𝐴𝑛𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑠𝑚 (𝑛.)
---- a thing belonging or appropriate to a period/place other than that in which it exists...
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
❝ 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑤ℎ𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒?
...
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Somewhere in the NOVAE Containment Facility... Two weeks before the transfer
━─━─━─━─━━─━「₪」━━─━─━─━─━─━
Light bled into an abyssal room, fading into the suffocating darkness just inches beyond the threshold. Staircases jutted out at impossible angles crisscrossing through the endless expanse. A solitary figure cut through the dim light, shoe heels clacking against the black marble as sted-fast steps hushed with each stride. The stairs stretched infinitely, yet he counted each one as he climbed, the distant light behind him shrinking to a mere pinprick. His pace slowed as his count ticked closer to triple digits.
"Ninety-seven... Ninety-eight... Ninety-nine..." He turned to the edge of the stairs, his breath steady as he whispered, "One hundred."
With a final, eager step, he plunged into the abyss, air whipping past as he descended into nothingness. It felt like minutes had passed before he came to an abrupt stop, arms flailing about in a crude attempt to right himself. Suspended in midair, it was impossible to tell which way was up and which was down, nothing but an endless void wherever he looked. He stayed there, floating idly for a long moment. What could've been minutes felt like hours and his stomach twisted tighter with each passing moment. Frantic eyes searched for any sign of light, but none would dare reach this far. The darkness was absolute, impenetrable. At last, he spoke, his voice barely a murmur, a foreign word in a foreign language that felt sour in his mouth.
A distant voice soon echoed back, "Your kind is not as weak as you've led me to believe..." He watched as their figure took shape before him. Colors swirled endlessly within the ephemeral shape, eyes dotting the surrounding darkness. They stared, unblinking, as their form seeped out into the abyss like gasoline, surrounding him in a pool of dim light and color until he was standing upright.
Regaining his composure, he offered them a shallow bow, "I do not consider myself among them, Priestess."
"Is that truly for you to decide?" Their voice reverberated throughout the space and he flinched. "When you must beg another for assistance to right your misdeeds... is that a sign of greater strength?" His gaze fell to his feet, and the sound of what he assumed was a laugh echoed around him. "Your continued presence here has shown me a great deal about your kind—determined, even in the face of utter despair. What is it that you wish to discuss today, dear child?"
