I am unbelievably bored.
I have spent hours watching Spathian dig sand.
Hours.
The impressive part is not the digging.
The impressive part is that he is still excited.
Every time I look up, there is another spoon.
A different spoon.
Apparently.
I no longer know enough about spoons to argue.
Ryn still has not returned.
Which means I have now written two journal entries today.
Neither of them particularly important.
I considered sleeping.
Could not.
I considered walking around.
Too dangerous.
I considered digging.
Absolutely not.
I tried.
That is the frustrating part.
I genuinely tried.
Before coming here, I imagined all sorts of things.
An artifact that changes ink colors automatically.
That would be useful.
I could draw diagrams.
Illustrations.
Maps.
Without carrying six different bottles of ink.
Or perhaps one of those enchanted water flasks.
The kind that keeps water cold no matter how hot the weather becomes.
I saw one in Dunskar once.
Far too expensive.
Finding something like that would make an excellent story.
Something I could tell Caravan Master.
Something I could tell Father.
Something I could tell Mother.
Instead—
sand.
More sand.
An astonishing amount of sand.
The longer I sit here, the stranger this place feels.
Not the floor itself.
The people.
There is something wrong with them.
Or perhaps wrong is not the correct word.
Incomplete.
Like they are trapped inside a thought.
A loop.
They dig.
Dig.
Dig.
Eventually they become tired.
Frustrated.
Ready to stop.
Then—
an artifact appears.
Not a good artifact.
Just enough.
Then they continue.
Another artifact.
Maybe one more.
Another.
Maybe just a little longer.
The pattern repeats endlessly.
Groups are even stranger.
Whenever an entire group begins to lose hope—
someone finds something valuable.
Always.
Not incredible.
Not life-changing.
Just enough.
Enough for cheering.
Enough for celebration.
Enough for another few hours.
I know because every time it happens someone starts shouting.
Then everyone around them becomes motivated again.
Including Spathian.
Especially Spathian.
Several times today I watched him slow down.
Several times today he found another spoon.
Several times today he became excited again.
I am beginning to suspect the spoons are hunting him.
The whole thing reminds me of playing Go against Kitsu.
The feeling of being certain you are about to win.
Then losing.
Then almost winning again.
Then losing again.
Then finally winning.
Only to discover the entire day disappeared while you were staring at a board.
And somehow all your money disappeared too.
The monsters are strange as well.
After sitting here for hours, I have begun noticing patterns.
The creatures on Floor Four wanted to kill you.
That part was obvious.
Simple.
Honest.
These creatures are different.
They are larger.
Stronger.
More dangerous.
At least they appear that way.
Yet somehow nobody dies.
Not really.
Whenever a fight becomes truly desperate—
someone lands the final blow.
Every time.
A Sand Devourer bursts from beneath the dunes.
Chaos.
Screaming.
People running.
Someone drops their shovel.
A dozen others immediately join the fight.
The monster dies.
Everyone celebrates.
Then they go back to digging.
A Crystal Colossus appears in the distance.
People panic.
Then gather.
Then fight.
Then win.
Then continue digging.
A Swarm Reaver forms a giant face in the air.
Terrifying.
Very dramatic.
Then someone kills it.
Everyone cheers.
Then they continue digging.
As though the interruption was merely part of the process.
Perhaps it is.
I am not a hunter.
I could be completely wrong.
But after watching this place long enough—
it feels less like danger.
And more like temptation.
A machine.
One that somehow understands exactly how much hope a person needs to keep going.
Never enough to satisfy them.
Only enough to continue.
Then I realized something worse.
Ryn is helping.
Unintentionally.
Or perhaps intentionally.
I honestly cannot tell anymore.
Normally people would stop.
Their bags become full.
Their food runs out.
Their supplies disappear.
Eventually they must return to the surface.
Except then Ryn arrives.
With arrows.
With rope.
With bandages.
With water.
With shovels.
Especially shovels.
Suddenly nobody has a reason to leave.
The machine keeps running.
And Ryn profits from every rotation.
Remarkable.
I suddenly remembered something Caravan Master once told me.
Back when I became angry.
Back when I decided I would stop traveling forever.
I still remember exactly how he said it.
"You can."
A pause.
"But you won't."
At the time I thought he was being irritating.
Now I am beginning to suspect he was right.
About more things than I would like.
I am tired of writing.
I think I will go find Ryn.
Either she is doing something suspicious.
Or profitable.
Possibly both.
If I do not write another entry after this—
there are two possibilities.
A monster ate me.
Or Ryn hit me with the cart after I bought something stupid.
At the moment—
I honestly consider the second possibility more likely.
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