"Y-you're saying the world was different before?"
Jay's voice trembled. The stories he had just heard unraveled something deep inside him—something fragile. He didn't know how to react, didn't want to react.
He bit into a cookie, completely forgetting any sense of etiquette. A valid lapse—after all, in a single instant, his entire worldview had been shattered, fractured beyond repair.
Then, as if possessed by the need to fill the silence, he launched into a clumsy barrage of questions—questions even he knew were absurd:
"Was everyone an Awakened back then? What did they wear? Was the food... different?"
Albedo ignored most of them. A few received a quiet yes, others a distant no—but never anything more.
Time passed, and eventually Jay's breathing slowed. The storm within him dulled, allowing thought to take shape.
"So... the world really was different?" he repeated, more as a realization than a question.
"Yes," Albedo replied. "The outside world wasn't always in ruin. Rivers of crystal water once flowed through the land. People coexisted with beasts—free and unbroken. They lived in scattered groups, in what were called villages."
"And all of that changed... because of the Goddess?"
"That's what the stories say."
Jay leaned forward, his voice urgent and trembling.
"Then—then who were the Gods? What was that war? Who betrayed who? And how did that poet deceive the Goddess?!"
Albedo finished his tea slowly, deliberately, then set the cup down with unnatural care.
"That... I cannot say."
"Why not!?"
"Hmph... there are things," Albedo said, his voice suddenly low and grave, "you're better off not knowing."
Jay froze. The room felt colder.
He had always found a strange serenity around Albedo—his voice calm, delicate, almost ethereal. But now... it was sharp, heavy. A seriousness crept in, foreign and suffocating.
Jay swallowed his questions. All of them.
And then, Albedo spoke again, softer now, yet his words clung to the walls like shadows.
"Souls are... peculiar things. Even separated by vast distances, they remain connected."
Jay leaned in, instinctively drawn.
"What exactly is a soul?"
"I don't know for sure. Some say it's the source of one's true essence. Others call it the chain that binds you to existence itself."
He sighed, biting into the last uneaten cookie—the one Jay had ignored.
Then, without warning, he stood.
"Time to go."
But Jay—still spiraling in thought—blurted out another question.
He had so many. Too many. They twisted in his mind like a storm of thorns.
"Then... where did they come from?" he asked, almost whispering.
"Where did they come from?" Albedo echoed. "That's an odd question to ask. Why?"
Jay hesitated, then said, "I don't know. Maybe it's just... something I felt. Throughout my hollow life, the only thing I truly learned was how to recognize the hidden meanings buried within people's words. When you talked about souls—it didn't sound like you thought they belonged to us."
Albedo gave a small, knowing smile.
"That's because they don't."
"Wait... what do you mean?"
"The soul is not something owned," Albedo said, his tone distant, as if quoting something ancient. "It is something... given."
"Given?! By who?"
"No one knows. But it's said that all souls come from the same source."
"Like... a god?"
"Maybe… maybe not. No one knows why they were given. No one knows the reason. No one even knows who they came from. Throughout history, scholars have speculated—some believed, others obsessed. They gave it countless names, cloaked it in theories and myths. However—"
Jay held his breath.
"There is one name," Albedo said, eyes growing darker. "The first name. The one it recognizes. The one it answers to. They called it—"
***
And they called it—Brahman.
He rose and exited the bathroom, closing the door behind him, sealing in the darkness and the lingering, acrid smell.
He stepped toward the sink, methodically washing his hands, then glanced at the mirror—though it was something he preferred not to do. Not without Mathematician.
After all, within the world of reflections, innumerable, unspeakable horrors were said to reside—silent watchers lurking behind the glass.
But this time, there was no need for caution. He was, after all, within a King's Domain. Not to mention the protective ruins embedded into the space.
After a brief inspection, Jin recognized the markings near the mirror—it was an anti-division charm.
Whoever had installed it must have been unusually considerate. It was a common bathroom, after all, and the world had never run short of perversions.
For the first time in a long while, Jin allowed himself to truly look at his own reflection.
Raven-black hair devoured the meager light of the dimly lit room. His skin, ghostly pale, bore the hue of a corpse left to rest for a day. Crimson eyes, like blood rendered into flame, glowed with a dormant, violent intent.
Altogether, his features gave him the aura of a killer—a madman. A beautiful one. If only the women didn't flee in terror the moment they saw those crimson eyes.
He studied himself in silence. Despite everything, he looked exactly the same as he had before acquiring this new vessel.
It was due to his spiritual body. Only his physical form had changed—his spiritual self remained untouched. The reason he looked the same was simple: the new body had molded itself precisely to match the contours of his original spiritual body.
Satisfied, he turned and walked back toward his room.
He still hadn't discovered how the Numerical Cube interacted with his newly constructed artificial soul. But he knew—with a certainty rooted deeper than logic—that its purpose would reveal itself in time.
Inside the room, Luke was already seated.
The tray of food was carefully set upon the table, its warmth still clinging to the air, although faint.
"You came quickly. It usually takes me an hour."
"An hour… What is that?"
"Umm... the measurement of time. You know, time itself."
"Interesting. That didn't exist before. How does it work?"
"You're joking, right? You don't know how to use a clock?"
"A clock?"
Luke sighed. Now that he thought about it, clocks were a relatively recent invention—introduced just over a decade ago. But they'd spread like wildfire, becoming a global standard. In this age, everyone used clocks. Needed them. Were enslaved by them.
Of course, Jin hadn't been in this world back then. So how would he know?
"Alright then. Look there—that's a clock."
Luke pointed toward a wall-mounted timepiece above the desk. Then began explaining the mechanism.
Jin was a quick study. He absorbed the information after a single explanation.
"So time is divided into hours, minutes, and seconds... and a day consists of 25 hours?"
"Twenty-five hours and six seconds, to be exact. Right now, it's 1:32, on the 12th day of the Emerald Moon, year 1238."
"I see."
"You should eat," Luke said, glancing at the plate with a sigh. "The food's already gone cold. Should I bring you a fresh one?"
"No need. As long as it's not poisoned, I'll eat it."
"Well then, suit yourself."