Marcus spent the night in the cottage, cloaked in anger and confusion. Everything around him pulsed with mystery, and with each passing moment, new questions bloomed in the soil of his mind.
At the exact break of dawn, he awoke. He scanned the room with heavy eyes but found nothing. No cats. No old man. Not even the white-haired stranger. It was as if everything had vanished just as it had appeared: without a trace, without meaning.
He sat in silence for an unknown stretch of time, until the white-haired man returned. In his hand, a simple cup of water.
He placed it gently before Marcus and said,
"Look into it… until you can see nothing else."
Marcus didn't fully understand, but he obeyed. His gaze settled into the water, and slowly, something began pulling at him from within. He didn't resist.
His consciousness sank into a strange realm—something like an ocean. No sky. No land. Just endless water, light, and mist.
Then he saw himself.
Memories surged forth, some long buried, others he thought forgotten.
He struck a child.
He hesitated.
He regretted it.
Then again, he struck.
But this time, more decisively.
And again… and again…
It wasn't the actions that repeated—it was the thought behind them.
In each memory, Marcus thought before acting.
He thought during.
He thought after.
That was the pattern.
He reflected. Constantly. Incessantly. Deeply.
Each decision, each strike, each word passed through the filter of relentless thought.
And then—
the memories faded.
The sea receded.
Silence returned.
In the stillness, a single symbol emerged.
Large. Bright. Unmistakable.
Perception.
The same symbol now glowing faintly on his skin, as if it had always belonged there.
He opened his eyes. Inhaled sharply.
And the white-haired man whispered:
"Perception.
At last, it is clear."