Chapter Two: The World That Watches
The first thing Omkar noticed was the silence.
Not the familiar kind—the heavy, suffocating hush of late nights on Earth—but a sentient quiet, as if the world itself had taken a breath and was still deciding whether to exhale.
He pushed himself upright, wincing as his fingers brushed the grass. It was soft, yes—but too soft, like silk soaked in warmth. When he pulled his hand back, faint traces of bioluminescence clung to his skin, slowly fading into the air.
He stood shakily.
The sky was still alien. Twin moons hung low and fat on the horizon, one pale gold, the other streaked with deep red lines like veins. Shadows moved in circles instead of stretching in straight lines. Trees—if they could be called that—breathed in slow rhythms, their crystalline trunks humming faintly, as though they were dreaming.
There was no wind.
But the world was breathing.
---
Omkar wandered cautiously, each step sinking slightly into the springy terrain. Everything responded to his movement. Grass quivered beneath his footsteps. Petals curled inward as he passed. Even the sky shimmered slightly, as if aware of his presence.
At that moment, a low sound, like a bell underwater, rang out in the distance.
Instinctively, he crouched behind a vine-wrapped pillar of stone. He hadn't seen it moments ago—had it emerged from the ground? It was covered in glyphs that swirled as he stared at them, changing shape when he looked away. One symbol burned into his memory, searing behind his eyelids like a brand:
ᚲᛁᛚᚨᛋᚺ
Kailash.
His eyes slightly lit up with the golden scripture and settled down.
He didn't know the language, but he knew the name. His skin prickled gently.
"I don't belong here," he whispered to no one.
The air whispered back:
Not yet.
The hissing continued and settled.
---
From the edge of the glade, a figure appeared.
It didn't walk—it flowed, its lower half dissolving into mist. Tall, cloaked in woven fabric that shimmered like liquid starlight, it stopped several paces away from him. A mask covered its face—ivory-white, sculpted like a bird's skull, with burning silver eyes behind it.
Omkar took a step back.
"You are not Dreamborn," the being said. Its voice wasn't from its mouth—it spoke directly into his mind, emotionless yet not cold. "And yet, you have arrived through the Crack. This is… irregular."
"I didn't choose to come here," Omkar replied, his throat dry. He gulped.
"No one chooses. The Weave does."
It raised one long hand. The threads of light gathered in the air between its fingers, weaving themselves into a hovering sigil.
"You are marked. Your presence distorts the Woven Balance. You carry… fracture energy."
"What does that mean?" Omkar asked, though he wasn't sure he wanted the answer.
The figure paused. For the first time, its mental tone wavered—just slightly. A glimmer of curiosity.
"You were once bound to a fixed thread, a life of stillness. But the thread has snapped. You are free… And dangerous."
The being paused, as if it was interrupted by something, which Omkar couldn't hear. Then:
"We will watch you, Omkar."
With a flick of its hand, the figure dissolved into strands of light and vanished into the sky.
---
He couldn't totally fathom what was happening with him, he wanted to question but the figure wasn't there.
Omkar stood alone again.
But he didn't feel alone.
Every part of this world knew him now—he could feel it. The soil beneath his feet had memorized his weight. The air remembered his breath. Even the moons seemed to have tilted, just slightly, to observe him.
In the distance, the sound of water trickled.
He followed it.
There was no path—just instinct. Or perhaps it was something else. A pull, a subtle tug beneath his ribs. He crossed glowing mushrooms, stepped between trees that whispered lullabies in languages he didn't understand, and finally arrived at a pool that shimmered like mercury.
When he looked in, he didn't see his reflection.
He saw someone else.
A man with white eyes and robes stitched from constellations. His face was ancient, kind, and terribly tired.
"You must choose," the reflection said. "To remember… or to become."
The image shattered.
The pool went still.
And in that stillness, Omkar realized something terrifying.
This world was not a dream.
It was awake. Still and…
And it was waiting.