It took an eternity to gather even half of what I had previously.
In the middle of this tedious process, I discovered something unexpected: an ability that seemed to have emerged along with the assimilation of the void. I could… sleep.
A truly valuable ability. I had completely forgotten that sleeping was possible. In fact, I only tried because of the crushing boredom consuming me — with nothing to manipulate and few particles to explore, it was as if my own existence had lost all meaning.
But with the number of particles finally large enough, I began to fuse them into a single particle, this time without deactivating the interaction concept. I wanted to see what would happen if a concept were broken.
Soon, I felt a metaphysical snap — the interaction concept was broken. It didn't disappear as I had expected; instead, it was corrupted. It began influencing the particles unevenly, producing different effects every time I tried to "bathe" a particle in that corrupted concept.
I began cataloging the effects of the broken interaction concept. Each particle reacted unpredictably:
One, upon interacting with another, simply teleported in a random direction.
Another, instead of pushing normally, passed through its neighbor as if intangible.
There were even particles that, upon interacting with a nearby one, were attracted instead of repelled, partially embedding inside the other.
What was once predictable and controllable became chaotic. Each interaction between particles was random; it was as if the concept was a program that, corrupted, issued unpredictable instructions. The particles no longer followed the rules uniformly — each reacted in its own way, creating a pattern of chaos that, in a strange sense, had its own logic.
Yet, in the end, even in this chaos, I could predict the outcome. It was as if the randomness were only apparent — there was no true unpredictability in my existence, even after creating a concept for it.
It was like being a computer: even with a runaway program, it still relied on the CPU to process the chaotic data. And for me — the "CPU" of that reality — all the chaos was transparent; nothing escaped my perception or control. Every unpredictable variable still passed through me, as if the lack of control only existed within limits I had myself established.
"The same problem as the thought concept…"
After observing the results, I decided to fix the concept. To my surprise, it was relatively easy: I just had to rearrange the pieces, restoring them to their original place. Within moments, the concept was "as good as new," ready to be applied again — fully functional.
It was comforting and frustrating at the same time: good because I hadn't lost my investment in particles, but sad because there was no other surprise, no new mystery to uncover. Everything was restored, too predictable.
Having already seen what a broken concept could do, I returned to the nothing experiment.
A singular particle formed. But this time, instead of simply throwing it into the nothing, I decided to apply concepts to it — something I hadn't considered in the previous experiment.
When I threw it into the nothing, I sensed the condition of the connection and the concepts I had applied. As soon as it left my domain, the concepts lost effect, leaving only my direct connection with the particle.
"I don't know if it was the nothing that erased the concept's effect or if the concept simply cannot influence matter outside my domain."
Soon, it began to manifest in multiple points simultaneously, and the same process repeated — but this time, perhaps because I had used more particles, I managed to maintain the connection even after it collided with some object.
It began to be bathed in various concepts. I couldn't see exactly what they did, but I noticed that with each concept applied, my authority over the particle decreased. The connection remained, but what I could do with the particle became constrained.
Then I began expelling these influences trying to affect it. Even with the precarious connection, the concepts had no chance against my will.
However, as I did this, I felt reality around the particle tremble.
"Reality trembling? No… it's more like it's fragmenting around the particle."
The sensation was like being on a boat in the middle of a storm; the turbulence were waves about to swallow the vessel.
And suddenly, the turbulence peaked, and the particle was engulfed, returning to the sea of nothing.
"Sea of nothing… a good name. The question is: what was that?"
Thinking deeply and recalling the concepts, I concluded that the sea of nothing probably had no concepts of its own. It could only mean one thing:
"It entered another domain…"
It must have been expelled as soon as the domain detected the abnormality of matter not following its rules.
Recalling the way it was expelled, it really seemed like another domain. With me, it was enough to think the particle was thrown into the nothing. However, I realized I had never tried to send a "wild" particle — one that hadn't assimilated — outside.
"Seems like a waste not to try this experiment…"
Feeling the particle in the sea of nothing, I decided to try to retrieve it. I needed to see how the particle entered — would it appear the same way as wild ones, flying at high speed?
At first, it seemed impossible: all attempts failed. I tried guiding it back, but the nothing offered neither space nor reference. Then, I made it vibrate at my frequency, and it worked. Slowly, it began to respond, being drawn back into my domain.
When it finally arrived, something unexpected happened: it didn't come being pulled or flying at high speed; it simply appeared at the edge, as if it had always been there — defying all my expectations.
Looking at it, I noticed it had lost some energy; it seemed the sea of nothing had evaporated part of it.
"Or was it the entry into another domain?"
This raised questions about the nature of nothing and the barrier separating my domain from it, although I already had a rough idea of how it worked.
Inspired by novels and stories, I hypothesized that the nothing must be a sea of possibilities. Each time the particle collided with something, it was as if its wave function collapsed — ceasing to be mere possibility and becoming a concrete fact.
"Enough speculation, let's get to work."
So I began preparing to send the particle again. This time, I planned to charge it with double energy. The more energy I put into it, the harder it would be for the nothing to erase my connection. The goal was to prepare the particle to explore other domains.
"I don't have enough particles…"
I began collecting particles whenever they appeared, and when none appeared, I plunged into sleep. As soon as I sensed another "rain" approaching, I woke, collected the particles, and returned to idle mode. The cycle repeated indefinitely — a methodical rhythm, but with the ability to sleep, it became bearable.