He quickly transformed into a sleek black marlin, his body shimmering like liquid obsidian under the dappled light filtering through the pond's surface. In a burst of motion, he dashed forward, slicing through the water with streamlined grace, expanding his size as much as he dared—just enough to gain momentum, not enough to disturb the pond's perfect, glassy stillness. Not a single ripple betrayed his movement; he was a shadow passing through silk.
In a matter of minutes, he arrived. The Lotus floated before him, anchored in stillness like a delicate crown upon a mirror.
He scanned the area quickly. A soft, pulsing aura surrounded the Lotus—warm, clean, and primal, like the scent of rain on fertile soil. It was as natural as ripe fruit in sunlight, and he absorbed it with ease. It was the same energy the snake dragon had been feeding on. But what was its source? What gave the Lotus such power?
He looked up—the blossom appeared modest, its white petals lightly tinged with violet, almost too ordinary for such reverence. But when he looked down, he saw it—the shrub-like thread, thin as a vine and pale as bone, descending into the depths. It was the only plant in the entire pond.
Driven by instinct, he followed it.
Dan dove beneath the surface, the water growing colder and darker as he sank. Soon, he spotted a small hole in the pond floor where the thread disappeared. It was minute—too tight for a snake to wriggle through, and barely wide enough for him to peer into. It yawned like the mouth of a hidden secret, circular and dark, rimmed with fine silt that danced like smoke when disturbed.
Shrinking himself further, he slipped to the edge and pressed forward, drawn by curiosity and the whisper of something ancient.
As he entered and took a tentative step, he felt a shift in the water's behavior—as if the liquid itself were being pulled along with him. The walls around him turned from slick stone to porous earth. It was a cave, hidden beneath the pond, its mouth small but swallowing him whole.
He quickly pulled his head back, startled, and blinked.
The world had shifted.
Though he had simply gone downward, the gravitational pull had flipped, like walking across a threshold where reality reoriented itself. He had exited the lake—not just physically, but almost spiritually, like passing through a membrane into another world.
The cave beyond was tight and breathless, its air heavy with the scent of damp moss and buried stone. The walls pulsed faintly, covered in bioluminescent moss that glowed with a gentle green hue, like distant starlight trapped beneath the earth. Shadows flickered across the stone, alive with ancient stillness.
And there it was—the thread.
The thread-like straw continued on, disappearing into the darkness like a trail spun by fate itself, leading somewhere deeper.
Without hesitation, he followed it. The air grew cooler, the walls narrowing, the light of the moss guiding his way like ghostly lanterns. His heart pounded—not with fear, but with wonder.
Something awaited at the end.
He could feel it. This was the source—the origin of the wild, natural energy that had been warping, empowering, and transforming all it touched. It wasn't just a root. It was a vein of power, and it pulsed with the rhythm of something ancient and alive.
Dan realized something was being attracted to him. It always attracted him—pulled at his soul like a whisper from the dark. He didn't know why, but he couldn't control himself.
He touched the shrub. You couldn't touch it—or leave it. Its surface shimmered faintly, like dewdrops suspended on invisible threads, and it was pulling him in. He tried his best to pull his body away, but it was impossible—like trying to walk backward against a tide of wind and gravity fused together.
Then, the Soul of the Library replied. It shouted:
"Leave it! Run! As soon as possible! Whatever that thing is—it's calling you! It can take you as its body! I don't know what it is!"
Dan shouted back in his mind:
"I wish I could control my body! Then I would have already left! But it's not working. It's as if my mind, my body—everything—is under its control. Even my thoughts are getting blurry… I'm losing consciousness!"
The Soul of the Library was panicking now. It knew the power in front of them was no ordinary thing. It was unnatural, and it was scared for its life.
Every aura and power inside Dan's body somehow lashed out toward the shrub. The energies crackled like lightning strikes against the cave walls, reaching into whatever light lingered inside. But when he tried to channel them elsewhere, the energy was simply swallowed by the air, absorbed into the cave's dull, moss-covered stone—as if the surroundings themselves were feeding on it.
Dan wasn't sure what was happening. He couldn't do anything. His body wasn't listening, and even the contact he made with the power source was being muted or absorbed by the space around him—like fire flickering in a vacuum.
He was completely played by the power that had taken control of him.
"Get out of here…" he thought—but it was too late.
Not only that, he felt as if the shrub was leeching his vitality, drawing out his physical strength. His arms felt like sandbags, heavy and numb. He didn't stand a chance—not without help. His heartbeat pounded like war drums, faster and louder, as though his chest would burst. Each thud echoed in his skull, and it felt as if his life was draining with every beat.
There was nothing he could do.
So, he stopped resisting the force—and ran towards the power source. He could have easily left the shrub behind, but he couldn't turn back.
He went deeper into the cave, following the shrub as it extended like a narrow, luminous vine that twisted into the air, vanishing into some unseen point above.
Soon, he saw…..?
No—he saw something.
A searing white light pulsed ahead, casting elongated shadows on the jagged walls. They were all the same—figures maybe, shapes maybe, blurred like ghosts on the edge of perception. There, in the small hollow—it was so small, like a heart beating inside stone—something flickered.
Thin? She was… different? Blurred?
He couldn't see what it was clearly, but that was supposed to be the power source.
As he stood there, he asked the Soul of the Library:
"Do you have any idea what this is?"
The Soul of the Library replied, "This is the first time I've seen or heard of something like this. Strange… I've heard of many power sources, but this one—this one I don't understand. It looks like a power source… but there are two power sources here. I have no clue what's happening."
Dan kept running toward them. The cave trembled faintly, as if reacting to his motion. Soon, he came close to the two glowing spheres.
In the next second, his body surged forward—like a puppet on invisible strings—his head leaning completely toward the power sources. It wasn't even his intention. They were attracting him.
He saw the power sources with his own eyes.
And in the next second, the brightness vanished—not faded, but collapsed like a star dying into silence.
Without the light, he saw what those two power balls actually were.
He freaked out.
They were eyeballs.
Eyeballs with no eyelids. No covers. No protection. They floated in the air like ancient, cosmic sentinels, and now that the energy was gone, they stared with a terrifying stillness.
The energy—the light—was gone from them. And they were looking at him.
As he looked at them.
A silent scream echoed in his chest.
They made eye contact.
And then, in the next second, one of the eyeballs shot forward and crashed directly into his eyes.
Something plunged into his vision—a blinding, scorching pressure that twisted his thoughts into static—and he was taken aback. He fell to the ground, his eyes burning—both of them.
The power balls—the power source—had gone inside his eyes.
It wasn't painful, but he was panicking. Terrified. His breath hitched like a trapped animal's, heart hammering as he clawed at his face. What was going to happen? He didn't want to lose his eyes.
A few seconds later, Dan realized his eyes were just getting warmer—heated up, like molten metal being slowly poured into his sockets, but not harming him.
He felt a liquid sensation melting behind his lids. He tried to open them—but he couldn't.
He didn't know what was wrong or what was happening. But all the resistance in his body had completely vanished.
A second later, a notification appeared:
[The Knowing Path has come in contact with the God Sight.]
[The Knowing Path has recovered its lost knowledge.]
Dan could not open his eyes, but a cacophony of sounds surrounded him—the sharp crack of splintering stone, the distant rumble of collapsing earth, and a low, ominous hum vibrating through the air. He wasn't sure what was happening, but soon it became clear—the place was cracking down, fracturing like brittle glass. Jagged fissures raced across the walls and ceiling, splintering the cave into fragments.
Panic surged through him. Without thinking, he forced his eyes open.
His vision was surprisingly clear, steady—no distortions, no flickers.
He looked around.
The tree, once vanished like a dream, now lay fallen, its roots ripped from the earth. Nearby, the thin shrub that had hovered mysteriously was no longer suspended in the air; it sagged heavily on the ground, drained of its glow and power. The entire cavern trembled, dust and small stones cascading like rain. The very air tasted of damp earth and ancient stone.
He needed to run.
Dan sprang forward with urgency. His hands moved in a blur—his Thousandfold Grasp weaving through the chaotic debris, shattering slabs of stone that threatened to trap him. The sharp edges bit into his palms, cold and unforgiving, but he pushed through.
Then, something else caught his attention.
Water.
Dark, cold water was rising rapidly, creeping across the jagged floor like a living thing, swallowing the cave inch by inch.
Suddenly, a crashing impact shook the cavern violently. The whole cave vibrated with a deep, reverberating roar that shook Dan's bones.
His heart thudded harder as he realized the source of the disturbance.
It was none other than the Dragon Snake.
The colossal, serpentine creature emerged with fluid grace, its scales glistening like wet obsidian in the dim light, eyes sharp and alert. It had sensed the shift—the danger.
The lotus—the source of power—had completely sunk beneath the pond's murky surface. Its radiant glow extinguished, the flower now lifeless and dark, like a drowned ember. With the power gone, the natural order had crumbled. The cavern felt empty, hollow, as if a vital pulse had ceased.
Dan felt a void inside himself too. The familiar surge of power was gone—replaced by something strange that had slipped into his eyes. A creeping coldness, a weight that dulled his senses.
He tried to lift his hand to touch his eyes, to check if something was wrong—but his body refused to obey.
Around him, the cave continued to crumble. The entrance sealed off as the Dragon Snake coiled menacingly, blocking escape. The cold water rose, swirling in icy eddies that lapped hungrily at Dan's legs.
Confusion and fear gripped him.
What could he do now?