By the time Ryan returned to the attic, it was nearly dawn.
The entire old apartment building was incredibly quiet, with only the occasional dripping of water pipes coming from downstairs.
He closed the door and stood with his back against it for a moment, the scent of alcohol from Winona still lingering in his mind. It was a disgusting feeling, like something sticky clinging to his psyche that couldn't be washed away.
Ryan walked over to the desk and stared at the half-empty bottle of laudanum for a long time.
He knew he had been drinking it more and more frequently lately. At first, it was just to sleep. Then, it was to enter dreams. And later still—it was to enter the Wood, because only there could he truly access extraordinary knowledge and see the path.
But the problem was, he was starting to lose control.
Ryan looked down at his hands; they were trembling slightly.
His mind had been pushed to its limit tonight. If he didn't sleep now, he might actually drop dead in the attic.
So, he pulled the cork and tilted his head back, gulping down the remaining half of the bottle.
A sharp, bitter taste instantly rushed up his nasal passage. The dosage this time was clearly too much. The moment he swallowed, his stomach began to churn, and his head rapidly grew heavy.
He stumbled back onto the bed. The light of the kerosene lamp stretched and blurred in his vision, and his consciousness began to plunge.
...
The Wood.
The grey-white forest still stood in the mist, the air bone-chillingly cold.
Ryan had barely opened his eyes when, in the next second, a sudden chill swept in from behind him. He spun around instantly.
The white figure.
It stood less than ten meters away, closer and clearer than before, its featureless face turned directly toward him.
And the Glory on its body—it had grown stronger.
The surrounding grey-white forest was constantly channeling faint light toward it, and Ryan's heart instantly sank.
The white figure slowly raised its head.
In the next second, a sharp pain stabbed Ryan's eyes as a massive burst of Glory suddenly exploded in his vision!
A torrent of knowledge was forcefully crammed into his mind.
Before Ryan could even react, countless overlapping voices began to echo in his ears.
“The Glory is the gaze—”
“The Lantern permits no concealment—”
“Knowledge must burn—”
“The beholder shall eventually be beheld—”
The voices grew more numerous and rapid, sounding less like human speech and more like raw concepts pressing directly into his brain.
Ryan screamed, his knees sinking straight into the muddy ground.
He felt as if his brain were being torn open as a flood of unfamiliar images rushed in frantically.
A burning library, a white flame covered in countless eyes, a clock atop a high tower, and countless faceless figures—they were all “gazing.”
Ryan tried desperately to look away, but he couldn't.
Using the purest Lantern aspect, the white figure forcibly burned away the trace of Grail that had contaminated his psyche.
But the problem was—
Ryan was too weak.
This knowledge was simply not something he could bear.
“Aaaah—!!!”
A shrill scream echoed through the Wood.
At the same time.
In the real world.
On the attic bed, Ryan's body suddenly convulsed. He curled into a ball, his teeth clenched tightly as tears and streaks of blood leaked from the corners of his eyes.
The effects of the laudanum were still suppressing his consciousness, making it impossible for him to wake up.
In the gloom, Ryan spasmed repeatedly as if gripped by a high fever, his fingers clawing so hard at the bedsheets that they tore.
Meanwhile, in the dream, the white figure had walked up to him.
It slowly reached out and pressed its hand against Ryan's forehead.
Boom—
Even more knowledge was poured directly into him.
This time, Ryan finally felt the true sensation of death.
His mind began to “crack.”
Not metaphorically, but in the literal sense of reaching his carrying capacity.
He was starting to forget things.
His past life, his current life—his memories were being washed away.
The knowledge of the Lantern aspect was too “bright”—so bright that a mortal's brain simply could not contain it.
Ryan even began to see his own memories being illuminated and pierced by the Glory.
Images of his mother cooking, his father smoking on the sofa, his college dorm, the computer screen, the interface of Cultist Simulator...
And then—
Those things began to burn, ignited like paper.
“No...”
Ryan knelt on the ground, his voice already hoarse.
For the first time, he felt true, deep terror.
The white figure did not stop.
Purifying.
Illuminating.
Removing impurities.
Until Ryan was completely turned into a pure “Lantern,” or simply burned into an idiot.
In reality, Ryan had already begun to foam at the mouth, his breathing growing weaker and weaker.
The laudanum made it impossible for him to wake up; his body felt as if it were pressed deep underwater, his consciousness sinking continuously.
Ryan's last shred of consciousness lingered in that Glory that had nearly burned his brain to ash.
The white figure stood deep in the Wood, as countless pale gold characters poured into his consciousness like a torrent.
It was too much.
Far too much.
A massive amount of incomprehensible knowledge was forcefully stretching his mind.
Meanwhile, in the real-world attic, Ryan's body was starting to lose control.
He curled on the bed, his breathing shallower and shallower, a bit of white foam even beginning to seep from the corner of his mouth.
He had drunk that half bottle of laudanum too quickly. His consciousness had sunk too deep—so deep that an ordinary person could never wake up.
The kerosene lamp had long since gone out, leaving only the faint, grey light from the window in the dark attic.
Ryan's body convulsed violently every now and then, like a dying man.
And in the dream, the Glory continued.
“The Glory is the gaze—”
“Knowledge is burning—”
“All who glimpse the Lantern—”
“Must offer up their reason—”
Ryan knelt in the Wood, his eyes already bleeding.
He felt like his head was about to explode, and he was even starting to forget many things.
His own name, the attic in the East End, the archive—all began to blur.
He suddenly realized that if this continued, he would be directly burned into a madman by the Glory.
But the laudanum made it impossible for his physical body to wake up.
He was trapped.
And just as his consciousness was about to sink completely—
Suddenly, an extremely stable “rhythm” vibrated from the depths of his mind.
Thump.
Very soft.
Like a heartbeat.
In the next second.
A second time.
Thump.
A third time.
Thump.
The Glory in the Wood suddenly faltered for a fraction of a second.
Ryan abruptly raised his head.
That wasn't the pulsation of the Lantern, nor was it the sound of the Wood. It was an extremely stable, extremely gentle rhythm, like someone pulling a drowning man up from deep water.
Ryan suddenly remembered.
Simon.
That night in the alley, Simon had used the power of “Heart” to stabilize his mind. A portion of that rhythm had remained in his consciousness, and now, that lingering trace was being passively activated.
In reality.
On the bed, Ryan's body suddenly convulsed violently. His breathing, which had been slowing down, forced its way back to life with a sharp gasp.
“Cough—!!”
He rolled right off the bed, crashing heavily onto the floor.
His stomach churned violently, and he directly retched up a large amount of bitter, acidic fluid.
Ryan lay on the floor coughing frantically, drenched in cold sweat, his head aching as if it were splitting open.
But at least—
He was awake.
The cold air of the attic rushed into his lungs.
Ryan knelt on the floor, taking several full minutes to recover just enough to think again.
A vast amount of pale gold text was slowly floating in the depths of his mind.
Ryan, pale-faced, supported himself against the bed to stand up. Stumbling over to the desk, he grabbed a pen and paper.
Ryan took a deep breath and began to organize the contents in his head bit by bit.
Most of it consisted of meaningless, muttered whispers, but there were also some simple, minor rituals—including, naturally, the First Stage ascension for the Lantern aspect.
He didn't need a complex grand ritual, but he did require three core ingredients.
A medium.
Fuel.
A solvent.
His hand trembling slightly, Ryan slowly wrote down the first line on the paper.
“Medium: 【Undamaged Lens】 or 【Ancient Light Source】”
“Fuel: 【Intellectual Residue】”
“Solvent: 【Luminous Wormwood Juice】”
Rate on N.U.
