104 The White Shore (1/2)

It was empty. Not a single living stirred within the City of the Sun, Raku. What'd once been one of the largest, grandest cities in the continent and a treasure of the North now laid in ruin.

What remained only served to paint a terrible picture in Reed's mind. Bloody, unrecognizable corpses, crumbling skyscrapers, and raging flames were the only things that the Infested had left behind after the massacre.

Reed had visited the city once, not too long ago. It felt as if it'd been ages since then, though. When he'd first visited, he had been nothing more than a clueless fellow. He missed those times, when his biggest source of grief were his instructors, and not…

This. This unrestrained… destruction, cruelty, and loss.

How he envied the past. It felt as if time was slipping out his fingers and there was nothing he could do to stop it. For all the power that Reed possessed, he still felt powerless. He could meddle with reality at will, but couldn't seem to do anything correctly with it.

He had a suspicion, one that he'd been fostering deep in his heart about Anima. It was raw, undefined creation — colorless and at the same time, capable of transforming into whatever dyed it, gave it purpose.

That much he knew because of the hooded man in his dreams. He showed him enough that he was positively certain that it was the truth.

And that was the most important part about it; Anima given purpose — directed by a will — created. It was the essence of all that had been and would be.

Hence, his concern.

If a will was required to create with Anima and all existence was and would be, at some point in time, formed from it…

Where is the supreme being that created the world? God. The one who willed reality into existence and shaped everything that was?

…This multiverse should be, by all rights, its finest work — its magnum opus. A painstaking work of love, devotion and sublime skill, no doubt.

How could it let this happen? Let everything happen as it did?

He could not understand.

Who in their right mind would ever let someone defile and violate their most precious work?

Not only that, but allow others to tamper with it freely.

Lesser beings, no less. The same beings it had created in the first place.

Has there ever been a story where fictional characters in a book suddenly gained the ability to edit the very same book they resided inside of?

Where they could change the script that the Author had written for them?

Had this world been abandoned? Had the creator died? Was this some kind of test? Why would the creator allow such pain and suffering to exist if it was still alive?

Something broke and Reed's vision suddenly went dark for the briefest of moments.

Reed vanished.

Lu'um had a frozen, aghast expression on her face as she stared at the spot where Reed had been a moment ago. She looked like she'd witnessed something that should not have happened, much less been possible…

Having realized the innermost nature of the world, he had unintentionally severed himself from base reality, which was muddled by the perceptive influence of the living and the dead.

Simply put, he had done what should not have been possible. He had jumped off of the performing stage in the middle of the play.

...…What in the hell?

A white shore — untouched by those who were born with the Veil of Obscurity, was an intentional obfuscation of the hidden infrastructure that supported reality.

Reed had arrived at the boundary that separated base reality, where all things existed — the material multiverse, and the white shore, the Atelier of the Creator.

The long and boundless sea near the White Shore was the boundary itself, the Veil of Obscurity. It was impossible to cross for those who allowed themselves to exist as a part of the whole.

People who were influenced by the world into believing and accepting the fate given to them by their fellow men. Only those who were capable of separating themselves, individuals who'd had the capacity to accept the truth — the true nature of creation — could pass through the Veil of Obscurity.

It was not enough to simply know the truth. One had to accept it for what it was — that was the hardest part.