Finally, I have arrived at the entrance. Many have come: for gods, for glory, for riches, for science… I come for no such honors, but for crimes. The Eastern Galactic High Court gave me the option: death by the Cephalak, or retrieve the mythic Vacivus Crystal. No species would pick a death to the Cephalak. No doubt they believe me dead, as no one has returned with the Vacivus. It may be I perish here, but it must be a better fate than the Cephalak.
I am equipped with the best that modern science can offer; though, I suppose all who ventured here thought so as well. No gods, sciences, or magics have availed thus far. It is a small comfort that I am so well equipped. Though they wish me dead, they must believe there is a narrow chance I will return. I am told the only reason I was given such an option was that my species has a resilient mental fortitude. The scholars seem to believe the fate of those who have entered here is psychological in nature. I could believe it. The sages of old say the Vacivus projects images of the thoughts of any sentient being, and that it feeds on the consciousness of any creature that has had the misfortune of coming into contact with it.
My vision is aided by bio-luminescent mosses and fungi along the carved, stone pathway into the depths. The scholars could not tell me with any certainty who forged this path to the deep. The religious types believe the Vacivus itself to be sentient, and that it created the pathway: luring in prey to consume. Maybe in the past, but nothing, nothing can live for countless ages. I personally think there is some toxic gas the deeper you get, which is why I am wearing the respirator. Perhaps there is also an electromagnetic field that strengthens toward the center, as none of the droids sent have returned.
After several hours, I’ve arrived at the last known, mapped region of the cavern. The hall I’ve entered has walls of warped crystal, not natural, but as if the walls were paneled with the opalescent sheets. All the glowing flora on the ground is perfectly still, with glowing particles hanging around their crowns like a star’s corona. I’ll switch on my video feed, which will stream to the Eastern Galactic Symposium for as long as the signal transmits. They’ll have no audio, due to the cavern’s interference, but they claim the footage I yield will break new grounds in the scientific community, and other hoity-toity academic platitudes. If this thing does what people claims it does, I give it a decade before someone tries to weaponize it.
Am I hearing…whispers? No, not someone whispering…distant voices? Faint images of various lifeforms are manifesting in the crystalline walls. The visages are the source of the voices. This is quite the discovery! What a shame the Symposium can’t hear this. Well, they can see the visages speaking, so I will fill them in when I return. I do not recognize most of the tongues. Some of the languages I can name, such as Klantar and Valchek, which although I have the ear for, I have not the comprehension for them. I am not surprised I have yet to hear Amaranthi. I am so far from that blesséd place that it is reasonable no species of my tongue has been recorded in this haunted glass. Perhaps my translator can catch it.
No reading. Why no reading? Are there too many voices? Wait, the audiometer records no sound in here. Curious. I can certainly hear the voices, but the audiometer is not…ah! The scholars believed it may be a psychological phenomenon. The voices must be imagined. I wonder then… let me rewind my video monitor a bit. Oh, it only shows the iridescence and shimmer of the walls. The images are psychological too then. Drat, my recording is a waste of time. Well, they’ll have to come see it themselves when I return with the Vacivus.
I am unsure at what point it first occurred, but the anemone-like flora are swaying toward the direction deeper down, yet there is no wind here. I hear a voice from further down calling faintly, “Come”. I am puzzled. That wasn’t Amaranthi, yet, I understood the voice, and it clearly beckoned me further. Could there be something here other than the mental phantoms entombed in this ethereal glass?
The audiometer still reads nothing, but the voices are becoming louder, and where is that hum coming from? It doesn’t sound mechanical, not organic either—tonal? Like, something resonating? Yes, like the reverberation after striking a well formed bell or bowl. The droning ring is alluring. The voices seem more desperate—frantic, maybe? But the hum in soothing, numbing, comforting. The eyes of the life forms are full of anguish and fear, but the ringing becomes more gratifying, more—addicting further down. An intensity of euphoria clashes against the lament and warning of the voices. The sound is caressing every fiber of my being in an ecstatic wave of pleasure. The reverberation seems to resonate with the very air—no, space itself as I approach the heart of the cavern. I yearn to find the source of the resonance—join the resonance that seems to be responsible for the very motion of my atoms. The forms in the crystal curtains around me plead in their tongues and beat against their isometric sepulchers. I do not care, the hum—I must meld with the hum.
As I enter a large chamber, all becomes silent. The massive chasm is filled with the same crystals which formed the walls leading here, and each is ineffably beautiful. They are…pure. I am ashamed to be in the same space. My wandering eyes fix to the back-center of the room. There is, what I can only assume to be, the skull of some long deceased creature, which has crystallized. It is elongated, shaped almost like an octopus’ body, but the skull resembles no creature I recognize. I am eclipsed with child-like wonder and approach. Suddenly, my vision is flooded with the expanse of the universe. Several thousand galaxies, nebulae, and all manner of celestial wonders fill my psyche. I am swept into the breadth of the cosmos—raptured into a serene state of sage-like knowledge.
What is that dark spot approaching? A black hole in the expanse? Not a black hole, there is no gravity to the object, but it is coming closer. As the mass approaches, the darkness opens, and light begins to stream into it. I scream, but there is no sound, as it draws nearer. I’m trying to flee but cannot move. My arms and legs are beating, but I’m not making progress. I shiver as the gaping maw of the void, absorbs the heavens and beckons me, like a malevolent siren, to succumb. No, no! This is why I was chosen, I must resist, this must be the mental effect of the crystals. Center yourself! Calm, calm. The vision passes.
As my vision clears, the true horror manifests. Every crystal of the chamber bears the forms of past victims. Countless lives across aeons and aeons innumerable, wailing tumultuously without real voice—trapped between existence and non-existence in an austere limbo. My gaze locks with the skull, and I am undone. The skull jettisons upward violently, and I fall to the floor. From its tyrannical height, it pulses with an unnerving, unnatural light. Dozens upon dozens of tendrils of light whip capriciously about the space with every vibrant hue conceivable. The unfathomable depths of its desolate eyes are burrowing deeper—deeper than even my soul. I am drowned in visions of the entirety of my existence. Every second: birth, adolescences, my crimes, my love, my journey, this moment, and the last seconds yet to come are cascading over me. The agonizing torment rushes from my lips without sound or word, as every atom of my being is recklessly shredded, and I dissipate into light.
All that remains is crystalline silence.
Epiphany from Cacophony 