Schrodinger's Hut

EL RITCH

'Dark and roaming forest,

Casting shade of silence.

Boots crunch through the frozen field,

Solemn dear travels in the enchanted forest.

Coveting snow white-tomb.'

They walked through the forest, its canopy of twisted branches casting shadows that danced with the faintest touch of light. Above, the sky was cloaked in thick, churning clouds, their bellies heavy with crystal rain. The shower glittered faintly as it fell, freezing on contact with the earth below. Each step they took crunched against the frost-coated path, dried leaves rotting in icy isolation.

The witch, walking ahead, let go of his hand. El Ritch instinctively tucked his freezing fingers under his armpits, his breath fogging in the cold air. "I-it's so c-c-cold," he stammered, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. The woolen clothes were, indeed, not enough to protect him from the white death that numbed ones senses.

"It is," the witch replied, her tone flat and unaffected, as if the cold didn't touch her. She strode on, her silhouette a calm shadow amidst the wintery chaos.

Through the skeletal arms of the trees, a familiar shape emerged—a hut, standing alone in the desolation. Smoke curled lazily from its chimney, and the ever-burning lantern outside cast a faint, warm glow against the crystalline snowfall.

"It's... closer again," El Ritch mumbled in surprise, noticing how the hut always seemed to defy the distances of the forest.

The witch's sharp ears caught his words. "Is it?" she teased, her voice laced with mock curiosity, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"It is! It always—" El Ritch began, but she cut him off with an amused hum, firing back with absurd explanations that twisted his logic. He tried to argue, his voice rising in frustration, but each counter of hers was more ridiculous than the last. By the time they reached the hut, he gave up with a resigned sigh.

She pushed open the barricade gate, holding it for him. He stomped inside, eager for the promise of warmth.

Once in the hut, the transformation was immediate. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, its warmth filling the room and banishing the chill clinging to his bones. He rubbed his hands together, leaning into the heat. The witch busied herself with tending to the fire, her expression unreadable.

"Were you just pulling my leg the whole time?" he finally asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

She glanced back, the faintest smirk curving her lips. "Perhaps."

El Ritch shook his head, letting out an exasperated sigh as he slumped into a chair. The cozy shelter began to lull him into a sense of calm. But as he relaxed, the witch's next words brought him back to full attention.

"You'll be leaving tomorrow," she said matter-of-factly, not looking at him. "You should sleep."

"Wait! Will you not teach me anything about the academy?!" El Ritch exclaimed, his voice tinged with panic. "How will I know what to do?!"

The witch turned, tilting her head with mock innocence. "Why would I know? I'm not a hunter."

Her tone was so flat, so disinterested, that it took him a moment to process her words.

"You should've asked Julian," she added with a shrug, as if the matter was trivial.

El Ritch groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Great. Just great."

The witch ignored him, pulling out some preserved meat. She strung the slices on a rack above the chimney, letting the rising smoke cure them further. Soon, the warm, savory scent of the meat filled the room, mingling with the crackle of the fire.

El Ritch stared at her, incredulous. "You really aren't going to tell me anything, are you?"

She didn't even turn, merely waved him off. "You'll figure it out. Or not. Either way, it'll be interesting."

El Ritch slumped into a corner, his mind racing with worries about the academy. Yet, the crackling fire and the comforting aroma of food slowly began to ease his nerves. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

SAGITTARIUS A

(Refer to the amalgamation that attacked El Ritch.)

It remembered.

The first sin: A transgression against the unfathomable being, one whose name was carved into the very fabric of existence.

And then, the punishment: The knowledge that would never end.

It had been a bird and a wolf once—two beings separate, bound by the punishment and fleeting lives. They were tasked with a curse: to know. To consume every thread of wisdom the universe had to offer, to drink from the endless well of truths, to devour the unknowable.

It learned and sought.

Learned and sought.

Learned and sought.

But the answers never ended.

The ocean of stars stretched infinitely, its depths unfathomable. With each revelation, the brim of its understanding seemed to push further away, leaving it hollow. It hungered for the end, yet the end was nowhere in sight.

And so, it went mad.

It clawed through galaxies, unraveled the essences of dying suns, and tore through the fragile veils of dimensions. Madness consumed it, yet even in its wild, raving state, the knowledge seeped into its being, unstoppable.

After an eternity—perhaps two—it grew weary of its insanity. Madness was tiresome, it learned, and madness, too, was not infinite. It returned to the clarity of thought, cold and sharp.

It started anew, seeking knowledge once more.

It observed. In its searching, it watched a starving mother bear clawing at a tree, desperate for sustenance. Her cubs waiting, hopeful. 

It pondered this image for centuries, until at last, it realized: Hope is tragedy.

The bear had hoped for nourishment. Her hope was blind and senseless.

Sagittarius A understood. To hope was to seek. And so, it sought not with hope as it had rather been doing, it looked for the answers. But the universe expanded as it sought. The expanse of creation seemed to grow in defiance of its efforts, laughing silently at its struggle.

__________

The universe is nothing more than me.

It was never about the finishing, never about the beginning or things it treasured, it was rather the journey. An unrelenting, consistent journey, with no place for hope. It had to learn for it is.

For a moment, it felt...grateful.

When the barriers of its prison ripped open and it stepped into the physical plane, it breathed in this 'gratitude'—a fleeting, foreign sensation that quickly dissipated.

It sought its master.

The one who had delivered the punishment. The being whose wrath had forged it into what it was. Yet, all it found was...a child.

The child carried the face, the scent, the cosmic energy that mirrored its master. But why was the essence different? It could not comprehend.

It grew angry.

Had its punishment twisted its memory? Or was this child the key to unravelling its purpose? Anger surged within its endless void, and it acted. Its anger drove it to strike, to erase the mistake, to mold the child into something it could understand.

But its actions summoned them.

Two beings whose very existence defied comprehension. And the crow watched.

The male—marked and scarred by the Primordials themselves—was a plaything of them. An existence riddled with their games and burdens, yet he wielded their essence as if it were his own.

The female... The female was a horror in her own right. Threads of the world that were sung into existence, clung to her like a tapestry wrapped tightly around her form, and yet they did not bind her. Instead, the threads bent to her will, accommodating to her passing.

Sagittarius A froze.

For the first time since it had clawed its way into existence, it hesitated.

And it was over.

Sagittarius A fled, for the first time in its infinite existence, it ran. It ran from the male. It ran from the female. But most of all, it ran from the other two silhouettes—the shapes of death itself.

Death, unfeeling and inevitable, had gazed upon it, and Sagittarius A had known fear. Fear that clawed at its vast and fragmented soul. Fighting the male and female meant 'death'. The crow watched.

It fled far, until it reached a desolate place. A place where even the echoes of life were faint whispers. Here, it would begin again. It had the wisdom it had gained, the knowledge it had hoarded, and it would use these to craft a new purpose.

Its first experiment was crude. It found a child, a mewling newborn, and sought to inhabit it, to tether its fractured existence to something mortal and grounded. But the child's frailty could not bear the weight of its presence, and it died, its soul extinguished like a guttering flame. It's parents mourned aloud and sometimes the mourning faded too.

Sagittarius A did not mourn.

It tried again. A child, older this time, one whose will and form were more substantial. This one survived. Under its control, the child grew strong, and its commands were heeded without hesitation. The child's hands were made to strangle the life from its own parents, to spill the blood of those who had brought it into this world.

The parents' bodies fell at the edge of a barren land, and Sagittarius A stood there, waiting.

It waited as the child approached, the blood of kin still wet upon its hands, its eyes hollowed by the whispers of the being within. The barren land was now its domain, a desolate cradle for its plans.

It would grow itself, extend its reach, not through solitary wandering but through many. Through a hive of people, child, man and woman. It would graft its will into others, spreading its essence like the roots of an ancient and terrible tree, each limb searching for the truth it had yet to uncover. It sprouted arms through the living things around it—branches of itself, seeking, always seeking.

"This world..." it spoke through many mouths, voices rasping and discordant, "…is not real."

It paused, its birdlike head tilting, its eyes like empty pits reflecting the void it carried within.

"A Sanctuary… of a knight."

The word echoed in the hollow air. And as it said the forbidden name, one of its hearts exploded within its twisted body. Flesh ruptured and spewed ichor like a fountain, but it did not writhe, did not scream. Pain was a memory long forgotten, a relic of a time when it had been two creatures, a bird and a wolf.

Pain was nothing now.

The child it had used as a vessel collapsed, lifeless, its body no longer able to bear the strain of the 'word'. Sagittarius A groaned, its many faces—human, bird, beast—twisting with annoyance. The human faces sprouting from its back exhaled spores with every breath, their mouths agape in silent agony, their eyes leaking pus. Each breath carried the taint of its madness into the cold air.

The birdlike face tilted further, as if deep in thought. Then, without hesitation, it sought another child. A vessel to sustain its search.

But before it reached out, it paused.

The word lingered in its fractured mind: Sanctuary.

It had learned something vital.

[The world was not real—it was a construct. A Sanctuary, bound and controlled by a knight. A taboo word, one it now knew was forbidden. To speak it, to even think of it, was to tempt annihilation. And yet, the revelation brought with it a question, a question it could not yet answer.

If this was a Sanctuary, then there must be an anchor. A point from which this false reality was spun and maintained. A source.]

But what was a knight?

The word burned in its mind, a brand upon its fractured soul. What was a knight? And why did its very mention court destruction?

Sagittarius A wondered.

'Silence does not come for it,

For it is deaf to every tune it hears,

Blind to search for the snow-white tomb.

Scarlett petals show the way,

To the pale man who dances.'