulk seemed to float in space, as if gravity had forgotten to keep them grounded. Their movements were slow, comically exaggerated, and their mask, a jovial smile frozen in place, barely shifted with their expression. Every step they took echoed with a hollow, almost cheerful resonance, their presence oddly unsettling.

Then, the figure whose very presence seemed to seethe with frustration. Their mask was twisted into a permanent frown, a snarling expression that barely contained the fury within. This individual moved with the lithe, predatory energy of a snake—slithering, coiling in a way that was both mesmerizing and unnerving.

A figure in the back corner sat completely still, the mask upon their face perpetually whistling, an eerie, high-pitched sound that echoed like a distant wind through a hollow tree. Their form was mostly obscured by shadow, but the aura around them was one of deep melancholy—quiet, unassuming, but undeniably powerful.

The twins were the last to arrive. They were perfectly synchronized, their every motion mimicking the other in eerie unison. One wore a mask of comedy, wide and bright, while the other wore a mask of tragedy, heavy and sorrowful. Together, their faces were divided, one half radiating happiness while the other dripped with sorrow. It was unsettling to see such disparity in one being. The rest of their faces were hidden beneath cloth, leaving only their eyes visible, twin orbs of mystery and intent.

Ligh watched them all enter, an almost giddy excitement bubbling within her. They were here—her family—and now, she could show off her new... prize. Her grip on Adam tightened as she straightened her back, a sense of dominance settling over her. The others hadn't noticed her yet, too engrossed in their own mannerisms.

But soon, they would. And when they did, they would see just how perfectly she had chosen.

The serpent-like figure slithered toward Ligh with terrifying speed, their elongated neck craning as they locked eyes with her. The air around them crackled with tension, and their gaze—sharp, assessing—seemed to ask, Is this some kind of joke? Adam, his body stiff with nervous energy, noted the unsettling silence. This was no group of chatterboxes; the tension in the room hung thick, like a taut wire, waiting to snap.

The balloon-like figure, seemingly unaffected by the unease in the air, let out a deep, jolly laugh that echoed in the otherwise quiet bar. The sound was jarring—too loud for such a still space. It reminded Adam of those Santa Claus laughs he'd heard on TV, forced and hollow, but somehow unsettlingly merry. The twins, their faces divided between comedy and tragedy, buzzed with energy as they circled Adam, ignoring Ligh completely. They prodded and poked him with an unsettling curiosity, as if they were inspecting an oddity. Their laughter mixed with the balloon figure's, filling the space with an eerie, chaotic symphony.

The whistling figure stood in the corner, silent as ever. The soft, melodic tune escaping their mask never faltered, a lonesome sound that seemed to float through the room like a ghost. The musician, who had been idly plucking at their silent instrument, gave a brief nod toward Adam. It was the only sign of acknowledgment, but it felt heavy with meaning.

Ligh, ever the showman, picked Adam up with a playful flick of her wrist, placing him atop a nearby table. She waved her arms in a grand gesture, as if to announce, Here he is—your new wonder! She nudged him lightly, pushing him toward the task at hand with a sly grin. Go on, impress them.

Adam, still reeling from the surreal experience, looked around at the collection of masked figures. He felt exposed, his confusion mounting with every second that passed. His mind buzzed, but he knew the weight of this moment. Ligh was watching him, and this was it—the test.

"Fine," Adam muttered, his voice barely a whisper but sharp in the silence of the room. His words struck the group like a sudden shock, rippling through them. The musician paused for a heartbeat, the whistling stopped for just a fraction of a second. Even the twins froze, their playful movements momentarily halting, as if they hadn't expected the boy to speak.

The room held its breath.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, Adam raised his arm. The tension in the room reached a fever pitch as he focused. Focus, he told himself. He thought back to the darkness, to the pressure, to the heat that had built inside of him. He had found the fire, had summoned it from within. Now, he had to control it.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a flicker of light—a single, small flame—danced from his palm. It floated there, gentle and hesitant, like a newborn star. The serpent's gaze was unreadable, but the others… the twins, the balloon figure—they leaned in, intrigued.

Then, more flames. The small spark seemed to ignite something deep within him, and soon, a cascade of fire exploded from his hand. Flickers of flame shot into the air, spinning and spiraling with dizzying speed. The fire grew, spreading outward like a wildfire, until the room was filled with swirling tendrils of heat and light. The flames danced in the air, a chaotic and beautiful display of raw power.

The serpent watched, their face impassive, but there was a glimmer in their eyes—something between curiosity and contempt. The twins, wide-eyed and bouncing with excitement, laughed in unison, their expressions shifting between comedy and tragedy in perfect synchrony. The balloon figure, too, seemed to enjoy the spectacle, their wide grin growing even wider.

Ligh, on the other hand, watched with a mixture of pride and something darker—satisfaction. Her gaze never wavered from Adam, her protege. This is only the beginning, she thought, knowing full well that the real challenge was yet to come.

As the flames swirled and grew, Adam's confidence began to swell. For the first time, he felt in control—alive—as if magic, something he had thought impossible, was his to command. The room filled with light, and the shadows recoiled, but Adam was unafraid. He had done it.

He had become it.

-_________

The masked figures, seated in various corners of the bar, seemed to drink—or at least go through the motions of drinking. Adam couldn't tell how it worked. Their masks were solid, unbroken, and yet they somehow sipped at their cups. How? He wasn't sure. The sight unnerved him, but he held his tongue. This was already far beyond what he had ever known, and questioning it seemed pointless.

He leaned back, eyes drifting toward the window. It was strange. The scenery beyond seemed to shift in flashes, like switching channels on a television—one moment, a moonlit landscape, the next, a bustling street scene, then a desolate wasteland. The sudden transitions left him disoriented, as if the very world itself were a lie, shifting and warping at will.

Ligh motioned toward the musician, a subtle gesture that Adam almost missed. The masked figure was still playing, though their instrument made no sound, just the faintest, almost imperceptible vibrations in the air. It was as if they were pulling at the strings of the universe itself, crafting an invisible symphony that guided the movements of everything around them. To Adam, it seemed more impossible than anything he'd encountered with magic, as though the fabric of reality itself were being bent at will.

The melody drifted, and with it, the world outside shifted again, retreating into itself. It was as if the city itself was concealing them—hiding them from view, allowing their secrets to remain locked in the shadows.

Adam sighed and pushed himself off the table. The bizarre scene around him was starting to weigh on him, but he had learned long ago not to show weakness. His gaze landed on the figure in the corner, the one he had come to think of as "Whistler" due to the endless tune that escaped from their mask. This one hadn't moved since they arrived. They were quiet, unbothered by the antics of the others, and most intriguingly—uninterested in the drinks or the chatter. Their gaze was unfocused, but there was something about them that Adam found oddly comforting. It was almost as if they were disconnected from everything, observing it all without judgment, without expectation.

Adam, unsure of what else to do, quietly walked over and sat beside Whistler. They didn't react, merely continuing their eerie, rhythm-less whistling. For a moment, Adam just listened. The sound was strange, chaotic, yet strangely calming. It was as though the tune had no end, no beginning—it simply existed in the air, floating like a ghost.

The more he sat there, the more he realized how much he felt like Whistler. Both of them were outsiders in this world, surrounded by chaos and things they couldn't understand. Both of them were trying to figure it out, grasping for some sense of meaning in the madness.

As he sat there, Adam felt something unsettling in the quiet—something he hadn't anticipated. He glanced at Whistler's mask, drawn in by the empty gaze staring back at him. It wasn't just dark. It was... deeper. Like an abyss that didn't just look at you, but pulled at you. The blackness inside was endless, a void of consuming silence. It was as if there was no soul behind the mask at all.

Adam's chest tightened. Fear gripped him for a split second, cold and relentless, before he quickly shook it off. This wasn't a threat, not really. It was just... different. It was just another part of this strange world he was now a part of. He'd seen worse, felt worse. The fear passed as quickly as it came, leaving him with an odd sense of acceptance.

He shrugged, then turned to look at Whistler again. The mask remained unmoving, but the tune never stopped. It was the same endless melody. The same thing, over and over. There was no resolution, no end, just a quiet persistence. Adam felt, in that moment, that perhaps it wasn't the world around him that was strange—it was him.

For a while, neither spoke, the silence of the room filled only by the sound of the whistling. Adam wasn't sure where this path was leading, but for the first time since arriving, he didn't feel as lost. He was part of something now, however bizarre it might seem.

"Yeah," he muttered under his breath, almost to himself, "this isn't so bad."

And with that, he leaned back, staring at the shifting world outside, feeling both detached and strangely at peace. The whistling continued, a gentle reminder that no matter how strange, how terrifying, or how empty things seemed, life kept moving. And so would he.