The hospital buzzed with unusual activity. Rows of heavily armed Gendarmerie personnel guarded the corridors leading to the Investigators' wing, as if fearing the killer might return to finish his task. In the crowded waiting room, Erail, Ethan, and Engainari awaited news from inside.
Ainliss's condition was critical; deep shrapnel wounds on his back and internal bleeding due to the mysterious force of impact. In contrast, Arenwald had sustained a mild concussion and several bruises.
Ethan said, anxiety evident on his slender face:
"I hope they wake up soon. Every minute that passes here means the killer moves further away."
Erail, staring at an old piece of paper, attempted to inject some optimism: "I bet Ainliss will wake up first."
Engainari nodded in confirmation:
"Elves have a formidable healing power. The more worrying issue is what happened to them."
Ethan looked at the two with increasing worry, then left alone, trying to escape the room's tension.
Inside Arenwald's mind, sunken in a coma, consciousness slowly began to return.
"Where am I..." he whispered to himself.
He opened his eyes. He wasn't in the hospital. He was walking in a place overflowing with pure beauty, filled with vividly colored flowers he had never seen in his life. There stood a majestic tree, its trunk shimmering silver and its branches casting a canopy of ethereal elegance. As for the scent, it was like breezes immersed in musk and amber, purifying all senses of pain.
"Am I dead...?"
He felt a strange moment of peace, which quickly turned into rejection.
"Did it really end? Haven't I solved the case yet? My God, how can You allow me to rest from Your hell now... I want to go back and catch him!"
At that moment, the silver tree began to radiate vibrant colors, glowing with spectra of rainbow hues beyond imagination. This divine beauty completely captivated his eyes, and he felt stripped of all burdens and thoughts.
"It's...Zuro..[1]."
Arenwald began approaching the tree little by little, and he started hearing a calm sound, like the gurgling of fresh spring water on a summer day, filling the space.
Then the voice rose, becoming a deep, warm single voice, an angelic sound carrying the echoes of eternity:
"Arenwald Crizn... son of Matheus... son of Seiphon..."
Arenwald quickly turned, searching for the source of the sound, but he found nothing but light.
The voice repeated itself, with a tender, poetic tone, as if playing on the strings of his soul:
"Tireless Investigator... Andar of the Mind has watched you since your creation began. Observed your curiosity and the hell of your questions. And it is a great honor for you to meet her face to face now..."
Arenwald spun around rapidly, a look of profound astonishment filling his eyes. He said, barely able to string his words together:
"It can't be... Andar of the Mind wants to meet me? I thought it was just forgotten myths... ancient tales of creation!"
The voice replied with power:
"Myths are merely truths that have lost their context, Arenwald. Everything humanity forgot remained etched in the mind of the cosmos."
Arenwald said, overcoming the awe of the place with rational fear:
"Who are you, then? And where is Andar of the Mind? And what exactly is her role in this hell we are living?"
The voice did not reply again. Suddenly, the glowing flowers began to form and gather, ascending to weave a tall, majestic feminine body.
The floral texture transformed into pure white skin that radiated a faint inner light. A grand dress of white gold and a cloak flowing like the aurora borealis draped the body. Her hair was a long, jet-black cascade, falling weightlessly.
And her eyes... they were completely white, like clear moonstone, carrying absolute beauty and terror in their eternal severity.
She spoke with profound calmness, her voice resembling the intermingling of celestial harmonies and cosmic music:
"I am Andar of the Mind, the first to be born from the wisdom of Aieltheris, and the first to learn."
Arenwald said, mixing reverence with investigative curiosity:
"Wasn't Andar of Sky the oldest?"
She said, with a tone devoid of emotion, as if describing a mathematical equation:
"Andar of the Sky is blessed by the Great God; he needs neither learning nor power, for he is the First Completion. As was Andar of the Fire. As for me, I was granted knowledge and the burden of perception."
Arenwald said with clear hesitation:
"Alright... what... exactly do you want from me?"
Andar of the Mind shook her head slowly, her white eyes gazing into his depths:
"Your fate is death, Arenwald. But your fierce desire to complete your work is boundless. The fate of humanity is dependent on your will to move forward in the face of destiny."
Arenwald feared, and his exposed body trembled: "Death?"
She said with terrifying neutrality, as if giving him a list of options:
"The choice is yours: either accept the 'Trunk of the Mind' and become the instrument of my perception in your world, or... die now and surrender to fate."
Arenwald looked at the glowing tree. He asked, recalling the legends he heard in childhood:
"Am I... an Aukeratua[2]?"
She nodded:
"Yes. And many chosen ones preceded you. I have chosen you, and you cannot refuse my gift."
Arenwald said stubbornly:
"He's just a killer, why all this fuss?"
She said with a power that shook the dream space:
"There are things your current human mind will not comprehend."
Arenwald lifted his chin, his decisive resolve overshadowing his fear:
"Fine. I accept."
Andar of the Mind's face was cold as ice, lacking any expression of satisfaction. The silver tree beside him, its roots began to snake toward him like glowing silver vipers. The roots wrapped around his body and burrowed into him. A bright golden light began to emanate from Arenwald's chest and eyes. He began to scream with hellish force, a scream mixed with pain and realization.
In another part of the hospital, Ethan was in the restroom washing his hands. He watched himself in the mirror, trying to find some safety in his disturbed features. But as he looked down to turn off the faucet, he was shocked by the presence of crimson blood on his hands.
The blood didn't stop, but scattered and renewed on his skin, reminding him of Fyodor's incident that gnawed at his heart.
He violently stopped the water and stepped back, then took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He told himself in a tone he tried to make strong:
"There's nothing... I'm just imagining things. Ethan, you are strong."
But when he opened his eyes again, he found Fyodor sitting chillingly calm, leaning against one of the distant walls.
Fyodor said in a quiet, embalmed voice:
"How are you, Ethan?"
Ethan froze in place. All he could do was stare at the ghost of his past.
Fyodor spoke again:
"Why are you afraid?"
Ethan tried to avoid looking at him, and said with difficulty:
"How... I remember. I killed you."
Fyodor smiled slowly, a wide, ominous grin:
"Do you imagine you killed me?"
Ethan trembled:
"What?"
Fyodor laughed, his laughter hollow and joyless:
"You didn't kill me. You killed a part of yourself, the side you thought was right."
Ethan didn't reply. Fyodor approached him and pointed to the mirror behind him:
"Look at your face. I know you loved that feeling... the feeling of ultimate control."
Ethan moved closer to the mirror, his eyes not daring to look at his reflection:
"Noooo..."
Fyodor said, his tone growing more malicious:
"Did the police find your father's body, Ethan?"
Ethan's eyes widened, and his suppressed scream returned:
"What are you talking about, you bastard!"
Fyodor laughed and exited the restroom. But through the door came only Ethan's father, followed by Liam and everyone Ethan had hurt in his previous life. They began appearing before him, all looking at him with cold stares, whispering in rhythmic harmony:
"Killer... killer... killer..."
Ethan fell to the floor and began trying to escape them, crawling on the cold tiles. He put his hands over his ears and began crying and screaming:
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... forgive me!"
Then his crying suddenly erupted into high, hysterical laughter, as if he had completely lost his sanity.
His laughter soared above the echo of their voices, as if trying to drown them in his madness.
Liam stepped forward, his face devoid of any expression:
"Why did you bully me? Did I do something to deserve it?"
Ethan laughed with maniacal sarcasm:
"Does it need a reason? Nothing needs a reason."
The voices suddenly quieted. As soon as Ethan opened his eyes again, he found nothing. He began breathing heavily, got up, and washed his face again, avoiding looking into his eyes in the mirror.
As he hurried out of the restroom, he bumped into Engainari waiting for him in the hallway.
Engainari stopped abruptly, his penetrating eyes examining Ethan. He said after a heavy silence:
"Where have you been? And why are your clothes drenched in blood?"
Ethan froze and asked in astonishment:
"What did you say?"
Engainari repeated, his tone becoming more innocent:
"I said why are your clothes drenched in water? Were you outside in the rain?"
Ethan nodded, hurrying past Engainari, while the Memory Reader's eyes coldly followed his steps with suspicious doubt...
[1] means paradise
[2] A title given to those chosen by the Andarean