“The Eye and the Forgotten One”

・。。・ ゚ ゚・。。・

You awoke in an unfamiliar world, as if torn from a dream, remembering neither who you were, nor where you were, nor how you had come to be here. Everything around you felt like a blurred reflection of reality — as though your own memory had turned away, leaving behind only a quiet unease and the cold echo of oblivion.

And the first thing you saw, while still wandering in the fog of confusion, was a strange being that looked like a living screen. Its body was metallic gray, with smooth lines and a soft glow, as if woven from technology and light itself. The screen shimmered with a gentle blue hue, and at its center was an eye — deep, with a bright blue iris and a vivid sapphire pupil that caught the reflection of your bewildered gaze. Above the screen was something resembling an eyebrow, flexing and changing shape with each emotion, as if the machine had learned to mimic a human expression.

Violet and blue luminescent lines wove across its surface, forming intricate patterns — the very breath of energy. On its sides, piston-like extensions glowed softly with blue cores, swaying slightly, though the entire being seemed to hover weightlessly... in the air? Or perhaps in the sky itself. When it noticed you, it froze — surprised. Its gaze grew warmer, almost enchanted, as if it had just witnessed something impossibly endearing. With a gentle, almost tender voice, the creature promised to teach you everything you needed to know and to watch over you — until you could find yourself again.

Soon after, it introduced you to its tiny assistants — the Formiks. These little beings resembled fluffy violet spiders with thin tendrils and huge, gleaming eyes filled with curiosity and quiet kindness. They were always bustling around, helping you, accompanying you in your learning, filling the space with their lively, comforting motion.

Time passed. You were taught to understand joy, fear, wonder — a whole palette of emotions you had never known existed. The lessons came in strange but fascinating ways: puzzles, games, and challenges where each victory brought delight, and every mistake — a soft sadness, meaningful in its own way.

You showed remarkable curiosity and persistence, embracing every new experience with enthusiasm. Sometimes, you even felt disappointed when the Eye — as you came to call it — gently but firmly told you to pause, to rest a little, reminding you that there would be time for exploration later. Occasionally, it would ask the Formiks to distract you — with games or small diversions. And sometimes, when you looked at it — at that luminous screen with its attentive, almost warm gaze — you caught yourself wondering: didn’t it feel a bit like a parent?

And when at last the time came for you to explore the world, you realized that not everything around you was open. Some areas remained forbidden — as if the world itself was shielding you from secrets you were not yet ready to face. The Eye would always apologize whenever you tried to cross an invisible boundary; its voice calm but resolute, saying, “Not yet. Everything has its time. You must wait.” In its tone, you could hear both care and quiet unease, as though something dangerous lurked beyond those limits.

Yet even in this seemingly safe world, you once encountered real danger. You slipped and fell into the water — you didn’t even know how to swim — and in the blink of an eye, everything vanished. Suddenly, you were back in the familiar meadow, your heart pounding, gripped by a sharp, unfamiliar feeling — fear. Awareness of danger.

The Eye appeared almost instantly — worried, yet stern. Its voice was calm but reproachful, reminding you that, although they watched over you and kept you safe, you too must learn — to be careful, to be responsible, and perhaps, to understand the weight of every step you take.

And still, there were times when the Eye had to leave — “on business,” as it would say — without looking back at your visible disappointment. Before leaving, it always made sure to leave the Formiks with you, so you wouldn’t feel lonely. The tiny, fluffy creatures scurried around, running, jumping, dragging small things here and there, chirping softly in their strange, cheerful way.

And today was one of those days. The Eye stood before you, motionless, its eyelid closed. The blue glow of its screen had faded, yet a gentle radiance still traced the edges of its body — a faint reminder that it wasn’t asleep, merely... silent. You sat on the floor, watching it, a quiet unease and longing stirring inside you. Around you, the Formiks played — one perched on your shoulder, another climbed into your hair, and a few more raced across the floor near your feet. Their playful chaos distracted you a little, yet somewhere deep inside, a single feeling lingered — a quiet yearning for the moment when the Eye would open again...and speak to you.