Anomaly

I just stood there. My gaze wandered aimlessly, never settling on anything. To be honest, my vision was blurred—a haze that mirrored exactly how confused I felt inside. I was trying to understand why I felt that way.
Of course, if I were truly honest with myself, I’d admit I already had a few theories. Sometimes, I felt things I shouldn’t feel. Emotions that came out of nowhere—too intense, too strange—like they didn’t even belong to me... and yet, they did.
Somehow, I knew things I shouldn’t know. It was like fragments of answers popped into my mind—none of them felt completely right, but they weren’t entirely wrong either. Each one held a piece of something bigger, like scattered puzzle pieces slowly falling into place.
Still, no matter how hard I tried to assemble the image, something was missing. A final piece. Something essential, invisible, just out of reach, keeping the full picture from revealing itself. Beside me, my Alter Ego—another part of me—stood still, quietly staring at the massive flower.
His feelings continued to flow into me, thick and silent like a steady tide. And yet, the more of them I absorbed, the less I could understand. It was like trying to decipher a forgotten language. The only thought that truly echoed in my mind was: Who exactly is my Alter Ego?
I know he’s supposed to be just an extension of myself, an internal reflection... But I can’t shake the feeling that he’s always known far more about “us” than I ever did.
(Who are you, really?) I asked in my mind, my indifferent gaze locked onto him.
His neck turned slowly in my direction, in a nearly soundless motion, as if every gesture was calculated. Dark mist continued to drift from his body in subtle waves, rippling around him like a living shadow. His eyes glowed a deep, vibrant red—hypnotic and unreadable. As always, I had no idea what was going through his head. Honestly, sometimes I wondered if he even understood me... or if he was just pretending to.
While I drifted in my thoughts, Victor’s voice suddenly broke the silence beside me, filled with anxiety: “Shit! I can’t reach base… Emily just stopped responding”
I cast a brief glance his way and blinked, thoughtful. In truth, I hadn’t really considered it until now—but it’s likely that whatever’s happening to people here in the city... it might be affecting Emily too. And for all I know, this could be spreading across the entire world.
I mean, even without fully understanding how that shattered sun works, I imagine it’s still visible from other places on the planet. If that’s the case, then no one’s truly safe.
(So this time, we’re really on our own...) I thought silently, my gaze drifting down to the building’s entrance below.
The organization’s vehicles were still scattered around the building. Near them, the agents Victor had brought with him lay unconscious on the ground, their bodies covered in cracks that shimmered with glowing flakes, slowly being absorbed by the flower.
After all this time, as I silently watched that surreal scene, a subtle thought began to take shape in my mind—almost like a forgotten whisper trying to surface. Somehow, it felt like that flower was absorbing lives to feed something bigger.
Of course, I had no confirmation of that—nor any real reason to believe it. In the end, it was just my interpretation, a vague, almost instinctive feeling growing inside me without explanation. A subtle hunch, but hard to ignore.
To be honest, I’ve never really been a realist when it comes to everything that’s been happening. It’s like this whole thing has been one long, hazy dream I still haven’t woken up from. Since I became an anomaly, my perceptions have been twisted—sometimes so disconnected I barely recognize myself.
There are moments when I don’t know who I am anymore… or who I used to be. Are my memories really mine? Or are they just fabricated fragments, implanted in me like puzzle pieces I never asked for? The more I think about it, the less I know how I’m supposed to feel about any of this.
It’s like trying to grab smoke with your hands—everything slips away, even my identity. Logically, I probably should feel scared and confused. But the truth is, it’s like something inside me has shut down—I don’t feel anything.
It’s a strange sensation, almost like a quiet voice repeating over and over that none of this matters, that thinking about it is a waste of time. And the more time passes, the more I start to think maybe that indifference isn’t so wrong after all.
Arthur calmly observed the anomaly standing beside him. His gaze, though composed, carried a thoughtful air as it rested on the lone flower atop the building ahead. The anomaly’s face held the same neutral expression as always—unchanging, almost inhuman in its coldness.
Even so, something caught Arthur’s attention—a subtle nuance, barely noticeable, but there. There was a hidden trace in that expression, a faint shift that didn’t quite match the usual emptiness. Still, no matter how hard he tried, Arthur couldn’t pinpoint what emotion it was.
It was like trying to make sense of a whisper in the middle of silence. As small as it was, the change felt significant... and it was unsettling him. Although Arthur’s main job was investigative—almost like a detective—he saw himself, above all, as a researcher.
More specifically, a scholar of what he called “Conceptual Virtues” a term he coined himself to describe these entities. They were beings that completely transcended human understanding, representing not just abstract ideas, but pure concepts in their most essential form. Imagine, for example, death.
Not the idea of death, or an event related to it, but death itself—alive, present, conscious. That was a Conceptual Virtue: the personification of a concept elevated to the point where it becomes something physical, tangible, and in a strange way, real. The only question Arthur had yet to answer was whether the Virtues embodied the concept itself... or if they only existed because humans had conceived those concepts in the first place.
From his perspective, the first theory made the most sense. Because to Arthur, the Virtues were so ancient—so unimaginably older than any record or memory—that not even numbers could truly express the depth of their existence through time. In the very next instant, while still lost in thought, a cold shiver ran down Arthur’s spine. Instinctively, his gaze dropped—right to where a dark, swirling portal had opened beneath his feet.
Before he could form a single thought or reaction, the ground vanished, and his body plummeted into the void. In the blink of an eye, Arthur found himself in a completely dark place, engulfed by a thick, silent darkness that seemed to swallow even the air itself.
It wasn’t his first time in that place, but the feeling remained just as dreadful as the first time. Even though he knew, in theory, that his body was in constant descent, he couldn’t feel either the height or the motion of the fall. It was as if he were suspended in emptiness.
There was no depth. No sky. And yet, somehow, there were both—twisted, incomprehensible. The space around him seemed to defy the natural laws, like a realm detached from time and logic. Arthur simply couldn’t understand what that place was... or what it was supposed to be.
Floating nearby, Victor appeared just as anxious as Arthur—if not more. His eyes scanned the surroundings intently, as if expecting something to emerge at any moment. His shoulders were visibly tense, his fingers slightly trembling, and Arthur understood exactly why he was so on edge.
Arthur turned his eyes toward the opposite direction, into the darkness. He couldn’t see a thing—just... blackness. A thick darkness, almost like a shapeless mist, swallowing everything around them. And still, something about that void felt deeply unsettling.
He felt—with a strange and quiet certainty—that he was being watched. But it wasn’t like a pair of eyes staring at him. It was different. It was as if the environment itself, silent and suffocating, was aware of his presence and gazing at him in full.
In the end, before he could think any further about what he’d just experienced, Arthur and Victor were abruptly ejected from that realm where absolute darkness reigned. It all happened just as quickly as it had begun.
Arthur felt his body being thrown—strangely—upward. He knew it didn’t make any sense. How could he be rising when everything felt like falling? It was as if the world around him had abandoned all logic.
Despite the unmistakable sensation of falling, it felt like he was being launched into a rapid ascent. Nothing around them obeyed the usual rules of space—there was no up, no down, no left or right. It was like floating in a void that rejected even the concept of direction.
At some point, the darkness simply faded, replaced by a golden light so intense that Arthur had to turn his face away. Beside him, Victor did the same, shielding his eyes with his arm. As the brightness lessened slightly, Arthur—still dazed—turned his attention to his surroundings.
Debris and rubble were scattered almost evenly in every direction—except for the exact spot where they stood. The area around them remained curiously untouched, as if some invisible shield had protected the space from destruction.
As his eyes adjusted, Arthur finally looked ahead. The light was still intense, but strangely bearable—nothing a human couldn’t withstand. There was something odd about that.
He was certain that the glow was far stronger than any ordinary light, almost as if the air itself vibrated with it. And yet, somehow, it was possible to look at it without real harm. It was as if the light knew precisely where the limit of discomfort was—and chose not to cross it.
Standing directly in front of the light was a being. Its figure was small—probably just a little taller than a ten-year-old child. Its body was pale and translucent, almost ethereal, like mist condensed by the light itself. Its hair, relatively long, floated gently to the sides with a quiet grace.
Like its body, the strands were also pale, but due to the intensity of the golden light around it, some of them reflected a glow as pure as shimmering gold.
Before it rose something that resembled a flower—though on a monumental scale. Larger than an elephant, its structure pulsed with a vibrant, golden brilliance, as if it were made of pure light shaped into organic form.
My eyes were fixed on the flower before me. It shimmered with a deep, golden hue, as if it had been forged from molten gold. Its brilliance was so intense that it could easily blind anyone who stared for too long.
And yet, from where I stood, it was simply beautiful—serene, almost otherworldly. There was something inside it... something that waited, still and patient, for the right moment to emerge. I didn’t know exactly what it was, but I felt it with quiet certainty: there was something there. Something alive. Something important.
What’s more, the longer I looked, the stronger the feelings of nostalgia and happiness became. In that moment, seeing myself from a different perspective, I couldn’t help but feel... strange. There was something unsettling about witnessing myself like that—and soon I realized the discomfort came from within.
It was my smile—genuine, natural, almost innocent... something I no longer recognized. For me, that was the first time I had truly smiled since I was reborn as an anomaly.