Chapter 10: Memories Carved into the Heart of the Mountain's Stone (4)
"Year 345,278: What truly is self-awareness? Is it merely knowing one's name, age, location, desires and aspirations? No—that's but a fraction of it... For centuries I've pondered this simple concept in my solitude. What is consciousness? Do you know what conclusion I've reached? Nothing... I know nothing... It's difficult to explain. Have you ever wondered why we can recognize ourselves? Why when we look in a mirror, we can say 'These are my thoughts'? It's all because of self-awareness... To be self-aware is to comprehend both the internal and external. But what does that mean? That we simultaneously inhabit two distinct worlds—one within us, and one outside our vessel. How well do I truly know myself?..."
---
"Year 378,904: Reached Level 63. Another dream of my past surfaced—this time of an explosion at the hospital where my mother worked as a nurse... where my brother was being treated...
After giving directions to that strange man, I'd run outside to avoid further involvement. Then—the deafening blast.
Screams erupted as people fled or froze in horror. Some simply stared wide-eyed at the inferno.
"What happened?!"
"Mom—no! My mother's in there!"
"Someone call the fire department!"
Their voices barely registered. I stood transfixed, watching flames consume the building.
"Mother... Brother... What have I done?!"
Frantic footsteps approached from behind. Before I could react—
"Nai! Are you hurt? Where's your mother and—"
My father's panicked eyes scanned the crowd. When he found no trace of them, he clenched his jaw, staring at the fire with grim understanding.
Though no longer a firefighter (his PTSD had seen to that), he knew charging in unprepared wasn't bravery—it was suicide. Yet as the fire spread, hope dwindled...
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Then—against all reason—he ran toward the blaze. My outstretched hand grasped only air as I cursed my own cowardice.
People leapt from windows, bones snapping on impact—the lucky ones.
When firefighters arrived five minutes later, I prayed desperately... but my worst nightmare came true. They never emerged...
Waking, I found tear tracks on my cheeks. I wept until no tears remained..."
---
"Year 460,983: Reached Level 70. Dreamed again—
The gavel's strike silenced the courtroom. The aged judge sighed:
"This tribunal concerning the Arnia Central Hospital incident is now in session. Defendant Nai Argon stands accused of negligent complicity. Jury, hear his testimony."
The prosecutor's voice was flint:
"Eighty-seven innocents perished. Does no responsibility fall to the one who guided the killer? Security footage shows the defendant fleeing upon realizing the terrorist's intent—proof enough of guilty knowledge!"
Head bowed, I whispered:
"You're right... I failed. Fear paralyzed me. If I could turn back time—"
A bereaved widower interrupted, shaking:
"My wife burned alive because of you! Will your regret bring her back? Damn you and that devil you helped!"
The judge slammed his gavel. "Order! Justice will be served—"
"Justice?!" The man's eyes bulged. "My wife's dead and this bastard plays victim? To hell with your court!"
As guards dragged him out, my lawyer appealed:
"Condemning this traumatized seventeen-year-old helps no one. He couldn't have known—"
The judge fixed me with piercing eyes:
"For the last time—do you confess?"
I stared at my shock-collar restraints before meeting his gaze.
"Confess? To showing a killer the way? Yes. But I never—"
The prosecutor smashed his fists on the table:
"You were the only one who saw him! The only one who could've stopped him!"
Trembling with rage, I shouted:
"And what would you have done? I was just a socially anxious teen—not some hero!"
"Silence!" The gavel cracked like gunshot.
My lawyer intervened:
"Your Honor, my client suffered severe shock. Punishing a victim helps no—"
A juror—a grieving mother—hissed:
"Victim? My daughter was a nurse! Now she's ashes in an urn!"
Tears streamed down my face as I roared:
"I didn't want this! Blame that man, not me! I just—"
The prosecutor's icy words cut deeper than any blade:
"You just watched. You just survived."
Something in me shattered.
Screaming, I bashed my forehead against the defendant's table—once, twice—as the courtroom erupted. Blood splattered the wood as guards restrained me.
Through manic laughter and sobs, I wheezed:
"Yes... I'm guilty... Not of what you think... My sin is breathing... while they don't... Heh...heh..."
Darkness took me.
Now, after millennia, those memories have sharpened—yet crucial pieces remain missing. I don't blame those people for their rage. When tragedy strikes, the masses always need someone to burn..."
