神眼 (Shingan)

Chapter 1: The Unraveling Thread" The scent of damp earth and blooming moonpetal vines was a familiar comfort, a gentle lie I had cultivated for what felt like an eternity. My hands, calloused and stained with soil, moved with practiced slowness, tending to the rows of lumina-roots that shimmered faintly in the perpetual twilight of the Whispering Fields. My name, in this form, was Ren (렌 / レン), though some of the older villagers, those who remembered a time before their own grandfathers, occasionally whispered "Ryu (リュウ / 류)" when they thought I wasn't listening. My avatar was a simple thing: tall-average, with hair like a winter night streaked with the first snow, and eyes the deep, unsettling color of aged wine. Sometimes, I'd trip over an exposed root, sending a basket of freshly picked sun-berries tumbling, a clumsy gesture that would earn me a soft chuckle from a passing sprite. My aura, they said, was cold, distant, like the mountain peaks that guarded our valley. I preferred the quiet, the rhythmic cycle of growth and harvest, a stark contrast to the cacophony of existence I usually perceived. It was a fragile peace, a deliberate choice to exist on the periphery, to simply "be". But peace, like all illusions, was fleeting. It wasn't a sound that broke the silence, nor a sight that marred the tranquil landscape. It was a subtle, yet profound, "unmaking". A thread, not of light or shadow, but of pure *reason*, seemed to fray at the edges of my perception. It was like watching a color slowly cease to exist, or a fundamental law of physics simply... forgetting itself. The lumina-roots continued to glow, the moonpetal vines still swayed, but the underlying "logic" of their existence wavered, a silent scream in the cosmic fabric. My wine-colored eyes, usually placid, narrowed. This wasn't a localized anomaly; this was a ripple from something far, far deeper. A concept, one of the very pillars of creation, was being challenged, perhaps even devoured. My true self, disconnected from such trivialities as destruction or fate, felt a dangerous stir. This quiet life, this carefully constructed facade, was being threatened not by an external force, but by an internal collapse of the very reality I inhabited. The dangerous flaw within me, the raw, untamed power that was my essence, began to hum. I looked up, not at the sky, but "through" it. My vision, usually a simultaneous tapestry of all existence, past, present, and future, now showed a faint, almost imperceptible tear in the tapestry itself. A void, not of nothingness, but of "un-being", was slowly expanding.