Chapter 4184: Maybe! II

In the grand, often nonsensical weavings of existence, there was a particular flavor of despair reserved for the optimist’s silence.

It is one thing to be told by a pragmatist that the odds are long, or by a cynic that doom is inevitable.

Such warnings are expected, easily dismissed as the natural output of their respective philosophies.

But when the one who has always seen the silver lining, the one who has consistently found a path through impossibility, the one who has been the unwavering beacon of hope...when that being looks at the approaching storm and says, "Eeeh... I don’t know about this one," that is when true terror takes root!

Imagine a young cultivator, brimming with talent and the righteous fury of youth, standing atop a mountain that pierces the heavens.

Below him, the world is a weaving of injustice, ruled by ancient clans and celestial edicts that strangle potential and reward mediocrity.

He has a plan, a grand, impossible scheme whispered to him by the ancient, eternally enthusiastic spirit grandpa residing in his inherited ring.

He raises his sword, a blade that has tasted the blood of beasts and the tears of his enemies, and bellows a challenge to the heavens themselves.

"I will defy this fate! I will cultivate a poison so potent it will make the very heavens sick with regret! I will overturn this decadent celestial court and forge a new era with my own two hands!"

...!

He waits for the familiar, booming laughter from his ring, for the encouraging words that have carried him through countless trials.

He waits for words like..."Excellent, my boy! A bold plan! Let me tell you about the Nine Venoms of Primordial Chaos..."

But instead, the spirit grandpa materializes beside him, his ethereal form looking unusually solid, his usual vibrant aura dimmed to a contemplative glow.

He strokes his long, wispy beard and looks not at the heavens, but at the boy. "Slow down, now," the spirit says, his voice devoid of its usual booming confidence.

"Let’s... let’s really think about this one. You might actually die this time. Maybe."

Maybe.

That single word, from that particular source, is more devastating than any celestial edict, more crushing than any army. It is the sound of hope admitting it has run out of plausible arguments!

That... was precisely how Noah felt as he looked at Khor.

After everything they had witnessed, after the impossible revelations and the existential threats that made previous apocalypses look like minor inconveniences, she, Khor, The First Hunger who had consumed impossibilities for breakfast since before breakfast was a concept, had simply said... maybe.

The silence that followed stretched, heavy and profound, in their pocket of stolen time.

The roiling energies of Collapse that defined the space outside their temporal bubble seemed to hold their breath, as if existence itself was waiting to see how Noah would process this particular flavor of despair.

He stood, his gaze lost in the chaotic beauty of the ruptured Folds, his mind a maelstrom of thoughts.

"There must be other solutions," he finally said, his voice a low tyranny of defiance that was more for his own benefit than for hers.

It was an assertion against the crushing weight of her uncertainty. "There are always other paths."

Khor floated over, her diminutive form somehow commanding the space around her.

She settled onto the conceptual ground beside him, her obsidian dress pooling around her like liquid night.

She began to swing her legs with the innocent motion of a child on a swing that wasn’t there, a gesture so at odds with her ancient nature that it was profoundly unsettling.

"Of course, Outsider," she said, her smile containing a universe of irony and loss. "There are always possibilities."

A tyrannical light flashed in Noah’s eyes as he stared into the swirling chaos, his mind seizing on the first, most direct solution. "One could simply... stop what was triggered. Find the source, the catalyst for this... Fallout, and end it before it properly begins."

Khor nodded slowly, her legs never ceasing their gentle swing. "Yes, one could," she agreed, her tone deceptively simple. "But do you even know what it is? Or who?"

She turned her abyssal eyes toward him, and in their depths, he saw the reflection of his own ambition.

"And even if you knew... if THE Creature, a being at the apex of the Civilizational Scale, could not or did not stop it, are you already that powerful now, Outsider?"

The question was not a challenge but a statement of fact, a gentle reminder of the chasm that still separated him from the beings who played at this level.

Noah fell silent, his gaze returning to the chaotic dance of Collapse outside their sanctuary. He thought of his journey...the countless trials, the impossible victories, the exponential growth that should have made him feel invincible.

Yet here he was, faced with a problem so vast that his power, measured in trillions, was like a single drop of rain trying to quell a forest fire.

What he hated, more than death, more than failure, was this. This feeling of helplessness.

The sensation of being a piece on a board, moved by hands he could not see, in a game whose rules he did not know. He had given away his Fear and his Doubt, but this cold, burning rage against impotence... that was an Everything he would never surrender.

Another solution surfaced, born from that defiant fury. "There is THE Loom," he said, the words emerging with the certainty of someone forcing a new path into existence.

"You said it was a fortification, a bunker where THE Living Paradox and others hid. It was designed to withstand whatever is coming." His eyes sharpened with calculation.

"Nobody has been able to get into it. It’s surrounded by Inevitabilities and the light of Paradoxes. That makes sense now. But..." He met Khor’s gaze, his own burning with a tyrannical gleam.

"If nobody can enter it, that means it’s safe inside. If one were to find a way... a key, a loophole, a backdoor... they would be safe."

It was a fantastical idea, a strategy born from the kind of logic that only made sense when all sensible options had been exhausted!

It was a fantasy, but in an existence where fantasies could become real, it was a path.

Khor blinked, her leg-swinging finally pausing. She looked at him with an expression that mixed pity, admiration, and something else he couldn’t quite name.

Then she smiled, a sad, knowing smile that had seen too many brilliant plans crumble into dust.

"Maybe, Outsider," she whispered. "Maybe."

The word, again. That terrible, wonderful, infuriating word!

A frustrated sigh escaped Noah, a sound that carried the weight of a being pushing against the very limits of possibility. "Why are you looking at everything so pessimistically now? You were the one who told me to expect failure, to embrace it, to understand that existence is unfair. That one must fail and fail and fail before a single success blooms that makes all the failures worth it."

Khor nodded, her smile becoming more genuine. "Yes, of course," she said, her voice regaining some of its usual playful cadence.

"But just because I know the recipe for the dish doesn’t mean I can’t admit that we’re in a really shitty situation, does it, Outsider?"

She floated up, her tiny form suddenly radiating a defiant energy that chased away some of the oppressive gloom.

"Don’t worry. I can admit it’s shitty and still fight to the end. I never expected the Seed of Inevitability I gave you to lead to my resurgence, but... I’ve grown interested in what you’ve built here."

She gestured at the unseen Shore beyond their temporal bubble. "Hey, I’m even finishing the advancement of your Early Veiled Shore to a Radiant Shore right now, am I not? I find joy in that. I find joy in taking a bite and eating an entire Fold. So I’m there with you, Outsider."

She floated before him, her eyes locking with his, and in their depths, he saw not pessimism but the ultimate form of possibility.

"Even if I know and think that stopping whatever was triggered is impossible, that gaining access to THE Loom is impossible... I will still say ’hey, maybe!’ After all," her smile was a dawn in the darkness, "anything is possible in existence, no matter how unlikely."

"..."

Noah listened, the cold rage in his chest easing, replaced by a quiet, steady resolve.

She was right. The situation was dire, perhaps unwinnable. But that didn’t change the path forward. One simply continued to try. One simply continued to exert effort.

And was effort not...what mattered the most?

His mind, cleared of its storms, began to work again, connecting disparate threads of information, seeking new patterns. And then, a name surfaced, a legacy, a possibility he hadn’t considered.

His eyes lit up with a new light.

"The First Farmer," he said, the name itself feeling like a key. "The Farmer who planted Principles themselves. The Sanctuary he made in the Wandering Territories... if he is still there, if he has had eons to cultivate his power, he may be on the Civilizational Scale of Existence like THE Living Paradox and the others. There could be a potential solution through him."

Khor smiled at his words, a brilliant, genuine smile that held no reservations. Then she laughed, a sound like stars being born and dying in the same instant.

"You know my answer, Outsider," she said, her eyes sparkling with the beautiful, terrible light of infinite possibility.

"Maybe!"

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