Erasmus walked with measured steps, his pace unhurried, blending seamlessly into the faithful who milled about the streets. To any observer, he appeared no different from the other devout followers—his blindfold in place, his expression serene, his presence unassuming yet commanding in its own way. Yet beneath that mask of calm, his mind churned.
The anomaly had been brief, but it had been real. No one else had noticed it, which meant that either it had not affected them, or their minds were too dull to perceive it. The silence, the pressure in the air, the flicker at the edges of his senses—something had changed.
And then, there was the absence.
For as long as he could remember, he had been watched. Not by people, but by something unseen. A presence that never acted, never interfered, merely observed. Like a constant shadow, lingering just beyond his reach. It had always been there. Until now.
That was what unsettled him most.
He had long since trained himself to endure scrutiny, to manipulate the expectations of others, to wield perception as both shield and weapon. But this was different. The unseen presence had never been something he could fight or bargain with—it simply was. And now, it was gone.
Was that a good thing? Or was it a prelude to something worse?
There were too many unknowns. He needed information. And there was only one place he could start.
—
The streets gradually grew quieter as he moved away from the city's religious districts. Here, the grand temples and glowing scripture-lined billboards gave way to simpler structures—apartment complexes stacked high like orderly rows of tombstones.
Erasmus' residence was intentionally modest. A single-room dwelling in one of the quieter sectors, small but sufficient. He had chosen it not out of necessity, but strategy. Opulence attracted attention. Humility, on the other hand, bred trust. The faithful respected a man who lived simply, who devoted himself to the cause without seeking material wealth.
A facade, of course. One he had carefully crafted.
He stepped inside, locking the door behind him. The air was still, untouched since he had left that morning. He moved with ease, every step precise. His heightened senses mapped out the room instinctively—the familiar scent of old parchment and ink, the faintest shift in air currents against the furniture.
Reaching out, his fingers brushed against his desk. The worn wood was covered in scattered papers, filled with the work he had spent years compiling.
Research.
Erasmus ran his fingertips lightly over a single sheet, tracing the raised ink with practiced precision. Where others relied on sight, he relied on touch. The subtle difference between ink and paper was enough. Over time, he had trained himself to read this way, feeling the grooves and patterns left behind by the written word.
Immortality.
The pursuit of eternity had consumed him ever since he first understood what death meant. The inevitability of it repulsed him. The idea that all things, no matter how great, would eventually decay and be forgotten—it was a flaw. A fundamental failure of existence itself.
And failures could be corrected.
He had studied everything available to him—historical accounts of those who claimed to have extended their lives, medical advancements, genetic modifications. None of it was enough. The limits of human biology were a barrier too rigid to surpass with mundane means.
But now… now he had witnessed something that defied the natural order.
The anomaly had not been an illusion. It had happened.
And if something could disrupt reality itself, then perhaps…
Perhaps there was a way to escape its rules.
Erasmus set the page down, exhaling slowly. His mind was clear now. He had a direction.
Whatever force had caused that momentary fracture in the world, he would find it. Understand it. Control it.
—
The hours passed in silence, broken only by the occasional scratch of pen against paper. He documented everything—his thoughts, his theories, every anomaly he had encountered in the past that could now be reexamined under a new lens.
Patterns. Connections. Possibilities.
He delved deeper into his notes, recalling past events that had once seemed insignificant. Unexplained disappearances, erratic behavior in those deemed "touched by the divine," whispers of individuals who had glimpsed something beyond understanding and had never been the same again.
Could it all be connected?
And more importantly—could he harness it?
If reality had seams, then it could be unraveled. And if it could be unraveled, it could be rewritten.
A sharp thrill coursed through him. The concept was still theoretical, but the implications were staggering.
This was not about faith. It was about control.
Faith demanded submission. But Erasmus did not submit. He mastered.
His fingers drummed against the desk as he considered his next move.
He needed more than conjecture. He needed data. Evidence. Proof.
And for that, he would need to look beyond the confines of doctrine and tradition. He would need to seek the hidden truths buried beneath centuries of blind devotion.
The thought filled him with anticipation.
He had spent his life understanding how to manipulate belief, how to twist perception to his advantage. But this—this was different.
This was a glimpse at something greater.
—
At some point, he allowed himself a moment of stillness. Leaning back in his chair, he let his senses stretch outward, attuning himself to the world around him. The quiet hum of the city in the distance, the rhythmic ticking of the clock, the faintest whisper of wind seeping through a crack in the window.
And beneath it all—nothing.
No presence. No unseen gaze.
Just him.
The realization settled deep in his chest. He had always assumed he was being watched. Now that it was gone, he should have felt relief. Instead, he felt something else.
Anticipation.
Something had changed. And change meant opportunity.
A slow smile curved his lips.
This was only the beginning.