The cave is basked in warm, flickering candlelight. Preparations for the cleansing ceremony are finally complete.
The integers are waiting for their leader to return.
888: Do you think 37 is going to make it?
888 lowers her voice, concealing her worry.
210: Who knows?
Leaning against the cavern wall, 210 absentmindedly adjusts the grapevine on his hair out of boredom.
210: 6 should be the easiest one to pass. The math puzzles in the labyrinth shouldn't be a problem for our little star either.
210: The only tricky question is from Apeiron, and no one knows what it will be.
210: It is a fair game. Answer Apeiron's question, and It will answer yours.
210: But if you give the wrong answer, oops.
He pinches a grape between his fingers and crushes it, its juice splattering onto his hand.
210: It'll hardly be a graceful end.
888: You're gross.
888 shakes her head, not even bothering to hide her disgust.
Believer II: We know little about the test. The last person to pass the test was three hundred years ago.
Believer II: The price of failure was high. For the longest time, the 6s forbade people from risking their lives for it.
888: Well, 6 lied.
888: Someone passed the test four years ago.
An unexpected piece of information. Even 210 straightens up in attention.
The banshee gazes into the distance, watching the shadows cast by candles dance on walls.
888: The two of them are so much alike—their talents, their mindsets, even their first thoughts when facing an impossible challenge.
888: It is an irresistible temptation indeed.
888: With a path to all Truths right in front of you, just within reach,
888: who wouldn't want to give it a try?
Amid the swirling lights and shadows, the trial is reaching its conclusion.
She has reached the heart of the maze, the lair of Minotaur, where the final challenge awaits.
Through the mist, a form gradually takes shape.
First it appears to be a scholar, then a soldier. But it continues to transform—into a king, a farmer, a child, an elder.
Finally, it stops and solidifies into a young woman with a sharp and chilling smile.
37: Mama?
37: How are you here?
A soft chuckle slips out from the shadow.
77?: No, I'm not who you think I am, child.
77?: I am but a shadow, a flicker of fire, a projection before you.
77?: The finite cannot comprehend the infinite. Your limited senses cannot imagine what you've never seen, nor fathom what you've never heard.
77?: I am the answer to your desperate prayers. I am the blindfold before you see daylight. I am the reflection of your confused, hollow faces in the water.
77?: I am the lingering echo of the last visitor.
37: But you look just like Mama!
Eagerly, 37 steps forward.
37: This is the last obstacle of the test. The gate of Truth is just ahead, right?
37: And here you are, standing in front of me. Does that mean that you finally reached the transcendental realm?
37: So my conjecture was right, and our model did not fail, correct?
77?: The transcendental realm?
The woman's laugh is strange and unsettling.
77?: You speak adorable nonsense, my dear daughter. Did you really believe what I said?
77?: You silly little goose!
37 stops in her tracks and lifts her head in disbelief.
She locks eyes with those aquamarine orbs that are unmistakably her mother's eyes.
77?: Have you not doubted, even for a moment?
77?: You did. You wavered when you strolled the shores at night, when you inevitably gazed at the geometric bodies.
77?: "If they really are manifestations of the transcendental world, why can't I find Mama's number in the broken pieces?" You thought.
77?: "Why can't I hear her voice? Why can't I see their patterns? The darkness blinds me!"
77?: "I miss you, Mama!"
37: ...!
77?: Oh, my poor, sweet daughter.
77?: You are too young and naive, too attached to what is familiar, and too trusting of your teachings.
77?: You should have continued doubting instead of following my outdated footsteps.
77?: Was the conjecture wrong? Was the model correct? It does not matter, child. The rules of the game have changed.
77?: The chaos-makers, the fear-mongers, and the rule-shapers—they have already outpaced us.
77?: We were not wrong. We simply fell behind. We were blinded by the dream of the transcendental realm and could not see through reality.
77?: But worry not, my daughter. You have made it here, and that is all that matters.
77?: We will do the calculations together. This time, the results will be more accurate than ever.
37: Mama.
With a gentle smile, the woman tucks her hair behind her ears and reaches out a hand to the girl.
77?: This world is an enormous wasteland, 37.
77?: Look at the creations in it. The congested, silent herds that scurry to and fro in their meaningless lives.
77?: Never have they looked at the stars above, nor bent to smell the flowers. The melodies of the patterns above go unheard by them, their souls unresonant to their wisdom.
77?: They are the prisoners of their bodies, complacent in their dulled senses, and conceited over their success of ruling the planet through violence and bloodshed.
77?: They mocked us, shunned us, and slaughtered us. They discriminated against us throughout the ages, branded us as lunatics, and spat on what we held dear.
77?: But we never gave up once. We were never truly defeated. One day, they will be proven wrong, and they will be forced to admit it.
77?: My daughter, my precious little pearl.
77?: Come to me, back in your mother's arms. Let us return to a time before disputes and disasters, when it was just you and me wandering the boundless beach.
77?: I will share with you the infinite secrets of this world, the essence of all things, and the Truth that transcends everything.
77?: That's what you came for, yes?
Her eyes are earnest and sincere.
37 slowly climbs the stairs, longing to reach out and grasp her mother's hands.
She suddenly looks up, confused, and asks a question.
37: But, Mama.
37: I am 37, not infinity.
37: Why would I want an infinite number of secrets?
77?: ...!
Vertin: The ground is shaking.
Vertin: Did she give the wrong answer?
The cavern's illusory landscape shifts again.
A fierce wind abruptly rises around her.
Amidst the howling gale, 37 looks defiantly up into the air, her eyes peering past her mother's silhouette.
37: I don't long for the infinite secrets, for it is not within the scope of my number!
37: I know who I am. I am only 37, a finite number, a pebble in the sand. The tides could wash over me, engulf me, and crush me at any moment.
37: Even so, I am glad to be 37, for I know my limits, I know my boundaries—a concept the supreme existences cannot even fathom.
Her mother's shadow shatters, the shards shimmering and pulsing in the air as if they were alive.
The wind picks up, whipping her hair around and forcing her to narrow her eyes against the current.
But she stands her ground, refusing to yield.
37: Apeiron, the Boundless One! I am here for a simple question!
37: How can we escape the darkness of the phenomenal world, and be freed from the "Emanation" forever?
Her voice disappears into the wind, like a pebble sinking into a pond.
But then, the ripples echo back.
???: ...
???: A worthy reply.
???: Thou hast heeded thy boundaries. Through humility shall thou ascend to higher wisdom.
???: Thou shalt be answered.
???: ...
37: Ugh!
Incomprehensible sounds assault her ears, like ancient echoes rising from the depths of the ocean.
They aren't recognizable syllables of any known language, but more like reverberations between layers of rock walls, each note stabbing through her like a dagger.
Her breathing becomes labored and blood trickles from her nose.
Dizziness churns in her head, causing her vision to blur and double.
37: How ...? It clearly promised me an answer.
37: Is it because ... the answer to my question ... the transcendental Truth ...
37: ... is outside of our limits, too?
Cryptography Lead: Make way! Move!
Cryptography Lead: Madam Lucy, we have the right pronunciation!
Cryptography Lead: The scrip you gave me was correct. This is the arcane language of the incantation! Where did you get it?
Lucy: Very well. Give it to me.
Lucy: Inform all research teams that we are moving on to the next phase of the project.
Swift and sure footsteps stride past glass-walled rooms, stopping at the main control room of the "Storm" observation and research initiative.
The control station is bustling with activity as liaisons send messages through electrical signals and pneumatic tubes to various offices, all part of a well-oiled routine.
Enigma is here too.
Enigma: If you're here to check on the progress, there is none.
Enigma: I'm afraid you'll leave disappointed, Madam Lucy.
The robot hardly notices the mockery in his tone.
She approaches one of the liaisons and holds out her hand. In her palm is the scrip brought by the dove.
Lucy: Send this to everyone.
Lucy: It has been verified. This is the correct pronunciation of the immunity ritual.
Enigma: ... ?! This is ...
His hands tremble.
Despite its size, the tiny slip of paper holds great importance.
Following the pronunciation guidelines, he carefully spells out the first word.
Enigma: La unua ...
The scrip is taken from his grasp.
Standing next to him, the liaison holds the scrip in her hand, also trembling with excitement.
Liaison Staff I: We must share this with everyone.
She trots over to the control station.
The scrip is transposed onto the screen. The liaison meticulously checks every detail, ensuring that nothing is overlooked.
Liaison Staff I: La unua ... cirklo ...
She reads into the microphone, her voice confident and clear. With a final press of the send button, she turns away with a satisfied smile on her face.
Liaison Staff I: Ahhh. Help!
Without warning, her torso cracks apart and her entire form crumbles, shattering to the ground in pieces.
Enigma: What was that?
Lucy: ...!
All hell breaks loose.
Chairs scrape loudly against the floor, coffee cups clatter to the ground, and people scramble about in a frenzy.
The director of Laplace remains still, her eyes fixed on the rapidly flashing lights on the screen.
Enigma: Stop the transmission! The ritual is wrong!!!
Lucy: ...
She pauses.
In the face of chaos and turmoil, it falls on someone to step up and take action.
Lucy: No.
Lucy: The incantation is indeed correct.
