Anomaly

I didn’t know what to think. Right in front of me, the black vortex was slowly spinning, as if it was pulling not just the air around it, but my thoughts too. A bunch of ideas were crashing through my mind all at once, like discordant echoes trying to make sense.
I tried to process that sight in every way possible — logically, intuitively, fearfully — but deep down, wasn’t the answer already clear? Even without fully understanding, I felt like I already knew what it meant. It was a silent, unsettling certainty that took root inside me without asking permission.
(The black lake... was it me who created it?) I thought, as disbelief slowly took over my expression. A strange feeling weighed on my chest, like the truth was too far away to be accepted.
The next moment, I lowered my gaze to my hands, still raised in the air. Confused thoughts started invading my mind — all revolving around that strange black lake at Base 17. That... was that really my doing? Even though I’d seen it with my own eyes, it was hard to believe. The very idea that I could have caused something so abnormal seemed absurd. It was like it didn’t make sense, like that part of me was something separate, unknown.
My expression was probably pure disbelief — which, to be honest, was rare, considering my face usually stayed almost expressionless. Still, there I was, eyes wide open and forehead slightly furrowed.
After a few seconds of silence and reflection, I looked away toward the scene still unfolding before me. Thinking about it now wouldn’t help. Holding on to feelings or guesses was useless.
In the end, everything I was seeing was just an echo of the past — something that had already happened. Even if I wanted to, even if I begged the heavens for a chance... I couldn’t change a single thing about what had already passed here.
As that thought crossed my mind, the scene before me continued to unfold with disturbing clarity. My past self — from so long ago I could barely grasp how it was still part of me — held his arm raised, steady, like a statue shaped by sheer will.
In front of him, the vortex spun with growing violence, as if about to tear through some invisible barrier between worlds. On the other side, Nyara stood still. Her silence was thick, almost reverent. There was serenity in her gaze, but also a shadow of sadness — like she had already accepted what was coming, without protest, without fear. Just a melancholic understanding.
She didn’t move, but her eyes... I could feel them piercing through everything — walls, silence, time — even me. There was something unsettling about that still presence. The strangest part, though, was that I didn’t feel guilty. I had a vague sense of what I was doing, a blurry awareness of my actions.
Still, even with that glimpse of understanding, something inside me whispered that it had been inevitable. And the most disturbing thing was that I didn’t know exactly what had been inevitable — I just felt, with that silent certainty, that there was no escaping it.
Everything was strange and confusing, like a dream on the edge of forgetting. Even though none of us said a single word, just watching each other in silence, there was an unspoken understanding — our intentions seemed clear, or at least, strangely familiar.
It was like some forgotten part of me recognized that moment. Although my memory didn’t reach all the details, something inside me whispered that this had happened before... and I was there.
Then, when the vortex reached the peak of its spin, it broke free from my past self’s hand and floated downward. Not falling freely, but like a piece of reality carefully fitting into another plane. The transition was sudden, almost imperceptible.
In the blink of an eye, I was back in that forest — snow falling silently, wind cutting through skin like thin blades, and the ancient trees watching everything quietly, motionless like forgotten sentinels. A cold scene, but strangely peaceful... until the sky broke apart.
The vortex appeared abruptly, tearing the fabric of air like a sharp blade slicing silk. A muffled roar ran through the ground, making the earth tremble beneath my feet. The snow around began melting in an irregular circle, releasing steam as it vanished. Nearby vegetation wilted fast, as if something invisible was draining its life.
Time seemed to slow down, every second dragging with a strange weight. Reality itself bent, distorted by the presence of that anomaly. Then, from the center of the vortex, something formed — a lake of liquid darkness, completely black, still as glass, with no visible bottom, exuding a silence that sounded like a warning.
And even though I had seen it before — even knowing exactly what it was — watching the moment of its creation made something inside me twist. It was like some forgotten part of me had awakened.
I understood what it meant. I didn’t need explanations or proof. No matter how much I tried to feed doubts, no matter how much I looked for a way out... deep down, I already knew.
Just as Nyara pointed out, I was the one responsible for her forgetting — the reason her memories were erased, why she didn’t remember anything. And now, it was clearer than ever. And yet, the only thing I could do... was keep watching.
The next moment, a vortex opened beside me. But honestly, it didn’t worry me at all — I already had a pretty good guess who it was. And, just as my thoughts predicted, as soon as the swirl ended, I myself emerged from it. My appearance, however, was completely different from what I remembered. For some reason I couldn’t quite grasp, I couldn’t tell exactly what had changed.
“We did this” The voice echoed soft but tense — carrying a forced calm, like trying to hold back something deeper. There was a hint of regret in it.
“Yes... we did” I answered quietly, nodding slowly, feeling the weight of the moment hanging in the air.
... It was strange agreeing with myself. Stranger still was facing that version of me with a face almost unrecognizable. It wasn’t just my physical appearance that had changed — there was something in the posture, the way he — or rather, I — kept his eyes half-closed, like every move carried the weight of someone tired of knowing how all stories end before they even start.
He took a step forward, and the snow beneath his feet evaporated before even touching him, turning into steam from the heat radiating off his body. His gaze fixed on the newly formed black lake, deep and silent like an abyss. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath — an absolute silence surrounded us, heavy like an invisible presence.
I didn’t exactly know what my past self was thinking, nor could I fully understand what he felt. However, being the same person allowed me to imagine it. It was a strangely familiar feeling, almost as if our emotions were intertwined across time. And because of that, I suspected what was going through his mind — because it was the same that was pulsing inside me now.
“You... remembered?” he asked, slowly turning his face toward me: “About what we... you and I... did to her?” There was a shadow of pain in his expression — a silent weight in his eyes — but also... a strange acceptance, as if, deep down, he had already come to terms with it.
(I remember... parts. Loose fragments. It’s still all kind of hazy. I feel like my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts — like a huge library where dozens of fallen books are trying to find their rightful place on the shelves alone) My voice came out low, calm, as if the words were slipping slowly, trying not to get lost in the confusion.
“But still... you remember, don’t you?” he insisted, his voice steady but without any accusation. It was more a quiet acknowledgment of something that could no longer be denied, as if accepting the inevitable weight of that memory.
I nodded again, this time more slowly, as if every movement had to overcome an invisible resistance. The weight of that memory — still fragmented, incomplete — pressed on my chest with the cold, relentless force of a crushing rock. Don’t get me wrong: it’s not the decision itself that eats me up inside, but the fact that I went down that path not because it was right, but because in those dark moments, it was the easiest one to take.
“She trusted us” my other self said, his voice heavy with regret. Although his face and body remained blurry in my mind, I could clearly make out the shadow of guilt marking every feature of his expression.
(And I betrayed her. I betrayed the trust she put in me, even if it wasn’t intentional, even if it wasn’t what I truly wanted... but in the end, that’s what happened) I said, feeling a knot tighten in my chest, a mix of guilt and anguish flooding every fiber of my being.
“You still think it wasn’t intentional?” my other self said, his voice deep and filled with unwavering certainty. His heavy, piercing gaze fell on me, as if trying to unravel every piece of my soul: “We are both entities far beyond what we can even comprehend. We had the power and time to choose a different path, to change everything… and yet, in the end, we chose this” He paused, the silence between us louder than any word: “So tell me, do you still think it was by chance?”
It wasn’t like he was blaming me — that wasn’t how I felt the tone of his words. It actually sounded more like a veiled invitation, an almost desperate attempt to make me accept that I was responsible for it all.
The question hung in the air, silent and sharp, like a subtle poison slowly seeping in. I wanted to answer right away, to defend myself, to say I never would’ve acted with full awareness.
But the painful, uncomfortable truth was that I didn’t really know. Maybe, in some dark corner of my mind, I did — but I had buried it so deep, so far away, that even this unexpected encounter with myself wasn’t enough to bring it to the surface.
I looked again at Nyara, who stood still by the lake in the past — a serene, almost ethereal figure, wrapped in silent resignation. Though trapped in that frozen memory, her presence seemed to pulse with surprising intensity, more alive than I could have ever imagined.
“She’s still in there” my other self said, his voice low and heavy with bitter certainty, pointing to the calm surface of the lake where the reflection rippled gently: “Not as you remember. Not as she was. But what’s left... is there, hidden in the infinite darkness of this lake”
All I could do in response to my other self’s words was slowly nod, as if that acknowledgment cost more than I could bear. I shut my eyes tight, feeling the pressure build, clenching my fists until my nails dug into my skin, seeking some relief in the pain: (I already know that...) I thought, a bitter certainty echoing inside me. There’s no way I don’t know that.
“She trusted us...” my other self-repeated, now with a voice full of pain, no longer a distant memory but a lament tearing through the silence around us.
The other me approached slowly, his steps almost silent in the dense air. When I turned my gaze to face him, I still couldn’t make out anything — everything was wrapped in thick, foggy darkness, as if the world had been swallowed by a strange, suffocating mist. His silhouette seemed to ripple, uncertain, almost unrecognizable.
“You need to remember” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, as he reached out his hand to me, firm and insistent.
(Yes...) I thought, feeling the calm warmth of his hand fitting perfectly into mine. The touch was steady but gentle, as if it said everything words couldn’t express: (I know...) I answered silently, letting that moment speak for us.
And then, everything shattered. The forest crumbled around me, like fragile glass hit by a single crack spreading too fast to be contained. The light inverted, folding over itself, while sound was swallowed by a deep, crushing silence.
And once again, I fell into the vortex — but this time, not as a mere lost and empty spectator. This time, I remembered. I remembered who Nyara was, the shadows and strength she carried inside her, and what she meant to me — an indelible connection, an invisible thread that held strong even through chaos.