Narrated by En.
There was a boy who learned very early how to look away.
When someone was bullied, he turned his head.
When someone begged for help, he lowered his eyes.
When someone screamed—really screamed, he stood still and watched the sound die in their throat.
He was never cruel.
He simply did not involve himself.
Was that how he was raised? Perhaps.
As a child, his parents told him, "Other people's affairs are not your responsibility."
And he listened. Perfectly.
Was it wrong?
To others, maybe.
To him, it was order.
But ignorance is not empty.
Ignorance is a door.
And behind that door, something began to stir—curiosity.
He watched society the way one watches insects trapped beneath glass. He observed kindness and violence with the same still gaze.
Adults called him shy. Teachers called him gifted.
But children had no word for him.
They only knew the feeling:
the way their skin crawled when he stood too close,
the way his silence felt like being measured.
He spent most of his days indoors. Books became his companions, psychology, behavior, patterns of thought. When he wasn't reading, he stood by the window, watching people move through their lives like actors unaware of an audience.
He was known to be too mature for his age.
At ten, he solved problems grown men argued over.
At fifteen, the world named him "The Blessed Genius."
Awards. Laboratories. Research grants. Wealth. He has everything.
And yet inside him was nothing.
*******
By twenty, he had learned nearly everything humanity could teach. And when knowledge reached its edge, it collapsed inward.
That was when the question formed.
What if…
What if there was something beyond humanity?
That thought did not frighten him.
It thrilled him.
And that thought alone, changed everything.
***********
Astrology followed. Then forbidden histories. Dark texts whispered from forgotten civilizations—names of gods that were scratched out of records, truths buried beneath fear.
Knowledge became addiction.
And addiction demands escalation.
One day, deep within a cave that maps no longer acknowledged, he found a door.
Ancient. Unmarked.
When he crossed its threshold, he entered a library.
Not a room—but a horizon.
Shelves towered endlessly upward, vanishing into a false sky.
At the center sat a single table. A single chair. A lamp. And a book.
The book looked new. Untouched. As if it had been waiting only for him.
When he sat, something entered his body.
Not violently. Not painfully.
But familiar.
The space did not reject him. It recognized him.
The book was bound in golden chains he had never seen before.
When his fingers brushed its cover, the chains cracked and fell away like dead skin.
Light spilled out—warm, blinding and then vanished.
The book lay open.
And for the first time in years, his heart raced.
The text was alien—symbols no human language recorded, yet he understood them effortlessly.
He read with joy so pure it frightened him.
He read. Read. And read.
Until he reached the middle.
The pages beyond were sealed. Blank.
Then a word appeared:
NAME.
He pauses for a moment, then smiled.
Picking up the pen resting beside the book, he wrote:
Senian Encho.
The seal vanished.
A single word replaced it:
READ.
And so he did.
**********
Time ceased to exist. He did not eat. He did not sleep. He read until blood leaked from his nose, until his thoughts fractured beneath the weight of knowing.
Still—it was not enough.
He climbed.
Higher shelves. Thinner air. Each step peeled something away from his soul, but he did not stop. He had to finish.
At the summit, the shelves ended.
Fog surrounded him like clouds.
And before him stood a silver gate and a figure waited there.
Not human.
Not anything he could name.
"What's behind it?" Senian asked calmly.
The figure did not answer.
It moved closer.
The boy was slightly surprise when he still couldn't identify the figure.
But he did not retreat.
When it leaned close and whispered into his ear, Senian's eyes widened for the first time in his life.
He took a step back.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The figure replied by pushing him.
There were no stairs. No ground.
He fell.
His body struck the floor below with a sound too final to misunderstand.
Blood spilled from his mouth, his skull, his open eyes still fixed on the clouds where the figure had stood.
His fingers twitched one, two. Then he let out a soft sigh before his breathing stopped.
Then Silence.
A book fell beside him—the first one.
Its pages flipped until they reached a blank sheet.
Golden letters wrote themselves:
"Eto Enchomay ,The Boy That Saw No Evil"
The book closed.
And slowly, lovingly, it drank his blood.
********
No one knows what the figure told him.
Or if he was alive or not.
Or what was behind that silver door.
At the age of twenty, Senian Encho vanished from the world.
But according to the Encho family,
He still comes home.
Stream Commentary; Tape #67. I See No Evil
Kai leaned back, one elbow on the table, the glow of the screen painting his face in cold blue.
"Comments are open." he said.
No one spoke.
Nothing.
No jokes. No screaming.
No praise, no rage.
Just silence.
The chat sat there, alive, connected, and completely empty.
Kai's smile thinned. "…Interesting."
Seconds passed. Then a message flickered into existence.
[@Enchomay:Why does this feel familiar?]
[@Enchomay: That library… that name… Who was that man?]
Another message followed too fast, almost tripping over the first.
[@Enchomay:Why does he have my name?]
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
[@Enchomay: Who… Who gave me that name?!]
No one replied.
Not Ovesix.
Not 642.
Not even Kai
The chat felt heavier now, like the air before something breaks.
Then finally— [@Jaija:…hey. Are you alright?]
No answer.
Then, abruptly—
Enchomay has left the chat.
The sound of it lingered longer than it should have.
Kai rested his head against his hand. His fingers tapped the table once… twice… slow, thoughtful. His smile was gone.
The silence stretched until it hurt.
[@Ovesix: …Kai. Will he be okay?]
Kai didn't answer right away.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
"I think," he said slowly, "we should pay him a visit."
[@Jaija:…yeah. Yeah, okay.]
[@Ovesix: I agree.]
Then a new message slid in, careful, uncharacteristically restrained.
[@642: …Kai. Where did you get that story?]
Kai stared at the screen.
Three seconds.
Four.
Then—"Encho gave it to me."
The chat froze.
After a long pause, one last question appeared.
[@642: …do you have mine too?]
Kai didn't respond.
Instead, the screen blinked.
@Jaija has been blocked.
@Ovesix has been blocked.
@642 has been blocked.
The chat vanished.
Kai looked directly into the camera now, a soft smile returning—too calm, too… knowing.
"Everyone has a story," he said.
"And every story is held by two people."
He leaned forward slightly.
"The victim… and the narrator."
He straightened, voice steady, almost gentle.
"Thank you to everyone who followed me through this season.
To those who listened.
Those who thought.
Those who laughed… and cried.
Those who changed."
A pause.
"Thank you for walking with me through the stories of sixty-one victims."
Then, he lifted two of his fingers, "See you... in Volume 2"
The screen cut to black.
THE STORY IS VERY HUMAN.
END OF VOLUME 1 (The First Archive)