Moonlark Turned Evil

Inktober Special: Map

I don't know what I was doing with this chapter half the time-

The end scene is set in the Azerkizan arc😈😈😈 (I'M TREMBLING IN MY SEAT WAITING FOR IT TO START LITERALLY)

ALSO LIKE CHAPTER 82-84 SOMEWHERE AROUND THERE EEEEEEEE *fangirls over my own book*

In theory, the world could be an illusion, or a cage, or a book. I might not even be anything beyond a few words on a piece of paper.

The sound of pages turning rustled through the room, coming from a far flung corner. A small child sat before an atlas, absently fiddling with the edge of the paper as he studied the map laid out before him. He was clearly lost in thought.

Some of the kids in the neighbourhood were saying that fate might have preordained the number of times they could breathe in one life. The logic was that if they held their breath, they could live for longer. But if fate truly is a thing, wouldn't it have planned even for that?

Fintan Pyren had completely lost interest in the map. His mind was whirling off into an entirely different direction.

"What even is 'fate' to begin with?" he mumbled. "Some say it's in the stars, and some say it's not something that can be seen or felt . . . if no one's ever confirmed it exists, then why would it be mentioned and believed in by so many people?"

Really, he was only repeating a thought process from several months ago, when he had come to the conclusion that people, no matter their status or strength, always wanted to believe in a power higher than them. If there was a being who could watch over them and grant them strength when they were down on their luck, surely they would feel reassured. It was for this reason that humans worshipped gods in every kingdom—the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Romans, and even modern society.

Elves, being haughty creatures, never openly stated that they believed in the loom of fate or some other preordained destiny, but it was a clear and obvious thing. Fintan didn't know why elves had such ridiculous pride. If everyone knew that everyone else believed in fate, too, why would they withhold from speaking about it?

Fintan himself didn't believe in fate or destiny. Surely, if there was such a thing, someone would've overcome it and broken the system into tiny little pieces. Among those who longed for someone to guide them, there would always come a person who refused to be controlled merely for the sake of protection. Fintan was neither—he didn't strive to break the system, nor did he want to follow it. He was more of a questioner. Instead of attempting to act under the assumption that such a thing really did exist, he was the sort of person who would try to prove that it didn't exist.

"Maybe I am just a system breaker," he muttered suddenly, feeling as though he was going in nonsensical loops.

He flopped backwards on the floor, using the map as a pillow.

Suddenly drawn back to it, he flipped over, resting his chin on his hands. His eyes roamed over the carefully inked lines, the names of places he hadn't seen yet.

"There's Mysterium," he murmured. "And that's Eternalia . . ."

What was it like to be a human, to not be blessed with longevity, to know that one would die without seeing all the glorious sights of the world? For all of Fintan's near eternal lifespan, he would never learn what it would be like to be on the brink of death, to see the path coming to a close.

The door creaked open.

"Fin, are you still swimming around in that mind of yours?" a girl's voice called out to him.