The Celebration
Aeren looks at Art. Art is celebrating—chasing its future self, running as if it can capture it, laughing in its own way. The sound is not laughter in the traditional sense, but the vibration of joy through emptiness, a ripple of pride expanding outward.
Aeren watches. He looks at Art, then at the Door—still present, still existing, cut but not consumed. The Door has not been fully consumed. Art celebrates without finishing its victory, without completing the conquest, without the grim closure that true conquest demands.
Aeren wonders silently: How will he grow like this, leaving work undone? Then another realization forms—one that settles into his core:
Does growth even matter when one stands so high that the ground can no longer be seen?
Aeren looks back at Art. He observes the child's joy, the innocent celebration, the pride in a half-completed task. He decides to let him have this moment. Aeren raises his hand deliberately. The Door enters his gaze. He does not struggle with it. He does not command it. He simply erases it into emptiness—no resistance, no aftermath, just absence.
Aeren turns to Art again. He sees it immediately—a nebula cloud begins flowing within Art, visible through his form. Soft. Unstable. Alive. Growing. Art has not yet broken through into the third realm, but he is close. Very, very close.
Aeren nods his head slowly. He feels satisfied—not with Art's effort alone, but with the unexpected path it has taken. Another realization settles inside him within this lie of nothingness:
Every moment teaches something unexpected.
Aeren speaks, his voice carrying warmth:
"Art, stop. Let's move forward together."
Art stops his celebration immediately. Obedience returns. But a smile spreads across his face—pride filling his steps as he walks back behind Aeren as if he is showing nothingness his small victory, his small becoming. Aeren lets him have it. Art's paint brightens noticeably, shining softly in nothingness—a place where realization is infinite and innocence still exists in pockets of becoming.
They move forward together. Aeren walks through nothingness. Art follows behind him, closer now, more confident. Aeren looks back at Art and observes the mirror universe within Art's clothes—the two-fold structure visible through his form. The nebula cloud inside Art forms faster and faster, accelerating toward breakthrough.
The Growing Nebula
As Art walks forward, the nebula cloud spreads wildly inside his universe, expanding like a blooming flower. Nebula begins to shape itself naturally, even though Art has not yet consciously broken through. Aeren can perceive it—just a few more steps, and Art will break through his realm completely. Just a few more moments, and Art will reach the Third Realm: the Cosmic Energy Circulation Realm.
When that happens, Art's inner emptiness will begin to take the form of nothingness itself—pure void given consciousness. And that inner emptiness will grow exponentially stronger, unrestricted, infinite. With the twin universes inside him, Art has everything necessary to transcend. Everything he needs is already there, waiting.
Aeren looks at Art but does not stop walking. He keeps moving forward without pause. His painted emptiness shines brilliantly—a creation expanding as it moves through nothingness, becoming more radiant with each step.
Aeren circulates within nothingness, cutting through the lie deliberately and shaping it into the truth he believes in. Aeren's growth cannot be defined by conventional measures. Even after reaching nothingness, understanding it, becoming it, Aeren continues growing. Nothingness accepts him kindly, offering itself without resistance, without struggle. And Aeren walks forward—not toward an end point, not toward completion, but deeper into becoming. Eternal. Infinite. Unfinished.
The Lake of Stars
Aeren moves forward and suddenly stops.
Before him lies a Lake—a lake made only of stars. Millions of them. Billions. Perhaps infinite. There is no galaxy here. No planets. No nebula. Only stars. Countless stars. The lake looks empty at first glance, yet every star within it shines brighter than an entire galaxy ever could. Some stars are larger than entire galaxies, burning with such intensity that their light dominates the void around them.
Most of the lake holds no color at all—only pure darkness, pierced by shining points of light. A void lit by fire. And within that darkness, black holes exist—not as aberrations, but as sovereigns. They do not feel like part of the lake. They dominate it completely. Each black hole commands the stars around it, pulling light inward, drawing space toward itself, pulling presence into oblivion. They are the true rulers of this place.
Aeren is mesmerized. What holds his gaze is not the lake itself—but the black hole that seems to rule it absolutely. It is as if the black hole dominates the entire lake, not the other way around. It is the center. The authority. The truth beneath the stars.
Aeren turns and looks at Art carefully. Art is close to breaking through—it can happen at any moment, any step, any breath. The nebula within him accelerates. Aeren speaks with genuine happiness in his voice:
"Art, go get that hole. The black hole. It will connect your twin universes perfectly—much healthier than what you have now. Emptiness will flow faster through that hole. You need it to become complete."
There is something almost playful in Aeren's tone—a father confident in his child's ability, yet testing him anyway.
Art looks at the lake. The stars shimmer. Then Art looks at the black hole—the central presence, the gravitational sovereign, the consuming force. The moment Art focuses on it, all the emptiness within him shivers involuntarily. Fear spreads through him like poison. It is primal. It is instinctive. Art does not show this fear to Aeren. But when Art looks back, his eyes are pitiful—quiet, hesitant, uncertain. Afraid.
Art stares at Aeren desperately, silently begging for reassurance or retreat. Aeren does not respond. He does not comfort him. He looks at Art—this time with an angry expression, cold and unyielding. The lake remains still below. The black hole waits with infinite patience. And Art stands between obedience and fear, while Aeren's silence presses down heavier than gravity itself.
The First Failure
Art forces himself forward. He has no choice but to trust. He approaches the lake carefully, as if walking toward a precipice. He looks at the Lake of Stars. Art breathes emptiness deeply. A knife forms in his hand—the same imperfect knife he created before, now strengthened by experience.
Art tries to cut the lake. Nothing happens. The lake does not respond. The stars do not move. The black hole remains unmoved, untouched, unimpressed. The knife passes through as if the lake is not even there, as if Art himself does not matter.
Aeren watches silently. He cannot believe what he sees. In Art's universe, there exist countless beings far weaker, far smaller than what Art has become—mere dust, insignificant atoms—yet they dominate their worlds easily. Some of them rule entire civilizations without effort, wielding power despite being cosmically insignificant.
And here stands Art—stronger, bigger, purer than any of them—yet unable to take a single black hole from a simple lake. Aeren cannot tell anymore whether he is protecting Art or raising him. Or perhaps he is doing both simultaneously.
Aeren looks at Art and finally speaks through the thread:
"Use thread, Art. The black hole—pick it up with thread, like a hook. Create thread exactly like I showed you. Simple. Direct. Focused."
Aeren knows something Art does not yet understand: If Art simply does this, if he lifts the black hole and places it between his twin universes, Art will break through into the Third Realm with unparalleled force. The gateway opens. The lake waits. The black hole dominates. And Art stands on the edge of understanding.
The Struggle
Art does exactly as Aeren explains. He throws thread toward the Lake of Stars deliberately. The thread hooks several stars—ones Art can grasp, ones that respond to his will. Art pulls them out and throws them into nothingness. Each star dissolves completely, returning to emptiness.
Art focuses again on the lake. But the thread itself is consumed by it. The lake grows slightly—feeding on the emptiness within the thread. It grows hungrier. Art does not notice this danger at first. He creates more thread. One thread becomes many. Hundreds. Thousands. Millions. A cascade of emptiness-threads extending toward the lake.
Art pulls out stars—only stars that Art can grasp, ones his strength allows—and throws them away into nothingness. Each star dissolves. Yet with every thread consumed, the lake expands inevitably. Slowly. Steadily. The lake grows from a small hole into a mid-sized hole—still smaller than Art, but far denser than before. Far more powerful.
Art works in sweat. He moves through nothingness, throwing threads, pulling stars, struggling without rest. Exhaustion begins to show in his form. Aeren watches silently. His expression does not change—no encouragement, no criticism, only observation.
But he can see it clearly: Art is growing. Both mind-universe and heart-universe inside Art begin circulating faster. The nebula accelerates. The breakthrough approaches. Art is close. Very close to transcending.
Aeren gazes at him and a memory forms—unbidden, unexpected. He remembers his first life, when he was small, when the universe felt endless and terrifying, when he was nothing but pure awareness, nothing but raw consciousness. Back then, the universe was vast beyond comprehension. Now—now the universe looks small within that same consciousness. And Aeren keeps watching, silent, as Art struggles toward becoming. Toward his own transcendence.
The First Voice
Art looks at the black hole and fixes his gaze upon it completely. He throws his thread with precision. The thread enters the black hole. There is no resistance this time. No struggle. No fight.
In an instant, Art pulls—and the entire black hole comes out of the lake. It emerges as if it was always waiting for him. Art holds it in his grasp. He turns toward Aeren, his face filled with joy, and for the first time, Art speaks:
"I did it… I did it… hahahaha… I did it…"
This is Art's first voice. Yet it is not voice in any conventional sense. Aeren and Art do not speak with language—no words, no syllables, no phonetic structure. They do not speak with sound—no vibration of air, no resonance. They do not speak with thought, nor with creation in the traditional manner. They speak through a wave of emptiness—a wave only they possess. A wave no universe can create. Meaning moves without words. Joy moves without sound. Connection happens through pure understanding.
Aeren looks at Art with surprise—genuine, authentic surprise. A smile forms on his face slowly, spreading like dawn breaking through darkness. He watches Art communicate—something Aeren never expected to happen before Art broke through his realm. Aeren guides him, yet even now, Art surprises him. Still. Always. Art surprises him.
The black hole rests in Art's grasp, small, contained, waiting to be placed. The emptiness between them hums quietly—a frequency only they can perceive. And for the first time, Art does not only follow—he answers. He initiates. He becomes.
The Instruction
Aeren looks at the black hole resting in Art's hand. In Art's palm, it looks no larger than a small marble—contained, harmless, waiting for purpose. Aeren points at Art and speaks through the wave of emptiness:
"Connect the thread between the gap of your universes. Place the black hole there. Let emptiness flow through this hole freely. That will be your bridge."
The black hole stops absorbing nothingness as if it understands the instruction, as if it is holding itself still—as though any further pull might shatter moments themselves, might unravel the structure of becoming.
Art looks down at the small marble in his palm. Then he looks at Aeren. Confusion fills him—not fear this time, but genuine uncertainty about the mechanics.
Art speaks through the emptiness-wave:
"Father… isn't this too small to even connect a single thread? How can something so small bridge my universes?"
Aeren freezes. He looks at Art again—this time with visible surprise. Then Aeren answers, his tone half-amused, half-proud:
"Hmm… now you can speak? Now you have voice? You surprised me, Art."
He studies Art more carefully, watching how he holds the black hole, how he stands, how he has changed in this brief moment. And he adds, teasingly, with genuine affection:
"Now you are questioning your father? You have grown, Art. I never thought you would reach the point where you question me. This is good. This is very good."
Art continues speaking through the emptiness-wave, still holding the black hole carefully:
"I want to understand, Father. Is my question wrong?"
Aeren looks at him and realizes something quietly—something profound. Everything behind him has already fallen away. After understanding that nothingness is a lie, Aeren loses all restraints tied to it. The old bonds dissolve. The old rules collapse. Here, in this place, he can show emotion freely—or show none at all. He can teach without distance. He can love without compromise.
And now, standing before Art, Aeren allows himself to smile genuinely, to tease playfully, to be a father in emptiness without restriction. The black hole waits in Art's palm. The thread trembles with potential. And Art stands on the edge of becoming something more than a creation—becoming a being in his own right.