CHAPTER 41: CHAPTER 40: PARADISE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FOREST (14)

Oliver fell silent while the sage paced back and forth without stopping, waving his hands and complaining about Oliver’s obvious behavior.

And while Oliver listened to the sage’s indirect warnings.

Despite the verbal chaos, Oliver felt a great sense of relief. At least the sage wasn’t trapped under the same illusion as the others.

But that relief did nothing to quiet the anxiety rising in his chest every time he remembered the others’ faces.

"Are the rest like you? Did any of them notice that something is wrong with this village?"

The sage stopped walking and turned toward him.

"No, I think I am the only one. They all behave as if they are living inside a beautiful dream."

"Technically that’s both true and false at the same time."

The sage flicked his hand in the air impatiently.

"No time for this ridiculous philosophy. We need a place to hide. Take me to that witch you are training with. Maybe she can hide my presence or better yet, you can ask her to protect me."

Oliver raised a finger in front of his face.

"First of all, how did you even know about her? Second, I’m not training with her. Third, she’s not a witch. And fourth, there’s no need for this fear. I don’t think anyone here is going to try to hurt you based on what I’ve seen so far."

"Yes yes, none of that matters," the sage said, pointing at himself. "What matters is that you will find a way to protect me."

"The last thing you need to worry about are the villagers. There’s something far more dangerous we should be focusing on right now."

The sage’s eyebrows rose.

"And what exactly are these dangerous things?"

Oliver took a deep breath and began explaining. He recounted everything that had happened over the past days.

Orion and the changing city. The ancient agreements. The gray creature. The mythical beings.

The failed escape attempts. Everything. He tried to make it as concise as possible, but still clear.

And with each sentence, the sage’s face grew paler.

"You want me to believe this city is a mix of reality and dream?"

"Yes. Something close to that."

"And you want me to believe you figured this out because that old witch, who turned out not to be a witch or old but half mythical creature, told you?"

"Yes."

The sage threw his hands in the air.

"And then you asked her help to rescue that little gray being so you could free the king of this village that was originally a city that keeps changing every time, who then admitted he made a deal with a mythical creature?"

"Yes."

The sage covered his face with both hands.

"This is an overwhelming amount of nonsense for any human mind to process at once."

"We don’t have the luxury of time. We need to get the others out before they fuse completely with the city."

The sage swatted the idea away like a fly.

"Don’t bother. I tried dozens of times. Those four idiots do nothing but drink, that woman and her daughter are glued to a strange man, and the last one moved in with another village woman."

"Then what are we going to do? We don’t have much time. If we don’t act now, they’ll end up part of the city. Maybe you too."

"Me? Why me? I’m not trapped in this perfect village illusion like them."

"True. But you’re still human. More importantly, how did you even notice something was wrong while the others act like fools?"

The sage lifted his chin proudly.

"Am I not also human? Do you think that cheap copy of Eleanor could fool me? Especially when she changes every hour to look more like the real Eleanor?"

Oliver frowned.

"Honestly, yes. I thought that alone would break you. Look at the others; they didn’t suspect a thing."

"I am different. Exceptional. Not like those idiots. Anyway, we need a solution. A real solution. I refuse to become part of a fake city."

"There is no solution. I’ve searched and tried many times already. And Orion has been searching for hundreds of years and still found nothing."

The sage frowned so hard his whole forehead wrinkled.

"Does this mean this is the end? For the love of the creator, where did that masked man go?"

Oliver shot him a brief look.

"Weren’t you the one who said he died fighting a monster? That the villagers found us unconscious in the forest?"

The sage waved his hand nervously.

"You believed that story? I said it because that’s what they told me. I didn’t have time to explain anything to you. And I didn’t want you to know the truth so you wouldn’t start doing stupid things." He pointed at Oliver. "Which you already did."

"And how was I supposed to understand anything from your weird words right after waking up?"

"You’re right. That was my mistake. I treated you like someone capable of thinking. I should’ve treated you according to your very low intelligence level."

Oliver opened his mouth to respond, but behind them stood Lenore, the Eleanor lookalike.

She had followed them purely out of curiosity. She wanted to understand why Oliver acted that way whenever he saw her.

She wanted to understand why he looked at her as if she were a monster.

But now, after hearing everything they said, she wished she hadn’t followed them at all.

She stepped back, then another step.

Then she turned and walked away, heading toward the central square, trying to steady her breathing.

She looked at her hands as she walked.

She had always believed she was Eleanor. Her memories, her life, even her childhood all told her she was Eleanor.

But now, after hearing Oliver’s words, she suddenly noticed how many gaps existed in that picture.

Why were all her memories full of the sage?

Why did she not have memories of being alone in her own home?

No personal moments? No individual details?

Why did every moment, every image, seem as if it were seen through someone else’s eyes?

As she walked farther away, she lifted her hand in front of her face.

She no longer saw a human hand but thick black mist forming the shape of a hand.

She gasped. Now she understood why Oliver avoided her.

She understood the look in his eyes every time he saw her.

She wasn’t Eleanor. She wasn’t even human.

She was nothing more than a simulation of someone else’s emotions, built from a collection of people’s memories.

She placed her hand on her chest, but felt nothing.

"What exactly am I?"