Chapter three: The Definition of Things
The scent of fresh bread, cheap cologne, and floor polish mingled in the air as Caelum strolled through the shopping mall, weaving between sluggish crowds.
He adjusted the strap of his bag, stepping around a mother struggling to wrangle her screaming child into a clothing store. The kid was wailing like someone had just informed him Santa wasn't real.
Caelum resisted the urge to give him a solemn nod and say, 'It only gets worse, buddy.'
Instead, he kept moving, he took some quick looks between the storefronts as he mentally went over his list. Bread, coffee, a few other essentials, those were things he could technically draw, but had decided against it for now.
His fingers drummed against the strap of his bag. It had been a week. A week since he had started testing the quill in earnest. A week of trial, error, and a lot of unconsciousness.
He had learned a few things in that time. The quill wasn't just blindly and stupidly powerful. It had it's own rules, rules he had slowly uncovered through sheer stubbornness (and by passing out more times than he would like to admit).
The first rule- The quill didn't create things arbitrarily. It created things based on his definition of them.
He had recreated the leaf, the key, even a dollar, all perfectly, because he had defined them exactly as they were. A key was metal, a dollar was thin, fibrous paper with embedded security strips, a leaf had veins and an organic texture.
He understood those things and so, the quill did too. But then came the intresting part, he had tried to define a loaf of bread as butter.
And sure enough, when the ink shimmered, what had landed on his desk was a piece of bread-shaped butter. The outside had a crust, but the second he pressed a finger into it, it squished into a soft, greasy failure.
Which honestly, would've been hilarious if it hadn't also been terrifying. Because that meant every object he created wasn't just a copy. It was shaped by his own interpretation.
Which led to the real issue. Defining something that didn't already exist, just like the bread-shaped butter. That was a whole different beast. The first time he had tried, he blacked out in less than a minute.
The second time he stayed awake for more than a minute. By the third time, he made it to ten minutes before his vision tunneled, and the floor became his new best friend.
He sighed, shaking his head as he reached for a basket, tossing in a loaf of bread. "Lesson learned." He told himself.
The quill didn't just pull from his thoughts, it pulled from His 'willpower', his mental energy, it was deeper than just physical exhaustion.
He reached for a carton of eggs. 'The mental drain could've scared me, and well it did in a sense..' he started walking again.
"But slowly, as I keep creating," caelum felt a little excited, "my willpower is also rising."
It wasn't much, yes. But every time he pushed himself, he could feel the difference. He lasted longer before exhaustion could hit, he didn't pass out as quickly like when he started.
"It was small and almost imperceptible. But it was there, because it meant he wasn't just experimenting with the quill anymore; instead, he was adapting to the quill."
He stopped outside a coffee shop, watching as a group of teenagers loitered by the entrance, laughing too loudly, their energy seemingly endless.
He huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Must be nice." Still, he wasn't complaining, as this was his life now.
And, despite everything, despite the exhaustion and uncertainty the quill brought, he was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't such a bad thing.
-------------
The city moved at its own pace. The sounds of distant traffic, uneven chorus of footsteps on pavement, occasional burst of laughter or conversation, all of it blended into familiarity.
Caelum walked with his hands tucked into his pockets, his bag slung over one shoulder. The sky had turned into the 'in-between shade of gold and blue', the air cooling as evening crept in. It was one of those rare moments where the world felt good.
He moved leisurely, passing by a small bookstore with a faded sign, the scent of ink and paper wafting from the open door. A café on the corner spilled out the rich aroma of coffee and sugar, tempting him for a brief second before he reminded himself he still had some at home.
After a few minutes of walking, he reached the quieter streets near his apartment, where buildings weren't crammed together so tightly, and where a small park stretched out beside the sidewalk.
His steps slowed as he neared the park. Children were playing. Laughing, shouting, running in chaotic circles as the last traces of sunlight kissed the edges of the grass.
A boy chased after a red ball, outstretching his arms, as if catching it was the single most important thing in the world. Another kid dangled off the monkey bars, kicking their legs as they yelled something at a friend below.
It was strange watching them. It didn't made him feel out of place, but there was something distant about it. It was like watching a memory that didn't even belong to him.
Caelum smiled, 'so carefree'. He stepped onto the pathway leading to his apartment building. And that's when a crazy idea struck him.
He had created objects, things that were inanimate. But what about....
His body went still, a immediate shiver ran through him. "No," He unintentionally said so.
His own mind recoiled at the thought, his morals told him he shouldn't even be considering it. Creating things was one thing, but creating something like human?
His pulse quickened. 'why would i even think about it?'
He swallowed hard and forced himself to move, shaking of the absurd idea. It was an idea that formed in his mind, after he saw the kids running around in the park.
Stepping quickly toward the entrance of his apartment building he kept mumbling to inside his head, 'Don't be ridiculous, the quill is nothing more than a tool, it's not a god's hand to create life....'
His fingers were ice-cold as he pushed open the door and stepped inside his apartment.
---
The familiar quiet of his apartment greeted him as he locked the door behind him. Still, that lingering idea clung to his mind.
He inhaled, shaking his head to physically rid himself of the thought. "Forget it, It was nothing more than a passing idea."
Turning away, he moved into the kitchen and set the bag on the counter. His hands moved on autopilot as he put things away: the bread in the cupboard, the eggs in the fridge, the coffee beside the half-empty jar.
When the groceries were stored, his next step was routine. He grabbed a glass of water, reached for the small orange bottle sitting on the counter, and twisted the cap off.
The pills rattled softly as he tipped one into his palm. 'It's so small. Why is it damn expensive.'
"Should've tested the quill on these instead of a loaf of bread," he tossed the pill into his mouth and swallowing it down with a sip of water.
'Would the quill even work on something like this?' caelum wondered.
Could he copy the chemical compounds, the exact molecular structure of his medication? Or would it turn into an entirely different abomination, like the butter-bread abomination?
He sighed like a oldman, With everything done, he moved toward his room, dragging the chair back and sinking into it.
His fingers hovered over the quill, before closing around the smooth wood. He turned it over in his hands, his thumb ran along the dark blue feather.
His grip tightened. "Let's give 'that' a try, huh?" His heart wasn't entirely steady as he said those words.
Because, even though every rational part of his mind screamed against it, the idea had taken root. He won't draw a person ofcourse.That was too much, even for a soon to be dead person like him.
But he could make something small and harmless. "An insect, maybe?"
He gripped the quill as he reached for a blank sheet of paper. And, with rapid strokes, he began to draw.
-----------
The ink shimmered.
Caelum's watched as the delicate strokes on the page twitch, and peel away from the paper like a layer of reality being unraveled.
The beetle landed softly on his desk.
It was a simple thing, no larger than the nail of his thumb: glossy black, with spindly legs and delicate antennae. A perfect replica of the one he had seen crawling across his window the other day.
Except this one hadn't come from nature, it came from him. The beetle remained still for some time, then its legs moved.
Maybe a slight adjustment of weight before it started walking? It walked across the desk with the precision of an insect.
Caelum dragged his knuckles against his lips as he watched it move. It wasn't impressive, infact, It wasn't like a living thing at all.
It was just like a doll, And that was a problem. Before he could stop himself, his finger pressed down.
Kachak!
A faint crunch was heard. All that remained was a smear of ink beneath his fingertip, sinking into the grain of the wood.
he just stared at it, then sat back, rubbing his temple. "Well," he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed. "That wasn't like a real beetle at all."
---
The night stretched on, marked only by the soft scratch of the quill against paper and the ticking of the clock on the wall.
Each time, the process was the same. Draw, watch and observe.
A butterfly he drew had lasted longer than the beetle, its delicate wings flapped poorly before it found its rhythm. It had glided through the room, landing briefly on the rim of his lamp, before disintegrating into a fine mist of ink that soaked into the surface like spilled water.
It was not dead but rather erased, like it had never existed in the first place. Caelum tapped his quill against the desk.
"So that's how it works, huh?" he kept his voice low, not wanting sound like a lunatic at night. "Things made from ink don't die naturally, they just stop being? Is that it?"
But, the real question was: "How long would they last?"
Because if the beetle had only made it a few minutes, and the butterfly lasted longer, then maybe…His looked at the blank page before him.
What if he made something bigger and more complicated? He dipped the nib to the page and began to draw.
Time blurred by, caelum didn't stop at insects. He drew a small bird, its feathers were meticulously inked, every detail was fine-tuned. It peeled itself from the page, fluttered, and lasted half an hour before vanishing mid-air.
Then he attempted a cat. But that one didn't go well. The drawing had shuddered before it lifted, lines warpped in real-time. It's body had been fine, but the eyes were empty and soulless.
The moment it manifested, Caelum grabbed the paper and torn it apart. He couldn't stop his hands from shaking for nearly an hour after that.
"Okay," he stared at the shredded scraps. "So maybe that's a line I shouldn't cross yet."
He thought, 'As much as the cat unsettled me, it also taught me something.'
Every time he created something complex, it pulled at his willpower greatly, demanding a lot more than he could manage.
At first, he assumed it was just a bit, like how focusing on a task for too long drained a person. But this wasn't normal exhaustion at all.
His body wasn't aching or his muscles weren't sore. Instead, it was like his very will had been carved into, like something had reached inside and scooped out a handful of whatever made him, him.
Though, despite the fatigue pressing against his skull, there was the faintest hint of endurance.
He leaned back in his chair, turning his wrist and flexing his fingers. He had lasted longer tonight than he had last time. It was barely noticeable but longer nevertheless.
Caelum knew, His willpower or whatever the quill was taking was growing. It was slow ofcourse, but undeniable.
His lips curled into a smile. "Guess I'm getting better at playing god."
---
His thoughts became sluggish as midnight crept closer, his movements grew slower but still, he kept going.
He had tested insects, birds. But he had yet to try something entirely new that didn't exist in nature.
Something that was created by only to him.
"Creating something that already exist is easy, its was just copying and mimicking at best." Caelum sounded tired as he kept drawing.
But making something original..That was true creation, wasn't it? For caelum, That was a step into unknown territory. Soon the exhaustion hit like a tidal wave, his vision blurred as the blackout hit him.
---
When Caelum woke, the lamp flickered weakly, its bulb buzzed. His head was pounding. His limbs felt like they had been filled with lead, every muscle felt sluggish and unresponsive.
For several moments, he just lay there, sprawled across his desk. Then, with great effort, he forced himself to sit up.
He stared at the empty page with a blank look, 'Had i been too drained to complete it? Or did the quill stopped before it could finish?'
'Or had it taken more willpower than i thought it was capable of taking?' He swallowed dryly.
"Yeah," even his voice was rough. "This is definitely gonna kill me earlier than i thought."
But despite the exhaustion and the uncertainty, one thought remained clear. He was getting stronger in a way.