Alfred was inside, yet he was not, because there was only a dim halo in the Workshop. It was faint, like a flickering candle flame, yet extraordinarily tenacious.
Leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded, Kallen listened to the prayers coming from that tiny halo and smiled.
"Heh, hehehe..."
As he laughed, Kallen let out a long breath.
The grogginess in his head that had nearly crushed him-no, had already crushed him-finally vanished completely.
When lost, even a single lamp by your side could feel warm; when you looked up into the night, even a single star shining for you could feel beautiful.
Life was like sailing on the sea. In truth, most people's boats had neither sails nor oars. They merely drifted passively with the current.
At such a time, if an anchor could be dropped, even a moment's stillness was enough to inspire envy and gratitude.
Kallen looked around. He finally understood why this illusion was so difficult: the one who had built this cage was himself.
Clarity, confrontation, and conquest in their usual sense meant challenging another party as an independent individual.
But here, clarity about yourself, confronting yourself, conquering yourself... amounted to confusion about yourself, evasion of yourself, and your own defeat.
Aisili's father, Mr. Santos, had already described it very well in his diary: when it appeared alive, it would be everywhere.
That sentence summed up Puxien's ability with extraordinary precision. With oneself as the reference point, one truly was... everywhere.
But the description was too condensed, rising to the level of an ultimate philosophical insight. Without experiencing it, without truly going through it, there was simply no understanding what those words actually meant.
"So, when writing a diary in the future, I should use plainer language. Preferably add some notes, too."
Kallen turned