The opening of pulsing white light was a portal. There was no other word for it. The swirling molten crystal around its base crackled with energy, and the light within was so bright we had to squint. The rhythm emanating from it was the purest and most powerful heartbeat I'd ever felt, a high, steady frequency that resonated in my bones. It was the Source. Or its entrance.
We looked at each other, the same silent question on all of our faces: Are we ready? We had come incredibly far. We had survived the Veil, its creatures, its illusions, and the crystal guardians. We had found allies in the ghost city and unlocked secrets with an ancient medallion. Everything had prepared us for this moment.
Gustave nodded, his expression serious. "This is the end of the road we were looking for. Whatever happens on the other side... we'll face it together."
There were no more words. One by one, we stepped into the light. The sensation of crossing the threshold wasn't like stepping through a cold cloth as when entering the Veil. It was more like diving into a warm, vibrant liquid. For an instant, everything went white, the hum of the structure faded completely, and there was only the sensation of being swept along by a current of pure energy.
Then, as abruptly as it had begun, the sensation ceased. We landed softly on a surface that wasn't rock or earth or glass, but something that felt like... solidified light. The space around us wasn't a cavern, nor a room. It was vast and ethereal, illuminated by the same pulsing white light that had formed the opening.
The air here didn't smell of dust or decay. It smelled of… creation. Of something primal and clean, yet with an underlying tinge of something indescribable, something that kept my intuition on high alert. The hum of the outer Veil was inaudible. Instead, the space was filled with a profound silence, a silence that, paradoxically, felt full of sound, like a perpetual echo of an infinite vibration.
And the rhythm... The rhythm of the outer structure was only a shadow compared to this. The rhythm here wasn't a heartbeat; it was a symphony. A complex, powerful, and overwhelming melody that resonated in every fiber of my being. It was the rhythm of the Veil itself, but not fractured and chaotic, but unified, immense. It was... the beating heart of the Veil.
We stood motionless, amazed. The 'surface' beneath our feet was smooth and slightly receptacle-like, emitting a soft glow. Formations of crystallized light rose in the distance, creating landscapes of abstract beauty that defied description. There were no walls or ceiling in the normal sense, just an infinity of light and vibration.
"By the Veil..." Maelle repeated, her voice a stunned whisper. "What... what is this place?"
"The Source," Sciel whispered, his eyes wide behind his glasses. "It must be it. Where the essence of the Veil is purest. Where the Painter... resides or manifests her power."
Gustave moved cautiously, his hand on the hilt. Despite the strange beauty, the feeling of standing in a place of immense power—a power we'd seen how it could corrupt and destroy—was inescapable. My intuition, though amazed by the symphony of rhythm, kept detecting irregularities, dissonant notes in the complex melody that suggested the presence of something... or someone.
There was no physical path here. The surface of light extended in all directions. But the rhythm... the symphony that filled the space... had direction. I could feel one part of the main melody growing stronger in a particular 'place' within this vastness, a focal point toward which the other vibrations converged. It was a path, not of stone or earth, but of intention and energy.
"The path... follows the main rhythm," I said, my voice sounding small in the vast space. I pointed in the direction where the symphony was loudest. "That way."
We began to move through the light, our steps soundless on the luminous surface. It was like walking on air, guided only by the auditory and rhythmic sensation that only I seemed to perceive so clearly. My companions trusted me, moving cautiously, their eyes trying to make sense of the abstract immensity that surrounded us.
As we moved forward, the formations of crystallized light in the distance took on more defined, less abstract, though still strange shapes. They looked like... vast, ethereal structures made of solidified light and pulsating energy. They rose like temples or monuments within the immensity of the Source.
The air began to change again, taking on a nuance. It wasn't a smell, but a 'feeling' that joined the symphony of rhythm, a kind of deep sadness or melancholy, mixed with an overwhelming creative intensity. It was like feeling the distilled emotions of a being. The Painter?
At the center of the vastness toward which we were moving, where the symphony of rhythm was most powerful, we began to make out a shape. It was vast, immense, like a contained storm of light and color. It wasn't solid, but fluid and ever-changing, with brushstrokes of color swirling within it. It was the purest concentration of the Veil's energy, the beating heart of the place.
And then, from the center of that contained storm, a sound emerged from the symphony of rhythm. Not a roar or a whisper, but a voice. Clear, resonant, and filled with an antiquity that transcended time.
"Others... are coming," said the voice, without visible lips or throat, echoing directly in our minds. It was the Painter's voice. Or a part of it.
We stopped dead in our tracks, our hearts pounding in the immense silence. In front of us, in the heart of the Fountain, the storm of light and color seemed to grow more intense. And the voice echoed again, this time with a question that felt like the very question of existence in this place.
"What are you looking for... on my canvas?"
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