world5120 // y!dream smp x sci-fi au

..⃗.🕊•̩̩͙⁺゜

there was a brief sound of static that arose, similar to that of a whirring tube tv.

your eyes were met with the sky of the end. this time though, there were shooting stars and beauteous comets and vibrant, milky galaxies present, making you feel relaxed.

although you couldn't see them, you felt two very familiar presences. to your unknown expectation, they began talking.

I see the player you mean.

Y/U/N?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the s̸̪̒̽c̸͇̭̋r̷̻̿ȁ̸̯ͅṃ̸̓̀b̵̧̿l̷̼̒͝ȅ̶̢d̷̜̤̀, and created a m̴̩̲͚̒b̷̧̭̙̔l̴̯̥̥̅ȩ̴̳̑͠d̶̛̲s̷̝̐͛̌c̷̡̪̞̈́r̶̨̍a̶͕̎̚ for c̴̢̡̞̀r̵̨̝̳̣̜̓̆̆̓̚͠a̵̢̼̣̠̖̍͑̋̄͘ṁ̵̰̭̼̲̚ͅb̵̢̛̬̯̺͐̀̌́͝l̴̯̹̗͘͜e̸͓͗̈́d̸̘̤͚̳̼͙͛̍̀̂́͝s̴̱͇̘̘̻̽̿͑̇, in the s̴͉̻̐̔̉č̸̡̖̓͠r̶̘̖̝̾ạ̷̽̐̌͛̕m̵͎͎̲̌̓͜b̵̥̙̟͍̔̂l̷̖̺̻͈͆̐̋è̷̞͍̪̈̉͂͘ḑ̴̞͌͐̃ .

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality.

Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely s̴͉̻̐̔̉č̸̡̖̓͠r̶̘̖̝̾ạ̷̽̐̌͛̕m̵͎͎̲̌̓͜b̵̥̙̟͍̔̂l̷̖̺̻͈͆̐̋è̷̞͍̪̈̉͂͘ḑ̴̞͌͐̃ and e̶̢̛̩̮͓͚̜̅̀͠͠͝d̷̝͙͕̖̭̳́͋̍̂͠͝͝s̷̛̮̓͛̾͂̈͝c̷̨̪͍̀͜r̴̢̞̻̠̗̽͌̃̚ȃ̴̻̳̫̥̰̥͍͝m̴͕͗́b̴̨̭̻̱̱̮̄͗͝l̵͚̩̥̜̖̝͉̋, I wish to tell them that they are s̷͙̅̕c̴̖̘̈̋r̶̟̍a̷͇͂m̵̯̾b̸̩̮͊l̵̼͓͌ě̷̩̃d̷̦͉̂̇ in the d̷̖͓̣̘͒̾ş̴͕͍̰̝̭̓̇͌̒̌̀̏ç̸͕͕̣̱̓͊̒̂̑͛̚̕͜r̷͊̉̍̄ͅa̸̢̜̻͍͙͇̎͂̈̇̃̌̀͘m̵̤̫̲̽̀̚͝b̶͚̹̻̙̬͉́̐̒̃͗̐̅̈̿ͅḽ̶̡̢͛̐̿e̷̢̡̛̻̜͕̮͔͍̕. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player...

Use its name.

Y/N L/N.