Anomaly
Chapter 174 – When logic escapes [15]

(POV – ???)

Since gaining consciousness, she had always been surrounded by darkness — a slimy, sticky, repulsive mass that enveloped her completely. Her movements were limited, almost nonexistent, as if submerged in something too dense to allow freedom.

She didn’t even know if she was alive. Actually, what did it mean to be “alive” or “dead”? These concepts were as distant as sunlight — if such light even existed. It had always been like this. Or at least it had been since she remembered existing.

Time made no sense in that place. There was no before or after. Only the now — eternal, suffocating, motionless. Had she been there since she gained consciousness? Or had she been trapped in that limbo even before that? The doubt gnawed at her. There were no certainties. Only that viscous darkness and the weight of the unknown.

She remained alone for a long time in that endless darkness, waiting for something — anything — to happen. She wished with all her might that the silence would break, that the emptiness around her would be filled with a sign, a sound, a change. She waited, longed, silently begged.

Sometimes, she felt like she could go insane from loneliness... but then she remembered she didn’t even understand what “loneliness” meant. It was just a vague, distant word, without concrete form inside her. And maybe that’s why she couldn’t really go insane — or maybe she already had. In the end, all she did was keep waiting.

Wait, wait, wait... and wait some more. Time seemed to drag in endless circles. Her ears caught no sound — only a dense silence, like a deep, endless vacuum, heavy with suffocating melancholy.

Her lips, though opening and closing in almost automatic movements, tasted nothing — only a cold, viscous, slimy bitterness that clung to her tongue as if it would never leave. And her eyes, even open, saw nothing. No outlines, no shapes, no light. Just a thick, still darkness that seemed to pulse with the promise of never ending.

She felt lonely. She wanted company — something, someone to gently stroke her head. But... what exactly was stroking? She didn’t know for sure. Still, there was a comforting feeling that arose whenever loneliness tightened, whenever confusion or sadness clouded her thoughts. Someone used to do that to her. She could feel it, but couldn’t remember.

Who was it? Her heart searched for the answer as one gropes in the dark for something familiar. But nothing came. Her memories of that time seemed to no longer exist — or worse, seemed to have been carefully torn away, like pages ripped from a beloved diary. A persistent void took over her mind.

The more she tried to recall, the more it hurt. It wasn’t physical pain, but something deeper, almost visceral, like a small creature gnawing inside, slowly and relentlessly. Tired of this nameless anguish, she decided to stop thinking. She lay down, closed her eyes with a heavy heart, and let sleep take her. Maybe, just maybe, in dreams some memory would find its way back.

Once again, a long time passed. When she awoke from her last sleep, something was different. There was a presence in the vast darkness surrounding her — something new, subtle, but undeniable. She didn’t know what it was, nor who it was, but she felt she was no longer alone.

Moved by a silent impulse, she connected with the entity sharing the darkness with her. The moment this bond formed, her perception expanded. Her vision, once limited by the void, opened as if the darkness itself had taken shape. She could see it — a silhouette, a consciousness — and at the same time, she knew it could see her too.

Her body, soft like living flesh and shaped by the very darkness, pulsed gently under the pressure of the dense, oppressive sludge. There were no bones limiting her movements — only viscous, malleable muscles that allowed her to glide with unsettling fluidity through the shadowy depths.

It was as if she were made of liquid mist, alive and aware. Her mantle — rounded, moist, and slightly rippling — trembled in rhythmic intervals, as if breathing, exhaling moisture and silence.

From the edges of her body, eight arms extended with the hypnotic grace of serpents in a ritual dance. Flexible and silent, they slid through the air as if defying gravity, each lined with suction cups that gleamed softly, like hidden eyes watching in the dark.

They weren’t mere decorations: each suction cup was both weapon and tool — sensitive as fingers, relentless as claws. They felt the slightest vibration, gripped with lethal firmness, crushed with surgical precision. The arms moved in perfect harmony, as if possessing a will of their own, guided by an ancient intelligence whispering beneath the skin.

But what most fascinated — or terrified — those who crossed her path were the eyes. Large, dark, with horizontal pupils that seemed to cut through the fabric of lies like silent blades. They didn’t blink. They just stared. Watched with unsettling calm. Calculated every move, every gesture, with raw, almost savage intelligence — silent, but impossible to ignore.

She became intrigued by that enigmatic being and began to watch it with quiet curiosity. They stayed that way for a long time — just the two, isolated from the world, having each other as the only company.

And, curiously, that mutual presence was enough. She could feel the tenderness and joy radiating from the creature whenever they were together. Moved by that nascent bond, she decided to share a fragment of herself: a faint spark of her energy, almost imperceptible, but full of meaning.

It was a simple yet sincere gesture — proof of a pure and spontaneous friendship. The creature received that gift with visible joy, and touched by such generosity, made a silent vow: to protect her for all eternity, as a sign of eternal gratitude.

She fell asleep soon after, now with the tranquility of knowing she was no longer alone. Her sleep, once restless and fragmented, became deep and serene, much more comfortable than ever before.

Meanwhile, in the shadows, the creature that once silently wandered the darkness kept its gaze fixed on her peaceful face. One of its tentacles slowly extended, almost delicately, trying to touch her.

However, it was surprised by an invisible field, a subtle but impenetrable barrier, that repelled any contact, protecting her from any threat. But just being near was enough for the creature. Its eyes shone with a mystical glow, filled with a deep and silent intelligence. There was care there, yes — but not the simple, instinctive care of a pet for its owner.

It was a more delicate care, almost human, like that of a sister tenderly watching over her younger sibling. The octopus would keep its promises, for that was part of the purpose for which it had been created: to ease her loneliness, filling the void with its constant and silent presence.

***

(POV – Protagonist)

For a few seconds, my eyes stayed fixed on Nyara, and she returned the gaze, but there was something different between us. While my look on her was inquisitive, filled with questions and curiosity, hers on me revealed a delicate mixture of caution and an almost palpable shyness.

Yes, shy — as surprising as it might seem, that was Nyara’s true essence. A girl so gentle she wouldn’t hurt a fly, so delicate and cautious. And yet, ironically and almost paradoxically, that same shy soul held the most feared title: the title of chaos.

As Nyara watched me shyly, I slowly raised my hand, as if asking permission to come closer. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a hesitant step back. Ignoring the retreat, I calmly moved my hand toward her head.

The moment the palm of my hand touched her soft, silky hair, a gentle wave of warmth seemed to radiate from there. Feeling the contact, Nyara slowly opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on me. Her eyes sparkled, blinking between surprise, doubt, and a delicate shyness, as if trying to figure out the meaning behind that silent gesture.

But all I did was look at her. My face remained stoic, unreadable — even now, I still couldn’t translate emotions into facial expressions. Yet, Nyara and I, just like Althea and Nekra, shared a deeper, silent form of communication. Just with my gaze, it seemed Nyara understood me completely.

Her eyes slowly closed, and this time, she purred softly, like a kitten finally finding the warm arms of its owner. With a gentle movement, she leaned her head against my hand, seeking more affection, as if asking for that moment never to end.

Though my face remained expressionless on the outside, inside I carried an ironic, almost defiant smile. I was the living embodiment of chaos — a turbulent and unpredictable entity. But, strangely, that chaos was not just disorder; it was also one of the purest souls to ever exist.

Contradictory? Without a doubt. My existence symbolized chaos in its rawest form, yet paradoxically, it also represented its inevitable end. A complex duality where destruction and rebirth intertwined in a delicate balance.

The next moment, a sphere slowly appeared above my head. Its hue remained golden, intense and vibrant, as it always had been, but at the core of that light, something subtler was revealed.

Beyond the gold, a delicate aura emitted a deep, mysterious, and captivating purple glow, while another radiated a light reminiscent of the sun itself — clear, radiant, and almost blinding in its purity.

These two energies, although opposite in color and essence, danced in perfect harmony, entwined in an almost hypnotic synchronicity. My eyes slid smoothly to Nyara, searching for something more, then fixed attentively on the space just above her head.

There, as with me, was a sphere, but Nyara’s was different. It had no defined color — or rather, it couldn’t emit any color at all. It was as if it were constantly shifting, trying to find some shade, some hue, only to then return to square one, remaining colorless.

But contrary to what one might imagine, this absence of color did not evoke chaos or disorder. On the contrary, it seemed perfectly aligned in an incorporeal state, as if designed to be everything and, at the same time, nothing.

An ethereal presence that, more than an object, seemed like a continuous flow of infinite possibilities — a mutable and constant state of ordered chaos, where the unpredictable coexisted with absolute harmony.

I watched closely as, with a gentle spin, my sphere absorbed the shifting color around it, as if sucking in the very essence of the air. As this happened, a subtle transformation began coursing through my body... It wasn’t abrupt, but a gradual awakening.

First, a wave of warmth slowly spread down my spine, like an internal flame beginning to ignite. Soon after, a delicate and steady tingling invaded the tips of my limbs, bringing a strange, almost electric sensation that pulsed with the beat of my nonexistent heart.

My fingers, once thin and delicate like a child’s, stretched out slowly, gaining a nearly imperceptible new shape. My skin seemed to vibrate inside, like an invisible web of energy weaving beneath its surface, tracing a mysterious and ancient pattern.

My bones, fragile and almost absent from my consciousness until then, cracked silently, as if responding to the force of something greater than me — or perhaps something that had always resided within me, dormant, patiently waiting for the right moment to awaken and reveal itself.

I felt my physical structure completely reshape, as if every fiber of my body was adjusting to a new form. My arms stretched out slowly, gaining length and strength, while my legs followed the same process, lengthening with an almost imperceptible grace.

My torso, which once carried the fragility and proportions of a ten-year-old child, began to transform. Now, it carved a more mature silhouette — slender and elegant, yet still carrying an almost ethereal delicacy, as if childhood innocence had not been fully left behind but gently shaped by the passage of time.

My waist tapered softly, while my shoulders broadened discreetly, gaining a more defined shape. I was still short — not as much as before, but not quite tall enough for someone to mistake me for a typical sixteen-year-old teenager. I was caught between two worlds, on the brink of transformation, walking the threshold of a new phase of life.

My hair remained long, almost reaching my ankles, gently waving to the rhythm of the aura now enveloping me like an ethereal breeze. The texture of the strands seemed transformed, more refined and delicate, as if each lock carried a subtle energetic charge, pulsing with a life of its own, almost conscious.

My facial features had matured — the face still held a slight softness, a reminder of lost innocence, a subtle reminder of what I once was. But the eyes... ah, the eyes had completely changed: deep, intense, like windows to a soul that had learned to see beyond the ordinary, reflecting serene strength and unwavering mystery.

They were deep, golden as always, but now seemed to shine with multiple layers — layers of accumulated knowledge, lived time, faced chaos, and conquered order.

They were eyes that, even framed by a youthful face, did not belong to a child; they carried the wisdom of someone who had seen far beyond the surface, a haunting mix of innocence and mature experience. It was as if they reflected entire universes hidden behind that intense glow.

At that moment, seen from an outside perspective, my appearance was that of an incredibly beautiful young girl, with an age that could range between 10 and 16 years old. I wasn’t as tall as a 16-year-old, but not as small as a 10-year-old either.

There was a subtle blend of childhood innocence with the first traces of maturity. But this time, I had to admit, even against my will, as an imaginary tear silently slid down my face, bringing forth an emotion I was trying to hide.

(Why do I feel like my appearance is changing more and more, taking on more feminine traits every day that passes?)