Codex Fragment: The Eyes That Watch

  "From the bleakest reaches of the void,

  where light forgets its own name,

  the Eyes of Wisdom awakens- not to judge, nor to save-

  but to witness, the depths of death circling life

  Unmoved by buoyant joy or heavy sorrow,

  untouched by eternal time or flame untamed,

  they watch life unfold:

  birth, rise, fall, then decay

  all without a whisper, without the weight.

  For in the heart of the Eternal Void,

  there is only the Observer,

  and its silence is the truth, oldest."

  —Inscribed in the Book of Still Stars, etched in void-glass script only seen when no one is looking

  ***

  The Sage of the Void was the next to arrive.

  Not with footsteps. Nor with fanfare.

  But with silence, so profound it was, it made even the distant stars pause.

  First came his eyes; vast, ancient, and luminous like twin moons glimpsed through the drifting fog. They shimmered into view before the rest of him followed, gliding in a slow and reverent arc through the garden’s sky. His feathers caught the starlight, refracting it not as light, but as memory. Each beat of his wings stirred the stillness with purpose.

  He circled once, then twice while The Emperor with Nine Lives, still coiled in regal repose atop the Bodhi tree, cracked one eye open. A single, golden sliver of consideration. But he said nothing, did nothing. His tail only flicked once in acknowledgment, then went still again. The Sage had earned his silence.

  The owl descended, not like a falling thing-but like a thought, arriving ethereal. He touched down upon the bone path that wound near the Bodhi’s roots, landing with a grace that defied both gravity and time alike.

  He did not go to the growing tree, nor to the lounging Emperor.

  He went to Theryx.

  The Trickster remained lounging on his conjured cushion with a handful of popcorn hovering mid-air, forgotten. Not this time...

  The Sage tilted his head-slowly, deliberately-gazing into Theryx as if reading the margins of his ancient soul. Not to pry, but to remember, to remind.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Ah,” Theryx murmured, sitting up slightly. “You.”

  He didn’t smile this time. Not out of rudeness, but reverence.

  “Old friend,” he added, softer now, voice threading through the hush like incense smoke. “Did the breath of prophecy stir your feathers, or was it the tree’s dreaming?”

  The owl blinked once. Then again. He did not speak, but his presence resonated. The air around him shimmered with meaning. His gaze shifted momentarily to the Bodhi Tree, whose leaves rustled as though in recognition. Its roots pulsed again, in quiet harmony with this new soul. Another witness had arrived.

  Above, the Emperor’s ears twitched, though he remained still. Watching. Listening.

  Theryx gestured loosely toward the meadow of stars above the tree.

  “So… three have gathered. And the Void begins to remember what it once had forgotten.”

  The Sage simply blinked again, then tucked his wings neatly to his sides, standing silently beside Theryx. Not imposing, but present. Owls, even though how mighty, after all, do not fill space. They define it.

  The Garden, once boneyard, now alive, seemed to exhale once more- adjusting its rhythm to accommodate another pulse of ancient presence.

  And somewhere deep beneath its roots, the echo of the forgotten prophecy stirred again.

  The Sage of the Void stood beside Theryx now, feathers stilling, ancient eyes deep as blackholes. The Garden was silent once more, not empty-but listening.

  And in that sacred hush, something stirred.

  Not in the earth. Not in the tree.

  But in the space between the heartbeats.

  In the pause between breath and silence.

  In-between the miracle and absurdity, life and death,,,

  A voice-not a voice- rose from the roots of memory, the echo of a forgotten truth, as if the Garden itself exhaled an ancient knowing:

  "One moment you are alive,

  an eternity of possibilities before you...

  Then the next, you breathe no more.

  All vanishes with the scythe of death.

  What you live for,

  to this very moment,

  speaks all for itself—

  The Paragon."

  Theryx closed his eyes. The popcorn bowl deflated with a sigh and floated gently to the ground, forgotten. The Emperor atop the tree blinked slowly, and the Sage gave a single, slow nod, as if acknowledging something only he could see.

  This was the moment when time became still- not fully frozen, but reverent.

  Because something had shifted. A seed not of matter, but of meaning, had taken root.

  The Garden was no longer merely transformed. It had become a threshold.

  A place where the last breath and the first hope met.

  The prophecy stirred again:

  "In the river of time,

  only the legacy of the mortal remains eternal.

  Everything succumbs under its waves-

  the good and the bad,

  and the in-between.

  The balance crumbles into the void...

  to rise again.

  That is Samsara."

  A beacon not of power,

  but of purpose.

  A call not to the strong,

  but to the free.

  And in the flickering void that now breathed with life, three ancient beings watched and waited.

  Not for war.

  Not for judgment.

  But senses wide open for those brave enough to arrive.

  ***