Chapter three: The Definition of Things
The scent of fresh bread, cheap cologne, and floor polish mingled in the air as Caelum strolled through the shopping mall, weaving between sluggish crowds.
He adjusted the strap of his bag, stepping around a mother struggling to wrangle her screaming child into a clothing store. The kid was wailing like someone had just informed him Santa wasn't real. Caelum resisted the urge to give him a solemn nod and say, 'It only gets worse, buddy.'
Instead, he kept moving, his gaze flicking between storefronts as he mentally went over his list. Bread, coffee, a few other essentials—things he could technically draw but had decided against it for now.
He exhaled through his nose, fingers drumming against the strap of his bag.
It had been a week.
A week since he'd started testing the quill in earnest. A week of trial, error, and a lot of unconsciousness.
He'd learned a few things in that time.
The quill wasn't just blindly powerful. It followed rules—rules he had slowly uncovered through sheer stubbornness (and by passing out more times than he'd like to admit).
The first rule- The quill didn't create things arbitrarily.
It created things based on his definition of them.
He had recreated the leaf, the key, the dollar, all perfectly, because he had defined them exactly as they were. A key was metal, a dollar was thin, fibrous paper with embedded security strips, a leaf had veins and an organic texture.
He understood those things and so, the quill did too.
But then came the problem, he had tried to define a loaf of bread as butter.
And sure enough, when the ink shimmered, what had landed on his desk was a piece of bread-shaped butter. The outside had a crust, but the second he pressed a finger into it, it squished into soft, greasy failure.
Which honestly, would've been hilarious if it hadn't also been terrifying.
Because that meant every object he created wasn't just a copy. It was shaped by his own perception.
Which led to the real issue. Defining something that didn't already exist, just like the bread-shaped butter.
That was a whole different beast. The first time he had tried, he had blacked out in less than a minute.
The second time he stayed awake for more than a minute.
By the third time, he had barely made it to ten minutes before his vision tunneled, and the floor became his new best friend.
He sighed, shaking his head as he reached for a basket outside a bakery, tossing in a loaf of bread.
"Lesson learned." He muttered to himself.
The quill didn't just pull from his thoughts, it pulled from His willpower, his mental energy, it was something deeper than just physical exhaustion.
He reached for a carton of eggs, lips pressing together.
The mental drain should've scared him, and well it did.
His fingers tapped against the edge of the basket as he started walking again.
"But slowly," he murmured, "my willpower is also rising."
It wasn't much, yes.
But every time he pushed himself, every time he tried, he could feel the difference. He lasted longer before exhaustion hit, he didn't pass out as quickly like when he started.
It was small and almost imperceptible, But it was there.
Because it meant he wasn't just experimenting with the quill anymore. He was adapting to the quill.
He stopped outside a coffee shop, watching as a group of teenagers loitered by the entrance, laughing too loudly, their energy seemingly endless.
He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Must be nice." Still. He wasn't complaining as this was his life now.
And, despite everything—despite the exhaustion and uncertainty the quill brought, he was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't such a bad thing.
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The city moved at its own rhythm.
The low murmur of distant traffic, the uneven chorus of footsteps on pavement, the occasional burst of laughter or conversation, all of it blended into something familiar and constant.
Caelum walked with his hands tucked into his pockets, his bag slung over one shoulder, the weight of his groceries pressing against his back. The sky had shifted into that in-between shade of gold and blue, the air cooling as evening crept in. It was one of those rare moments where the world felt good.
His feet moved in easy strides, the slow repetition grounding him. He passed a small bookstore with a faded sign, the scent of ink and paper wafting from the open door. A café on the corner spilled out the rich aroma of coffee and sugar, tempting him for a brief second before he reminded himself he still had some at home.
After a few minutes of walking, he reached the quieter streets near his apartment, where buildings weren't crammed together so tightly, and where a small park stretched out beside the sidewalk.
His steps slowed as he neared the park.
Children were playing. Laughing, shouting, running in chaotic circles as the last traces of sunlight kissed the edges of the grass.
A boy chased after a red ball, his arms outstretched as if catching it was the single most important thing in the world. Another kid dangled off the monkey bars, kicking their legs as they yelled something at a friend below.
It was strange watching them. It didn't made him feel out of place, but there was something distant about it. Like watching a memory that didn't even belong to him.
Caelum exhaled through his mouth,'so carefree'.
The moment passed as he stepped onto the pathway leading to his apartment building. And that's when the thought struck him.
He had created objects, inanimate and silent things. But what about—
His body went still at the thought, a immediate shiver ran through him.
"No." His words unintentionally left his mouth.
His own mind recoiled at the thought, as if something in him knew he shouldn't even be considering it.
Creating things was one thing, but creating something like human?
His stomach twisted and pulse quickened.
'why would i even think about it?'
He swallowed hard and forced himself to move shaking of the absurd idea, that formed in his mind after he saw the kids running around in the park.
Stepping quickly toward the entrance of his apartment building he kept mumbling to inside his head,'Don't be ridiculous, the quill is nothing more than a tool, it's not a god's hand.'
His fingers were ice-cold as he pushed open the door and stepped inside his apartment.
---
The familiar quiet of his apartment greeted him as he locked the door behind him.
Still, that lingering unease clung to his ribs like something unsettled.
He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as if he could physically rid himself of the thought. "Forget it, It was nothing more than a passing thought."
Turning away, he moved into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. The act of unpacking felt mechanical, his hands moving on autopilot as he put things away—the bread in the cupboard, the eggs in the fridge, the coffee beside the half-empty jar already sitting there.
When the groceries were stored, he changed into his home clothes, rolling his shoulders as the stiffness of the day began to fade.
The next step was routine.
He grabbed a glass of water, reached for the small orange bottle sitting on the counter, and twisted the cap off.
The pills rattled softly as he tipped one into his palm. He stared at it for a moment.
'It's so small. Why is it damn expensive.'
A humorless dry chuckle left his lips, "Should've tested the quill on these instead of a loaf of bread," he muttered, tossing the pill into his mouth and swallowing it down with a sip of water.
'Would the quill even work on something like this?' caelum wondered.
Could he copy the chemical compounds, the exact molecular structure of his medication? Or would it turn into something entirely different, like the butter-bread abomination?
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.
With everything done, he moved toward his room, dragging the chair back and sinking into it.
The quill sat there, waiting As always.
His fingers hovered over it before finally closing around the smooth wood. He turned it over in his hands, his thumb running along the dark blue feather.
His grip tightened. "Let's give 'that' a try, huh?"
The words were light, but his heart wasn't entirely steady.
Because, even though every rational part of his mind screamed against it, the idea had taken root.
He won't draw a person ofcourse.That was too much even for a soon to be dead person like him.
But he could make something small and harmless.
"An insect, maybe?"
He exhaled slowly, gripping the quill as he reached for a blank sheet of paper.
And, with careful strokes, he began to draw.
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The ink shimmered.
Caelum's breath slowed as he watched the delicate strokes on the page twitch, and peel away from the paper like a layer of reality being unraveled.
The beetle landed softly on his desk.
It was a simple thing, no larger than the nail of his thumb—glossy black, with spindly legs and delicate antennae. A perfect replica of the one he had seen crawling across his window the other day.
Except this one hadn't come from nature, it had come from him.
His fingers hovered near it, he was hesitant. The beetle remained still for some time, then its legs moved.
A slight adjustment of weight before it started walking, it walked across the desk with the mechanical precision of an insect that had no idea it shouldn't exist.
Caelum dragged his knuckles against his lips as he watched it move.
It wasn't impressive, It wasn't like a living thing at all. It was just like a doll, And that was the problem.
Before he could stop himself, his finger pressed down.
Kachak!
A faint crunch was heard.
All that remained was a smear of ink beneath his fingertip, sinking into the grain of the wood.
he just stared at it for a moment, then sat back, rubbing his temple. "Well," he muttered with a dry voice. "That wasn't dramatic at all."
---
The night stretched on, marked only by the soft scratch of the quill against paper and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall.
Each time, the process was the same. Draw, watch and observe.
A butterfly he drew had lasted longer than the beetle—its delicate wings flapping hesitantly before it found its rhythm. It had drifted through the room, landing briefly on the rim of his lamp, before disintegrating into a fine mist of ink that soaked into the surface like spilled water.
It was not dead but rather erased, like it had never existed in the first place.
Caelum frowned, tapping his quill against the desk.
"So that's how it works, huh?" he murmured. "Things made from ink don't die naturally, they just stop being."
His fingers drummed idly against the wood.
The real question was—
"How long would they last?"
Because if the beetle had only made it a few minutes, and the butterfly lasted longer, then maybe…His gaze flickered toward the blank page before him.
What if he made something bigger and more complicated? He dipped the nib to the page and began to draw.
---
Time blurred by, caelum didn't stop at insects.
He drew a small bird—its feathers meticulously inked, every detail fine-tuned. It peeled itself from the page, fluttered, and lasted a full half an hour before vanishing mid-flight.
Then he attempted a cat. That one hadn't gone well.
The drawing had shuddered before it lifted, lines warping in real-time. The body had been fine, but the eyes were empty and soulless.
The moment it had breathed, Caelum had grabbed the paper and torn it apart.
His hands had been shaking for nearly an hour after that.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, staring at the shredded scraps. "So maybe that's a line I shouldn't cross."
He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. As much as the cat had unsettled him, it had also taught him something.
Every time he created something complex, it pulled at his willpower greatly, demanding a lot more than he could manage.
At first, he had assumed it was just a bit, like how focusing on a task for too long drained a person.
But this wasn't normal exhaustion. His body wasn't aching or his muscles weren't sore.
Instead, it was like his very will had been carved into, like something had reached inside and scooped out a handful of whatever made him, him.
Though, despite the fatigue pressing against his skull, there was the faintest hint of endurance.
He leaned back in his chair, turning his wrist and flexing his fingers.
He had lasted longer tonight than he had last time. It was barely noticeable but longer nevertheless.
Caelum knew, His willpower or whatever the quill was taking was growing.
It was Slowl ofcourse but undeniable.
His lips curled into a smile. "Guess I'm getting better at playing god," he muttered dryly.
---
His thoughts were sluggish as midnight crept closer, his movements grew slower but still, he kept going.
He had tested insects, birds. But he had yet to try something entirely new that didn't exist in nature.
Something that belonged only to him.
"Creating something that already exist is easy, its was just copying and mimicking at best." Caelum's voice sounded tired as he kept drawing.
But making something original..That was true creation. For caelum, That was a step into unknown territory.
Soon the exhaustion hit like a tidal wave, his vision blurred as the blackout hit him.
---
When Caelum woke, the lamp flickered weakly, its bulb buzzing like an insect caught between glass.
His head was pounding.
His limbs felt like they had been filled with lead, every muscle sluggish and unresponsive.
For several moments, he just lay there, sprawled across his desk, the taste of exhaustion thick in his mouth.
Then, with great effort, he forced himself to sit up.
The room was the same, his desk was the same, the quill lay where he had left it.
He stared at the empty page with a blank look,'Had i been too drained to complete it? Or did the quill stopped before it could finish?'
'Or had it taken more willpower than i thought it was capable of taking?'
He swallowed dryly as fingers twitched against the desk, dragging a hand over his face.
"Yeah," even his voice rough. "This is definitely gonna kill me earlier than i thought."
But despite the exhaustion and the uncertainty clawing at the back of his mind, one thought remained clear.
He was getting stronger in a way.