Chapter 482
He informed that he would notify Theo if any of the fourteen individuals Theo had asked him to monitor began to show movement.
A simple message, yet one carrying implications far from simple—a reminder that despite their discussion of Ilux with all its complexities that made decisions feel like an immovable mountain, there were other beings moving behind the scenes in ways no less significant.
There were other threads he had to keep from breaking in his hands before the appointed time arrived.
The fourteen individuals were part of a larger scenario.
They were pieces on a chessboard that must not move before instructions were given—elements whose presence might go unnoticed by untrained eyes, yet would become decisive once assembled in the proper way.
And Aldraya, with her hyper-advanced mind that never ceased processing information, despite her porcelain-like expression that never cracked, would never forget that responsibility.
She would never allow a single one of the fourteen to move without immediately sending a signal through the RWIA network stretching beneath their consciousness.
She would never let Theo stand alone in an ever-darkening room with doors that never opened, without knowing that somewhere far away, there was another being faithfully executing the instructions given to her—something she would never do for anyone but the Great Author who created her.
Then, at that very moment, in a way they had never planned yet felt as natural as breathing itself, the telepathic communication that connected their consciousnesses through thin threads of Resolve, Will, Intent, and Ambition came to an end.
"The plan is indeed simple. But simplicity does not always mean everything will go smoothly."
Doubt came in a way he had never invited.
It arrived with steps so silent that it was almost imperceptible when it first set foot in the deepest space—where all decisions were usually made with unwavering firmness.
Theo allowed himself to stand in the silence that now belonged solely to him.
He let the RWIA network, suddenly quiet after so long being filled with distant vibrations, bear witness to a battle he never showed anyone—the clash between the conviction he had built over billions of years and the doubt that seeped in as easily as water through unseen cracks.
He realized that the proposal he had spoken with such certainty—the one that made Aldraya respond with warmth so genuine it almost made him forget the precision required behind it—was not as solid as he had imagined when he first conceived it.
Something stirred within him in a way he had never experienced before.
Something that made it impossible for him to stand as firmly as usual—something that pinned his feet to the cold floor while everything around him seemed to move uncontrollably.
Something that forced him to admit that behind his faint smiles and calm words, there lay a doubt deep enough to drown the courage he had gathered for billions of years.
The source of that doubt was not simple.
It was not something that could be resolved merely by repeating his belief that he was the Great Author—one who never failed in crafting narratives, one who had spent decades understanding the intricacies of emotion, one who accounted for every variable.
The doubt rooted itself deeper—into the very nature of the plan he had devised.
It concerned the whispers he would plant within Ilux, the words disguised as inner murmurs born from the depths of the young man's consciousness.
Questions he would embed there, hoping that from unspoken answers—reflected only through restless movements—he would obtain the information needed to guide his next decisions.
He feared Ilux might recognize the intrusion.
That despite the pressure, depression, and frustration weighing him down, the young man might still retain enough awareness to distinguish between his own thoughts and something imposed from outside.
And if that happened—if Ilux realized something was wrong—then it would not merely mean failure to gather information.
It would not just mean a wasted night after days of preparation.
It would mean something far worse.
Something that could collapse the entire scenario he had constructed with meticulous precision since the beginning of this arc.
Ilux would become cautious.
He would close himself off even more, erect higher and thicker walls around his fragile consciousness.
And if such interference occurred more than once—if the whispers had to be repeated due to insufficient results—then the possibility would grow stronger.
More real.
More impossible to ignore.
That Ilux might never intend to transform into the Void.
That all the pressure, bullying, humiliation, and suffering inflicted upon him had never been enough to sever his final tie to a world that had been so cruel to him.
To be continued…