The TRUTH About The Man Behind the Door Changes Everything VIDEO

The silence in the shrine is absolute.

Obsidius stands motionless, the purple eye clutched against his chest.

The crack in the wall pulses with a faint light, like a heartbeat from another dimension.

Lila watches him from the shadows, her voice silent for the first time since he woke inside her memory.

Kym breaks the stillness.

"What will you do?" Obsidius does not answer immediately.

He looks at the crack.

He can feel the Hunger waiting on the other side—patient, amused, ancient.

But he no longer fears it the way he did before.

The Hunger did not break him.

It was never the Hunger that broke him.

He broke himself.

And that, he realizes, makes all the difference.

"I want to see him," Obsidius says.

Lila steps forward, her presence shimmering like heat above stone.

"See who?" "My father.

The man behind the door.

I want to see his face." Kym shakes her head slowly.

"That memory is sealed.

Lila sealed it when she made the deal.

It is not a door you can open again." "Then I will make a new door." Obsidius raises the purple eye.

It glows brighter, responding to his will.

The light spills through his fingers and casts long shadows across the shrine walls.

The crack in reality shudders as if recognizing a challenge.

Lila's voice is quiet, almost gentle.

"If you look into that eye again, you may not come back the same.

Some truths cannot be unlearned." "I know," Obsidius says.

"I am done running from truths." He presses the eye to his own.

The shrine dissolves.

The crack shatters into a thousand fragments of light.

Obsidius falls through layers of time—through the deal, through the tooth, through the hallway of his childhood home.

He falls past the door.

Past the voices of his mother and father arguing behind it.

Past the seven-year-old boy sitting alone in his room, holding a bloody tooth in his palm.

He falls further still.

To a time before the house.

Before the violence.

Before the deal.

To a time when his father was not yet the man behind the door.

When he was just a man—a young man—standing in a room Obsidius has never seen.

The man is holding a photograph.

He is crying.

Obsidius watches his father weep over the image of a woman he does not recognize.

The woman has Obsidius's eyes.

The same shape, the same color.

And Obsidius understands, with the clarity of a wound that never healed, that his father was not always a monster.

He was a man who lost someone he loved.

Someone who looked like Obsidius.

And he never recovered.

The shrine returns.

Obsidius opens his eyes.

Tears run down his face, but he does not wipe them away.

The purple eye has dimmed.

The crack in the wall is quieter now.

"He was not just a monster," Obsidius whispers.

"He was a man who forgot how to be anything else." Lila says nothing.

Kym says nothing.

Even the Hunger is silent on the other side of the crack.

Obsidius looks at the purple eye in his hand.

He has seen the truth behind the door.

And now, for the first time in his life, he does not know whether he is grateful or broken by it.

He knows only one thing for certain.

The man behind the door was his father.

But his father was once a man who loved someone so deeply that losing her destroyed him.

And that is the hardest truth of all.

Obsidius opens his eyes.

The shrine materializes around him slowly, as if reality itself is unsure whether to let him return.

The purple eye has cooled in his hand, its light now a steady, calm glow.

Lila watches him from her corner, her remaining eye unreadable.

Kym stands near the crack, arms crossed, waiting.

"You saw something," Lila says.

It is not a question.

"My father," Obsidius says.

"Before he was my father.

He was holding a photograph.

He was crying." "Who was in the photograph?" "A woman.

She had my eyes." Lila is silent for a long moment.

When she speaks, her voice is careful, measured.

"I know who she was." Obsidius looks at her sharply.

"You know?" "Her name was Elena.

She was your mother." "I know my mother.

She was behind the door.

She argued with him—" "No," Lila interrupts softly.

"The woman behind the door was not Elena.

That woman was his second wife.

Your father remarried after Elena left.

You never knew your real mother." The words hit Obsidius like a physical blow.

He opens his mouth, closes it.

The purple eye trembles in his hand.

"She left?" he finally manages.

"She chose to leave.

It was not an easy choice.

But she had to make it." "Why?" Lila looks at him with something close to pity.

"Because she saw what was coming.

The same thing I saw.

The membrane, the Hunger, the cracks.

Elena had the sight.

Not as strong as yours, but enough.

She knew that staying with your father would destroy you both.

So she left to find a way to stop what was coming." "Where is she now?" "I do not know.

The sight has a way of pulling people toward the edges of reality.

She could be anywhere.

Or nowhere." Kym steps forward.

"If Elena had the sight, she may have left something behind.

A record.

A weapon.

A clue." Lila nods slowly.

"It is possible.

Elena was resourceful.

She would not have left her son without some form of protection." Obsidius looks at the crack in the wall.

It has not grown, but it has not shrunk either.

The Hunger is waiting, patient as always.

"I need to find her," Obsidius says.

"That is dangerous," Lila says.

"Elena walked paths that even I do not fully understand.

If she is still alive, she is somewhere between worlds.

Finding her means leaving this sanctuary, leaving the only ground you know." "I have spent my whole life hiding from truths," Obsidius says.

"I am done hiding." He looks at the purple eye in his hand.

It pulses once, as if agreeing with him.

Kym uncrosses her arms.

"If you are going to look for your mother, you will need someone who knows the edges of this world.

Someone who has walked the line between reality and whatever lies beyond it." "You?" "No." Kym touches the Scorpion on her forearm.

"The Scorpion knows.

I can feel it pulling toward something.

Not toward the crack.

Toward something older.

Something that has been waiting for you." "The Sanctuary of Echoes," Lila says quietly.

"I had forgotten that place exists." "What is it?" Obsidius asks.

"A temple built by the first ones who had the sight.

Before the membrane, before the Hunger, before any of this.

They built it as a refuge.

A place where those who could see across realities could share their knowledge.

If Elena went anywhere, she would have gone there." "Where is it?" "No one knows.

The sanctuary moves.

It exists in a fold of reality that shifts with the needs of the seeker.

To find it, you must be ready to find it." Obsidius looks at the crack one last time.

The Hunger pulses back at him, a slow, mocking rhythm.

"Then I will make myself ready." Lila steps closer.

Her voice drops to a whisper.

"Obsidius.

If you leave this sanctuary to find Elena, you may not be able to return.

The path to the Sanctuary of Echoes is not a physical journey.

It is a journey through the spaces between worlds.

Every step you take away from here is a step into territory I cannot protect." "I know." "If you go, you go without my eye.

The purple eye is your anchor to this world.

Take it with you, and you risk losing yourself in the void between.

Leave it here, and you risk the Hunger claiming it." Obsidius looks at the eye in his hand.

Its light pulses steadily, warm against his palm.

"Then I will take it.

If I lose myself, at least I will have something to guide me back." Kym touches his shoulder.

Her hand is surprisingly warm.

"Before you go, there is something you should know.

When I was Ámbar, before I became Kym, I heard whispers about Elena.

They said she did not only have the sight.

They said she could walk through the membrane without an anchor.

Without an eye.

Without a deal." "Is that true?" Obsidius asks Lila.

Lila hesitates.

"It is what I have heard.

I never met Elena.

By the time I found you, she was already gone.

But if the whispers are true, your mother was not just a seer.

She was something rarer.

A walker.

Someone who could cross between realities using nothing but her own will." Obsidius feels the weight of this revelation settle over him like a second skin.

"Then she is the key to everything," he says.

"If I find her, I find a way to close the crack without destroying the eye.

Without losing Lila.

Without losing myself." "That is a lot to ask of a woman who left you behind," Kym says gently.

"I know." Obsidius looks at her.

His voice is steady.

"But she is my mother.

She left to protect me.

It is time I found out what she was protecting me for." The crack in the wall pulses once.

The Hunger's presence flickers at the edge of perception, listening, waiting.

Obsidius slips the purple eye into his pocket.

He walks to the center of the shrine, where the dust on the floor still bears the marks of his footsteps.

"I am ready," he says.

Lila and Kym exchange a glance.

The air in the shrine grows heavy.

The candles gutter and die.

And somewhere, in the spaces between worlds, the Sanctuary of Echoes waits for the son of Elena to arrive.

 The blue box part 9: What Lurks in the Rift — What They Don't Want You to Know Scene 9  VIDEO

What Lurks in the Rift The crack in the shrine wall is no longer a line. It's an open wound. Obsidius looks at her as the purple eye beats in his hand with a rhythm that doesn't match his pulse. The crack is now the size of a fist, and its edges aren't broken plaster — they're something that shouldn't exist. A slowly moving black liquid material, like hot tar, dripping to the ground without touching anything. Each drop falls in slow motion, and before touching the wood it evaporates in a thread of smoke that smells of ozone and rot. On the other side, something breathes. It is not a sound that enters the ears. It is a vibration that is felt in the bones, in the teeth, in the membrane of Obsidius's left eye. 

Each inhalation of Hunger causes the crack to expand one millimeter. With each exhalation, let the entire sanctuary contract like a lung. The rhythm is hypnotic. The sanctuary is learning to breathe in time with something that does not belong to this world. The shadows in the corners have become denser. They don't move when the candles flicker. They have their own will. They stretch toward the crack like roots searching for water. "We don't have much time," says Lila. His voice has lost all calm. She stands away from the crack, her right hand pressing the silk patch over her empty socket. For the first time since Obsidius has met her, she seems vulnerable. It is not the all-powerful entity that crossed dimensions. She is a woman trapped in a crumbling sanctuary. -How much? —Kym asks. -Hours. Maybe less. —Hours or minutes? Lila hesitates. That's scarier than anything else. -Don't know. I have never been so close to Hunger without the protection of my world. Kym walks towards the crack. Not with fear — with determination. He stops a meter away and watches the movement of the black liquid. The Scorpion under his skin shines with a reddish light that flickers in time with the breathing of Hunger. "I know him," Kym says. Not to him. To this. The way he moves. The way he waits. It's just like the black ocean. —Have you been there? —Obsidius asks. -No. But I have seen it. In my nightmares. In the moments between sleeping and waking up. The Scorpio shows me things I shouldn't know. Lila takes her hand away from the patch. Its empty socket stares into the rift, as if it can see what Obsidius's eyes cannot. "Hunger can't completely pass through such a small crack," he says. But you can send fragments of yourself. Like cells breaking off from a larger body. And each fragment that crosses feeds on the reality of this side to grow. —Feed how? —Obsidius asks. —Consuming possibilities. Every decision you don't make, every path you don't choose, every future that closes—that's what eats. No blood. Not meat. Unrealized potential. The crack pulsates. A new sound emerges from the black liquid: not breathing, but something closer to a voice. A voice that does not use words, but images. Obsidius sees, for an instant, a million paths branching in front of him. In each one, a different decision. In the majority, Hunger wins. Kym takes a step back. "It's showing possible futures," he says. He wants you to see that resistance is useless. —Can you see them too? —Obsidius asks. -No. But the Scorpion does. He's telling me to be careful. That what Hunger shows is not always true. 

Sometimes it's just what he wants you to believe. Obsidius squeezes the purple eye in his hand. The heat of the object has increased to the point of being uncomfortable. Feel the membrane in your left eye respond to the eye, as if both were magnets attracting each other. "There are three options," says Lila. Give me my eye back to close the passage. Use it to look again and find a weakness. Or destroy it. —Destroy it? Kym asks. Can it be destroyed? —I've never tried it. But every anchor has a limit. Even those that come from my world. Lila speaks calmly, but Obsidius notices that she avoids looking directly at the eye. As if talking about destroying it were heresy. —What happens if I destroy it? —Obsidius asks. "The bridge between your world and mine is closed forever," says Lila. Hunger cannot enter. But I can't go back either. And the part of you that came from my world... fades away. “Disappear,” Kym translates. As if you had never existed. "And you, Lila," says Obsidius. What about you? Lila doesn't respond right away. When he does, his voice is lower. —I'm staying here. In this world. No eye, no anchor, no way to return to my full form. It would be like being dead, but awake. Knowing that I existed, but without being able to prove it. 

The crack expands another millimeter. The black liquid drips faster now. “There is a fourth option,” says Kym. Everyone looks at her. The gun in his hand hangs at his side, forgotten. His gaze is fixed on the crack, but not with fear. With recognition. —I can try to seal the crack from the other side. -As? —Lila asks. —The Scorpion is not just a brand. It's a key. And keys can close doors as well as open them. Kym speaks without looking at anyone. His right hand holds his left forearm, where the Scorpion shines under the skin with an intensity it has never shown before. The reddish light pulses in the same rhythm as the Hunger's breathing, as if the two were synchronized. "I don't know if it will work," he continues. And if it works, I don't know if I can go back. The Scorpion would allow me to reach through the crack, find the point where the Hunger is pressing, and close it from within. —Are you crazy? says Obsidius. You can't cross over to the other side. You don't know what's there. "I know what's up," Kym says. I've been dreaming about that place for as long as I can remember. The black ocean. The doors that open into the void. The faceless woman who walks towards a light that does not exist. That place is the origin of the Scorpion. And if there's any place I can find out who I was before they marked me, this is it. "You don't know if you'll come back," says Lila. "You don't know if you'll come back if Hunger sets in," Kym answers. At least I have a chance. Kym turns to Obsidius. For a moment, the hardness of his face softens. —I'm not going to ask you to come with me. I'm not going to ask you to wait for me. I just want you to know that if this works, the rift closes. And if it doesn't work... at least I tried. -Because? Obsidius asks. Why risk your life for us? Kym smiles. It's a sad smile that doesn't reach his eyes. —Because in the hallway of faded roses, when Lila touched your forehead, I was there. And I didn't do anything to stop it. I didn't say anything to warn you. I let a seven-year-old sell his memory without telling him what he was really losing. —That was twenty years ago. —And I've carried that every day since then. The silence that follows is heavier than any words. Obsidius looks at the two of them. Lila, who wants the eye to survive. Kym, who wants to cross the crack to close it. And in his hand, the purple eye that holds the key to everything. The crack emits a new sound. A crunch. Like glass that slowly breaks. From the black liquid emerges a shape: a thin tentacle, the thickness of a finger, which extends towards the center of the room with a slow but inexorable movement. He doesn't touch anything, but his presence fills the air with static electricity that makes your skin crawl. The candles in the sanctuary flicker. 

The cold intensifies until the breath of the three condenses into white clouds. "He's sending a fragment," says Lila. The first. To test the waters. To see if it can feed on this side. —Feed on what? —Obsidius asks. —Of reality itself. Every second that the tentacle is here, it is consuming the possibility of this moment happening otherwise. He is erasing alternative futures to strengthen himself. The black tentacle writhes in the air, like a tongue tasting the taste of the world. It reaches out toward the purple eye in Obsidius's hand, drawn to its light like an insect to a flame. “Obsidius,” Kym says urgently. You have to decide. Now. We don't have minutes. We have seconds. "If I give it back to Lila," says Obsidius, "she blocks the way." But what about the crack that is already open? "It closes with the eye," says Lila. But I have to be complete to do it. -Me too? Lila doesn't respond. You don't need to do it. "If I look again," Obsidius continues, "I may find an answer." But Hunger can use that moment to enter. "Yes," says Lila. —And if I destroy it... “We all lose,” Kym says. But Hunger does not win. Obsidius looks at the purple eye in his hand. Feel its weight. Its temperature. His story. The night of the tooth. The aisle of roses. The deal. Twenty years of lies. 

And behind everything, the presence of Hunger, waiting. Obsidius looks at the eye. Feel its heat, its pulse, its promise. A part of him wants to give it back to Lila, to end it all, to accept her disappearance. Another part wants to look through it once more, search for an answer it hasn't found yet. And another part, the smallest but the most firm, wants to make a fist and crush it. The black tentacle advances an inch. Then another. The tip divides into three thinner, finger-like branches, which open to surround the purple eye. “Decide,” Kym says. Obsidius. Now. Obsidius looks at the eye. Look at the crack. She looks at Kym, who is ready to cross her. Look at Lila, who is willing to lose everything to survive. And then he understands. It's not about winning. It's about not losing. It's about letting Hunger know that this world will not be an easy meal. Close your eyes. Feel the pulse of the eye in your palm. Feel the breath of the crack on your skin. He feels the weight of twenty years of a truth he is only beginning to understand. And open your hand. The purple eye falls to the ground. It doesn't break. But the moment it touches the wood, the light it emits changes. From deep purple to blinding white. And the entire sanctuary is filled with a light that does not come from any direction, that casts no shadows, that leaves no room for darkness. The black tentacle retracts with a snap. 

The crack trembles. Obsidius opens his eyes. "I'm not going to give it back," he says. I'm not going to destroy it. I'm not going to look again. —So what are you going to do? —Lila asks. —I'm going to use it. Take the eye off the ground. The white light slowly retreats, returning to the familiar purple. But there is something different now. The eye is not hot. It's cold. As if Obsidius' decision had changed his nature. —Use it for what? —Kym asks. Obsidius walks towards the rift. The black tentacle has withdrawn, but the liquid continues to drip, and the breathing of Hunger continues, slower now, more cautious. —To negotiate. -Negotiate? —Lila says in disbelief—. Hunger does not negotiate. Hunger consumes. It is a void with a will. There are no middle terms. —Everything consumes until it finds something it can't digest. Obsidius raises his eye in front of the crack. The membrane in his left eye pulses once, twice, and then opens. Not to look through it. To speak through her. He feels the connection establish itself—not with Lila, but with something bigger, older, hungrier. "Listen to me," he says, and his voice does not come out of his mouth but from the membrane, projecting towards the crack like a beam of light. I know you can hear me. I know you've been waiting. You have marked my memories. You have followed my trail through the membrane. You have opened this crack. I know you want to come in. The crack stops. The black liquid stops flowing. The tentacle remains motionless in the air, as if Hunger were listening. “But before you enter,” Obsidius continues, “I want you to know something. I've seen what you do. I have seen the worlds you have devoured. I have seen the civilizations you have erased. And I know how you work. The crack trembles. Not from fury. Out of curiosity. —This world is not like the others you have consumed. This world has something that yours did not have. -That? —Kym asks in a whisper. Obsidius doesn't respond out loud. But in his mind, the answer is clear: this world has someone who knows it exists. Who has seen it. That has faced him face to face in the black ocean. Who has seen what he did to Lila's world and everyone else's. And that he is not afraid. The tentacle slowly retreats towards the crack. The black liquid bubbles. And from the crack a voice emerges. Not the vibration from before, but a real voice. Made of sound. Made of air. Made from the possibility that someone is on the other side. -Interesting. The voice of Hunger is neither deep nor grave. It is flat. Empty. Like a room without furniture. "You say you're not afraid," the voice continues. But everyone is afraid. It's a matter of time. It's a matter of finding the right chink in the armor. "Maybe," says Obsidius. But maybe this time the armor won't have any cracks. The laughter of Hunger fills the sanctuary. It's not a mocking laugh. It is a laugh that recognizes a worthy adversary. The tentacle has been completely withdrawn. The crack is no longer expanding. 

The black liquid drips more slowly. "You've bought time," says the voice of Hunger, fading away. But time is the only thing I never lack. The sanctuary returns to normal. The shadows become still. The candles stop flickering. The temperature rises one degree. But the crack is still there. And everyone knows that Hunger has paused, not gone away. Obsidius lowers his purple eye. His hand shakes. But there is something new in his eyes: it is not hope. It is conviction. “Well,” Kym says. At least now we know he can talk. "And what can wait," says Lila. That's more dangerous than anything else. Obsidius looks at the crack. Then he looks at the eye in his hand. Then he looks at the two women who have defined his life in ways he is only beginning to understand. "So," he says. We have to find a way to close that rift before it stops waiting. —And how do you plan to do that? —Kym asks. Obsidius smiles. It is the smile of someone who has just discovered that he has nothing to lose. —I don't know yet. But I have the eye. I have the truth. And I have two people who owe me answers. He turns to Kym. —Let's start with you. Who were you before Ámbar?

 The blue box part 8: The Night of the Tooth: The Discovery That Breaks Every Rule. VIDEO

The Night of the Tooth The purple light does not fade. Does not expand. It folds. Obsidius feels as if someone has folded the space around him, like a sheet of paper closing in on itself. The sanctuary disappears. Lila disappears. Kym disappears. The gun, the Scorpion, the silk patch — everything fades into a fold of violet that crumples around it and spits it out the other side. It is not in the world of two suns. It's in a hallway. The wallpaper is cream-colored, with a pattern of faded roses that time has turned brown. The light enters through a window at the back, but it is a dirty light, a rainy afternoon, that does not illuminate as much as it reveals the shadows. There is a smell of humidity and soup. And there is a sound: an argument coming from behind a closed door, voices that he cannot distinguish but that he recognizes somewhere in his spinal cord, in that part of the brain that stores the sounds that precede pain. The man's voice is a contained roar, like an engine that has trouble starting. The woman's voice is higher, faster, like someone trying to put out a fire with words. The boy in the hallway—the boy that Obsidius was—knows those voices. He knows what they mean. He knows that at any moment one of them will stop talking and the silence that precedes the blows will begin. Obsidius looks at his hands. They are not adult hands with marked veins and calluses from years of work. They are small hands. Child's hands. The skin is clean but the nails have dirt underneath, as if he had been playing in the garden. 

Listen to your own breathing. It's faster than normal. More superficial. Breathing of someone who is afraid. He knows this is a memory. The purple eye has brought him here, to the exact moment that Lila has been hiding for twenty years. But knowing it doesn't protect you. Memory has smell, it has temperature, it has texture. The wallpaper is peeling off in one corner. The wood floor creases in the same place as always — the third board before the door to his room. His room. The door is ajar. On the other side, the metal bed. The bed where he slept every night for seven years, whose edges he knows with his toes, whose springs have sung the same song every time he has turned. The sheets are wrinkled. There is a glass of water on the nightstand. And on the pillow, something that shouldn't be there. 

To blue box. There is nothing else in the room that could attract attention. The toys are few and worn. The books are loans from the school library. But the blue box glows with a color that does not belong to any visible spectrum. It's blue, yes, but it's also something else. It is the color of a sky that the child has never seen. It is the color of an ocean that does not exist in this world. Obsidius recognizes her before his childish hand touches her. It's the same recurring dream box, the one that has always appeared in the nightmares that Sarah tried to explain as "bad digestion." But it's not a dream. It's a memory. And the box is real. More real than anything else in that room. It is about fifteen centimeters long. It is made of a material that looks like lacquered wood, but when the child touches it, the surface is cold. 

Not cold like wood. Cold as metal in winter. Cold as something that does not belong to this world, something that has traveled across distances not measured in kilometers. The boy takes it with both hands. The box weighs more than it should. Inside there is something that moves. Not a physical movement — a movement in perception, as if the object inside the box was constantly changing shape, adapting to the space it occupies, like an animal settling into a burrow that is too small. There is an inscription on the cover. It is in a language that the child does not recognize. But adult Obsidius, looking from the depths of memory, can read it. Not with the eyes—with the membrane. The words are written in the same language that Lila uses when she speaks from the other side of the eye. The inscription reads: "For him who must remember." The child does not understand the words, but he understands the message. He knows the box is for him. He knows he has to open it. He knows that once he does, nothing will ever be the same. Adult Obsidius wants to scream not to open it. He wants to break through the memory and tear the box from the boy's hands. But he can't. This has already happened. 

There is nothing to change. You just have to remember. The boy opens the box. Inside there is a tooth. It's not just any tooth. It's your tooth. A baby incisor, with the root stained with blood and a small piece of flesh still attached, as if it had been torn off with violence. The boy looks at him without understanding. He doesn't remember falling. He doesn't remember hitting himself. But the tooth is there, in the blue box, and the blood is fresh, and there is a dull ache in his jaw that he hadn't noticed until now. He puts his hand to his mouth. The index finger finds the gap. The holes bleed. The boy doesn't understand how he lost the tooth, but the hole is there, and the blood tastes like metal, and the blue box is still open on the bed, waiting. 

The hallway behind him creaks. Obsidius turns around—or rather, the boy turns around, and Obsidius sees through his seven-year-old eyes. A woman is in the hallway. It's not Lila. It's not his mother. She is a young woman, in her mid-twenties, with dark hair in a tight ponytail and an oversized leather jacket. His eyes are a color that the child cannot name — green, but with a reddish glint in the background, as if he had a light on behind his retina. Obsidius knows that look. "Kym," he whispers, but his child's voice doesn't produce the sound. The young woman does not respond. He can't hear it. This is a memory. She is seeing the child, not the adult Obsidius watching from within the memory. "You shouldn't have opened the box," the young woman says. His voice is different. Sharper. Less scratchy. 

But there is something about the intonation that is unmistakably Kym: that way of speaking as if he knows something you don't, as if each word is a warning disguised as information. -Who are you? —asks the boy. His voice trembles. He doesn't know if this woman is a threat or a salvation. He just knows that it appeared out of nowhere, right after the blue box appeared on his bed. "Someone who watches over you," she says. Someone who was here before you were born and who will be here after you are gone. You can call me Amber. “Amber,” the boy repeats. —It's not my real name. But it's the only one I can give you now. The boy observes the Scorpion on his arm. The ink is fresh, raised on some edges. The wound has not finished healing. —Does it hurt? Ámbar looks at her own arm as if seeing it for the first time. "Yes," he says. But pain is part of the deal. The woman extends her hand. On his right forearm, under the leather jacket, there is a flash. Obsidius sees it clearly now: the same Scorpion he has seen in adult Kym. But on this young woman, the Scorpion is barely healing, as if the tattoo was recent, as if the mark had been etched into her skin just a few days ago. "You have to give it back," she says. The tooth has to go back into the box. The box has to go back to where it was. And you have to forget that you saw this. -Because? —Because if you don't forget, she can't get in. And if she doesn't come in, you die. The child does not understand. But adult Obsidius, observing from within, understands this perfectly. The woman who will be Kym is not a guardian. She is a messenger. It is there to prepare the way. Because the one who comes after is not human. The hallway darkens. It's not that the light goes out — it's that the air becomes denser, as if someone had increased the atmospheric pressure inside the house. The young woman takes a step back and lowers her gaze. Not out of fear. 

Out of respect. Purple light fills the hallway. It doesn't come from any direction. It is everywhere at the same time, as if color were a gas that seeps from the walls, from the ceiling, from the floor. The faded rose wallpaper glows with a violet hue, and the roses seem to move, open, breathe. Lila emerges from the light. But it is not the Lila of the patch and the empty socket. It is not the Lila of the sanctuary and the candles. It is a Lila that Obsidius has never seen: whole. With both eyes. With a presence that fills the hallway like water fills a glass. She floats a few inches off the ground, and her hair moves as if she were underwater, even though there is no wind. "Hello, little one," he says. His voice doesn't come out of the air. It comes from inside his head. Like the membrane. Like the purple eye. Like everything that's been there from the beginning. The boy steps back. The blue box falls to the ground. 

The tooth rolls across the wood and stops at Lila's feet. "Don't be afraid," she says. I didn't come to hurt you. I came to offer you a way out. —A way out of what? Lila doesn't respond. But adult Obsidius knows the answer. He knows that behind the closed door, the argument has turned into blows. He knows that the blood on the tooth is not from a fall. He knows that the child is bleeding from the mouth because someone hit him. He knows that if Lila doesn't arrive at that time, the child might not survive the night. “I can make the pain go away,” Lila says, floating. I can make everything disappear. The hallway. The roses. The discussion. The blows. The tooth. There. I can give you a new life. A life where you don't have to remember any of this. A life where you can be happy. -Happy? —the boy asks, as if the word is strange to him. “Happy,” Lila repeats. Or at least, calm. Fearless. No memories to wake you up at night. The boy looks at her. His seven-year-old eyes try to process what he's hearing. On the other side of the hallway, the discussion continues. 

A sharp bang against a wall. A brief cry that is cut off immediately. Lila waits. He's not in a hurry. He knows that the child's response is the only currency that matters to him. —In exchange for what? —the boy finally asks. Lila smiles. It's a sad smile. —In exchange for a place to stay. -I don't understand. “I need an anchor in this world,” Lila says. A living being to cling to so as not to get lost on the journey. Your world and mine are separated by a space you cannot imagine. Crossing it without an anchor is like jumping into the void without a rope. You would be my rope. Behind him, the Scorpion's young woman watches silently. The tooth is still on the ground. The blue box is still open. And at the edge of memory, barely perceptible, there is something else. 

The Hunger. Adult Obsidius feels it before seeing it. That pressure behind the left eye. That feeling of being observed from a distance that is not measured in meters. Hunger is not within the memory — it is at the edges, like a damp spot growing on the periphery of vision. You can't get in. Not yet. But he's looking. He is learning. It's waiting. The child extends his hand. Not towards the blue box. Towards Lila. —Will it hurt? “Just a moment,” says Lila. Like when you fall asleep. And when you wake up, you will be someone else. You won't remember any of this. Not even the box. Not even the tooth. Not even the discussion. Not even the blows. You will have a new, clean childhood, as if nothing had happened. -And you? -asks the boy-. Will you remember me? Lila hesitates. It's the first time he's hesitated since he appeared in the hallway. "Yes," he finally says. I will remember for both of them. The boy nodes. 

He doesn't understand everything that's at stake. But understand enough: if you say no, the pain continues. If you say yes, the pain ends. For a seven-year-old child, there is no more complex calculation than that. "It's okay," he says. I accept. Lila extends her hand. His fingers touch the boy's forehead. And the world turns purple. Adult Obsidius senses the exact moment the deal is sealed. It's like a snap inside his chest, like a bone breaking and healing at the same time. The membrane in his left eye forms in that instant — an interdimensional scar that connects him to Lila forever. It is not a symbol. It is an umbilical cord made of purple light, invisible to human eyes, that binds its existence to hers. Light fills the hallway. The wallpaper is peeling off the walls. The roses dissolve in the air. The sounds of the argument fade away like a radio whose cable is cut. The boy falls to the ground. Unconscious. 

But he doesn't cry. He has no tears for this. He is seven years old and has just sold his memory in exchange for a life he doesn't even know if he deserves. The young woman—Ambar, who will be Kym—picks up the tooth from the ground. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger, as if it weighs more than it should. She looks at him for a moment, and there's something in her eyes that adult Obsidius recognizes: it's not pity. It is recognition. She has also made this deal. She also sold a part of herself to stay alive. There is a long pause. The purple light begins to retreat. "He's yours now," says Lila, referring to the unconscious child. “No,” says Ámbar. It's yours. I just came to make sure the deal was clean. —And it was? Ámbar looks at the tooth in her hand. Look at the boy on the ground. He looks at the blue box that begins to fade, its edges becoming translucent, as if it never existed. "It's never clean," he finally says. But it's the only deal there is. —Wasn't yours clean either? Amber doesn't respond. 

But his free hand rests on the Scorpion on his forearm, and his fingers caress the fresh ink as if he were reading a message etched into his own skin. "Mine was different," he says. Mine wasn't a deal. It was a sentence. The hallway begins to dissolve. The walls lose color. The roses on the wallpaper are blurred. The purple light slowly retreats, like a receding tide. Adult Obsidius feels that he is being expelled from the memory. But before he leaves, he sees one last thing: At the edge of memory, where Hunger lurks, there is a crack. Small. Faint. 

But it is there. Hunger has managed to mark the memory. You can't change what happened. But you can observe it. You can learn from him. It can wait. The shrine returns in a flash so violent that Obsidius thinks he's going to vomit. He is on his knees. His hands are shaking. The purple eye is still in his right hand, but now he holds it like someone holding an ember, knowing that it burns but unable to let go. He's out of breath. His chest rises and falls in waves he can't control. Lila looks at him from her chair. There is no surprise on his face. I knew this would happen. 

He knew the membrane would take him there, to the exact moment she had hidden for twenty years. Kym is still at the door. His gun points at the ground. Her face is pale, as if she had also traveled to the past, as if she had also seen Ámbar in that hallway. "I know your name," Obsidius says without looking up. The name you had before you was Kym. Amber. Kym closes her eyes. When he opens them, there are tears that do not fall. —It's been a long time since anyone called me that. "You were there," Obsidius says. You saw everything. You saw the deal. Dress the box. See the tooth. -Yeah. —And you never thought about telling me? Kym puts the gun in her belt. Not with a gesture of surrender. With one of fatigue. "Every day," he says. 

Every damn day for twenty years. Silence fills the room again. But it is not an empty silence. It is full of unanswered questions. Obsidius stands up. His legs shake, but he stands firm. He looks at the purple eye in his hand, feeling its warmth, its pulse. “Amber wasn't your real name,” he says. You said it was the only one you could give. “Kym isn't my real name either,” she replies. None of the names I've ever had are real. The Scorpion is the only thing I have always worn. It's the only thing that defines me. "So who are you?" Kym opens her mouth to respond. But Lila interrupts her. “You won't find that answer looking back,” he says. That answer is ahead. Obsidius turns to Lila. There's something different in his look now. It's not the fear of before. Nor is it submission. 

It is something closer to fury, but cold, controlled. "You used me," he says. My whole life has been a lie that you made up to survive. "I saved your life," says Lila. Without me, you would have died that night. The blows were not going to stop. The man behind the door wasn't going to stop. I offered you a way out. —You offered me a cage disguised as an exit. You don't need to do it. They both know it's true. Obsidius looks at the wall. There, where the air trembles slightly, there is a crack that was not there before. It's not a crack in the plaster. It is a crack in reality, opened by the journey through the membrane, like a seam that has torn. On the other side, barely perceptible, there is something that breathes. Something that waits. He hasn't entered. But he has left his mark. 

As in the memory, as in the blue box, as in the tooth. Hunger knows where the crack is. And he knows that if the membrane opens completely, he will be able to pass through it. “We have to close that,” Kym says, pointing to the crack. -And how? —Obsidius asks. "Returning the eye," says Lila. "No," Kym says at the same time. Looking again. Obsidius looks at them both. Lila, who offered him a life in exchange for his memory. Kym, who was Ámbar, who witnessed everything and never said anything. The purple eye pulses in his hand. "Now," says Obsidius, "I'm going to decide." But in his eyes there is something that was not there before: certainty. He has seen the truth. And the truth, although it hurts, has an advantage over lies: it can be fought. Outside, the crack in reality pulses in time with the eye in his hand. Hunger waits. But Obsidius is no longer the boy who accepted a deal without understanding it. Now understand. And he's going to pay back the deal, piece by piece.

 The blue box part 7: The Hunger — What Comes Next Will Shock You. VIDEO

Hunger The silence lengthens like a thread of blood in water. The room is frozen in the instant after the revelation. Obsidius has his purple eye clenched in his fist, his knuckles white. Lila looks at him with her one eye open, and for the first time since she appeared in the sanctuary, her face has lost all certainty. Kym remains in the doorway, the gun pointed at the void between the three of them, as if the gun had ceased to have a clear target. Then the membrane pulsates. It is not the normal pulse that Obsidius has become accustomed to in the last few hours. It's another rhythm. Slower. 

Deeper. Like a heartbeat that comes from far away, across a distance that is not measured in meters. Kilometers. Years. Something that beats from a place where time does not flow the same. Lila remains still. His eye opens slowly, the pupil dilating until it covers almost the entire iris. "No," he says in a whisper. -That? —Obsidius asks. Lila doesn't respond. He's looking at something neither of us can see. His right hand slowly rises towards his empty socket, as if he wanted to cover it, as if he wanted to protect something that is no longer there. The fingers tremble before touching the silk patch. “Lila,” Kym says from the door, her voice having lost all harshness. What is happening? “He found us,” says Lila. His voice is flat, mechanical, as if he were speaking from the bottom of a well. I have crossed the broken bridge. It's not complete, but it's here. I didn't know I could go that far. I didn't know I remembered this place. -Who? —Obsidius asks, although he already knows. —The Hunger. The room temperature drops. It's not a sensation. Obsidius sees his own breath condense in front of his mouth. The sanctuary lights flash once and go out. The only light left is the faint purple glow of the eye in her hand, and the reddish glow of the Scorpion under Kym's skin. The shadows in the corners begin to move. Not in one direction. They twist around themselves, as if someone were stirring them from the other side of the world. The membrane pulses again, and this time Obsidius feels something else. At pressure. So if someone was pushing from inside his skull, from behind his left eye. The pressure builds until you feel like your eye is going to pop out of its socket. —What are you doing? His voice trembles. 

A hand instinctively goes up to his face, so if he can stop whatever is happening inside his head. “Looking for an entrance,” Lila says. The membrane is not just my anchor. It is a scar in reality. A poorly closed seam between your world and the spaces in between. Hunger can use that seam if he knows where to push. "But the membrane is in my eye," says Obsidius. How are you going to... He doesn't finish the sentence. Because he hears a voice that doesn't come out of the air. It comes from inside his head. Directly behind his left eye, where the membrane pulses to the rhythm of that foreign heartbeat. He doesn't use words. Use images. Use sensations. Like a dream that doesn't belong to you but that you are dreaming anyway. 

Like a caress inside your skull. Obsidius sees a black ocean. An ocean without surface, without waves, without bottom. A liquid void that extends infinitely in all directions. There is no up or down. There is no light. Only a darkness so dense that it weighs on the consciousness like an inverted mountain. And in that ocean, something moves. It has no form. It doesn't have a name. It is just a consciousness so vast that the concept of an individual does not fit into it. It is a hunger that is not physical. It is prior to the body, prior to life. It is the pure desire to go through, to touch, to consume. But not bodies. Not souls. Realities. Entire worlds. 

Complete universes that he has devoured one after another for a time that cannot be measured because for Hunger, time does not exist. Obsidius sees worlds fading. See entire civilizations being absorbed by that darkness without leaving a trace. He sees Lila's world before the bridge was broken — the purple crystals fading one after another as the Famine approached. He sees the inhabitants of that world running towards the dimensional bridges, trying to escape. See the majority not doing it. And then Hunger sees him. It's not a meeting. It is a recognition. An immense presence that turns its attention towards the tiny point of consciousness that is Obsidius. And when he looks at it, he feels like he's being measured. 

Heavy. Evaluated. You are small, says Hunger without words. But you have something I want. Obsidius opens his mouth to scream. No air comes out. —Get him away! —Kym shouts. But he's not yelling at Lila. He is screaming into the air, into nothingness, into the presence that fills the room like invisible smoke. The Scorpion under Kym's skin begins to glow. The light passes through his shirt, casting the shadow of the symbol against the wall. Kym doubles over, one hand on her forearm, the other still clutching the gun. “I know him,” Kym says, panting. The Scorpion's light flickers like a heartbeat, and something Obsidius has never seen appears in his eyes: terror. I know him from before. From when I wasn't Kym. From my other life. Of the life I had before my reflection was torn out. “Shut up,” says Lila. 

Don't give him any more information. Hunger learns from what you say. Every word of yours is a thread that can follow. But Kym won't shut up. The light of the Scorpion intensifies, and with it comes fragments of memory. Visions that are not hers but that flow through the symbol under her skin: an endless hallway, doors that open into the void, a faceless woman walking towards a light that does not exist. “I know what he wants,” Kym continues, ignoring her. The gun in his hand shakes, but he doesn't point it at anyone. It points at the ground, as if Kym had forgotten she had it. He wants the eye. Not to complete you, Lila. To open a permanent door. 

A bridge that can never be broken. So that this world is yours too. —And what would happen if I succeeded? Kym looks at him. For the first time since he burst into the room, his gaze is free of anger. It has something worse: resignation. "Everything would disappear," he says. Not like when you die. Like when you never existed. And you wouldn't even know it. There would be no one to remember it. Because Hunger does not devour bodies. Devour the possibility that you ever existed. The silence that follows is heavier than any words. The purple eye in Obsidius's hand grows hot until it hurts. So much light emanates from it that the room seems to be under an otherworldly sun. "If Hunger gets the eye," Lila says, "he won't just enter this world." Will replace it. He will make it part of himself. As it is done with other worlds. With other towns. Those who did not escape in time. —Like yours? But his silence is an answer. The pressure on Obsidius's head increases. Images of the black ocean become sharper. It's no longer just an ocean. It's an eye. 

An infinite black eye that looks at him from the other side of the membrane. "Give me my eye back," Lila says. Now. It's the only way to close the passage. When the eye is in place, the membrane will seal and the Hunger will lose this direction. "If I give you my eye back," says Obsidius, "I'll vanish." You said the part of me that is from your world would fall apart. "Yes," says Lila. But Hunger will not enter. —Don't pay attention to him! The Scorpion on his arm burns so bright that the room seems to be on fire. She is using you. He's been using you since you were seven. He doesn't know what will really happen if you give him the eye back. 

Nobody has done it before. —And what do you know? —Lila asks, facing Kym. “I know what I saw that night,” Kym says. The night of the tooth. The night you chose Obsidius. It was there. I saw you do it. And I saw what you left behind. “Shut up,” Lila says, and for the first time her voice sounds threatening. “I saw the boy,” Kym continues. I saw how you found it. I saw how you offered him a way out. But I also saw what happened before you arrived. What someone else did to him. And that's why I know that Hunger doesn't just haunt you. It also chases him. Obsidius looks at Kym. Then he looks at Lila. —What did you see? -ask. Nobody answers. The pressure in his head intensifies. The membrane pulses so hard that he can feel it moving under his eyelid, like a worm trying to crawl out. Hunger is pushing. And Obsidius has the eye in his hand. You can return it to Lila and fade away. You can put it away and let the Hunger come in. Or she can do what Lila told her in the first vision: look through him once more and see the truth they are both hiding from her. But the next time he looks, Lila warned him, he'll have to choose. And the time to choose is running out. The ground shakes. The walls of the sanctuary crack. 

Not physically — they are cracks in reality, black lines that cut the air like scars. Hunger is coming. Obsidius closes his eyes. Open your fist. The purple eye rests in his palm, warm, alive, waiting. "You have to decide now," says Lila. "If you give it to them," Kym says, "you're lost forever." Obsidius looks at the eye. Then he looks at Kym. "No," he says. I'm not going to return it. I'm not going to let Hunger enter. And I'm not going to sit here waiting for someone else to decide for me. —So what are you going to do? —Kym asks. Obsidius closes his eyes for a moment. He feels the membrane pulsate under his eyelid. He feels the hot purple eye in his hand. Feel the presence of Hunger pressing against the edges of reality, looking for a crack to slip through. Open your eyes. —I'm going to do the only thing I can do. Raise the purple eye. "Obsidius, no," says Lila. If you look again unprepared, Hunger can... "Maybe," he interrupts her. Enter? It's already coming in. Use me? He's already using me. You've been using me for twenty years, Lila. Kym has been hiding the truth from me for twenty years. Hunger has been devouring worlds for a thousand years. It's time for someone to look at the truth in the face. And he brings the purple eye closer to his left eye. 

The membrane opens. The world is turned apart once again. "I'm going to see what happened that night," Obsidius says as the purple light surrounds him. I'm going to see who I was before Lila found me. I'm going to see what Kym saw. And when I come back, I'll choose. Kym screams his name. Lila extends a hand that can't touch him. The Scorpion under Kym's skin burns so bright that it casts moving shadows on the cracked walls. But Obsidius is no longer in the room. It's falling through the purple eye. Not into Lila's world. Further back. Towards the memory that has been blocked since I was seven years old. Into the hallway with faded rose wallpaper. Towards the metal bed. Towards the blue box. Towards the tooth. 

Towards the truth that everyone has hidden from him. Hunger follows him. He can't help it. The membrane is a door, and he has just thrown it wide open. Lila looks at the spot where Obsidius disappeared. His face is pale, but there is something in his eyes that he hasn't shown before: fear. "He's going to see it," Kym says. You're going to see what happened. "I know," Lila says. —And when he sees it, he's going to hate you. Just look at the purple eye floating in the air where Obsidius used to be, shining with a light that is no longer what it used to be. Hunger is near. And the truth is about to be revealed.

 The blue box part 6: The eye that sees. VIDEO

The silence weighs like a stone. Obsidius holds the purple eye between his thumb and forefinger. The temperature of the object has risen to the point of burning, but it does not release it. In front of him, Lila waits with her empty socket turned towards her face, the patch of black silk like a tiny abyss. Behind him, Kym breathes raggedly from the doorway, her gun trembling but steady. “Give it to me,” says Lila. His voice doesn't plead. Order. "Don't pay attention to him," Kym says at the same time. "Obsidius, listen to me. If that eye returns to its place, she is complete. And you... you fall apart. As if you had never existed." Obsidius looks at the eye in his hand. The purple iris seems to look back at him. The pupil dilates and contracts with a rhythm that is not its own. And then remember Lila's words in the mirror room: When the time comes, you will have to look through it. And what you see will change you forever. He doesn't return it. He doesn't give it to Kym. He raises it to his own eye. -What are you doing? —Kym's voice breaks. Obsidius brings the purple eye closer to his left eye—the one with the membrane—and the world tears apart. There is no pain, like someone has folded the space between his eyelids and stretched it into a tunnel. Above a sea of lavender clouds. The sky is not sky: it is a dome of purple light crossed by two twin suns, one large and white, the other smaller and reddish, like an eye that never blinks upward, closing the world in itself like the inside of a sphere. There are structures growing from the ground like quartz crystals, illuminated from within by a pulsating light reminiscent of the pulse of the purple eye. figures, with skin the same violet tone as the sky, with large, dark eyes that have no white. 

They communicate through waves of light that erupt from their throats and coil in the air before dissolving. Not the Lila of the patch and the empty socket. This Lila has both eyes, and the left one shines with the same purple light as the quartz structures. says. His voice doesn't come out of his mouth. It resonates inside Obsidius's head, like the membrane when he spoke from the other side. But now it is clearer, closer. As if he had always been there, waiting for the moment to speak without masks. chest and is lost in the curved horizon. "As real as you," Lila answers. She walks among the violet figures without anyone looking at her. Pass through one of the quartz structures as if it were smoke. "This was my world," says Lila. Before the bridge broke, she stops in front of a structure larger than the others. It is shaped like an eye, supported by threads of light that descend from the sky like upside down. dimensions. My people built it a thousand years ago, when we discovered that we were not alone in the multiverse. We learned to travel between realities. But every trip has a price. Something is left behind. One eye. In memory. A name. Sometimes, a lifetime. Lila extends her hand toward the sphere. His fingers pass through the surface as if it were water. 

The images inside shake violently. "We traveled for centuries," she continues. We knew a hundred worlds, a thousand civilizations. Some welcomed us with open arms. Others closed their doors to us. And others... others saw us as a threat. Because traveling between dimensions leaves traces. And the footprints can be followed. —By whom? —Because it lives in the spaces between worlds. It has no name in your language. In mine, we call it Hunger. It is not a being. It is a void with its own will. And the further we traveled, the closer it got. Until one day, the bridge broke. Not by accident. We broke it on purpose, to close the passage. But I was on the other side when they did it. Obsidius looks at the sphere. On its surface, he sees images swirling like liquid dreams: a dark-haired girl singing in a hallway with faded rose wallpaper. A faceless boy sitting on a metal bed. To blue box. A tooth. "That girl," he says. Is it Sarah? "Sarah, it's you," says Lila. Sarah is the part of you that I created so that you could harden who you are. —And what am I? Lila turns to him. Her eyes—both complete—look at him with a sorrow so ancient that Obsidius feels like he's suffocating. “You are my anchor,” she says. 

When I crossed from this world to yours, the bridge could not support my full weight. Something had to be left behind. But something also had to cross with me. I couldn't travel empty. I needed a container to keep the connection open. A being from your world that I could cling to. "Me," says Obsidius. It's not a question. -You. The membrane in your eye is not just a conduit so I could talk to you. It's the cord that keeps you tied to me. Without it, the part of you that I brought from this world—because a part of you is also from here—would fade away. Like a dream when you wake up. Obsidius backs away. Or try to back away. The landscape refuses to move. "You mean I'm not real?" "You're real," says Lila. But you are not only from your world. When I chose you as a vessel, I did not take an empty body. I took a child who was about to die. A seven-year-old boy, in a hallway with rose wallpaper, with a tooth in his hand and a mouth full of blood. I offered him a way out: he could continue living if he let me in. I have accepted. "That's not true," Obsidius whispers. “You know it deep down,” Lila says. The membrane has been opening memories, right? You have seen the child. You have seen the blood. You have seen the tooth. How do you think it got into the blue box? The sphere pulses. 

The images speed up: a blow, a scream, a small body falling to the ground. A hand that picks up the tooth. The hand of a child—Obsidius, seven years old—offering it to a tall, dark figure with the promise that everything would end. "You lie," he says. "I've never lied to you," says Lila. I put a mask on you called Sarah so you could live without remembering. I gave you a fake childhood, a fake identity, a fake life. But the membrane was always there, waiting. And now that you have looked through my eye, you can no longer unlearn what you have seen. Obsidius tries to scream. He doesn't have a throat. “Kym knows,” Lila continues. Kym has her own anchor, her own cord. The Scorpion under its skin is not a symbol. It is the mark of another vessel, another journey. That's why Kym is afraid. Not from me. Of what you are. Because if you can fade away, so can she. And if I can complete myself, her own anchor—whoever brought her into this world—can claim her too. The vision begins to fray. The edges of the landscape turn white, like burning paper. "The next time you look at me," Lila says, her voice receding like an echo in an infinite tunnel, "you'll have to choose." Giving back the eye is giving me back. But it's also letting you go. And I don't know if you're ready to know who you were before I found you. Obsidius opens his eye—the one with the membrane—and is back in the room. Kym's gun is still pointed. Lila is still waiting. The purple eye is in his hand, hot, pulsing. But now he knows. And knowing is worse than not knowing. 

Kym looks into his eyes and understands that he has seen. “Oh no,” Kym whispers. You looked, right? You looked through him. Obsidius doesn't respond. You can't. “Listen to me carefully,” Kym says, and her voice shakes no longer. The gun in his hand has stopped swinging. Now he points directly at Lila's heart with a precision that only gives certainty. Now you know the truth. But there is a part that Lila hasn't told you. The part about what happened to the boy in the blue box. The part about why Sarah wasn't just a mask. And that part, Obsidius, is the one that really matters. Obsidius looks at Kym. There's something in his eyes I haven't seen before: it's not fear. It's guilt. A guilt so old and so deep that it has become the foundation on which Kym built her life. —Do you have an anchor too? —Obsidius asks. His voice sounds far away, as if he were still in the world of two suns. Kym doesn't respond. But his free hand instinctively goes to his right forearm, where under the sleeve, under the skin, the incandescent Scorpion beats with a pulse that is not his own. "It's not the same," Kym says at the end. Mine didn't come from another world. Mine came from another time. Of a life that I lived and that I do not remember. But the mechanism is the same. Something that anchors you to an existence that doesn't entirely belong to you. And when that anchor breaks... Kym swallows. The gun shakes one last time before hardening again. —...you disappear. You don't die. You disappear. As if you had never existed. And everything you did, everything you touched, everything you were, comes undone with you. Because you were never completely real. Lila smiles. It's not a kind smile. —Are you going to tell him, Kym? -ask-. Or do you prefer that I do it? "Don't tell him anything," Kym says. Not yet. First you have to remember for yourself. The boy in the blue box. 

The night he lost his teeth. What he saw before I arrived. Obsidius blinks. The membrane in his eye throbs. —Were you there? -ask. Kym closes her eyes. When he opens them, there are tears that do not fall. "I was," he says. You don't recognize me because I didn't recognize myself either. He had another name. Another face. Hereafter. But it was there. And I saw what happened. And I spent the rest of my existence trying to forget it. The purple eye in Obsidius's hand pulses harder. The light it emits dyes the entire room an impossible color. —What did you see? —Obsidius whispers. Kym opens her mouth. Lila interrupts her. “If you tell him now,” Lila says, her voice having lost all warmth, “you'll break the bridge before it's time.” And then yes, it will disappear. Not for me. For you. Because there are truths that cannot be told. They have to be remembered. Silence falls again. Heavy as a slab. But now there are three people in that room who know the truth. And no one is willing to tell it first. Obsidius closes his fist around the purple eye. Feel its heat, its pulse, its presence. He knows he can pay it back. He knows he can keep it. He knows he can look through it again. But next time, Lila warned him, he will have to choose. And he still doesn't know what he wants to choose.

 The blue box part 5: Kym's warning. VIDEO

The tooth touches Obsidius's fingertip and the world tears apart. It is not a memory that enters it. It is an entire life—Lila Mûryer's life—compressed into a single instant of white light. Obsidius falls to his knees in the childhood hallway, but it is no longer a hallway. It's an open field under a purple sky, with two suns sinking into the horizon like closing eyes. He is not seeing this through his own eyes. It's inside Lila. 

Feel his fear, his determination, the weight of a name that is not his but that he wears like a second skin. "Don't be scared," says a voice. It is not the voice of the photograph nor that of Sarah. It's Lila's voice, but younger, more broken. A girl. "Don't be scared, brother. "This hurts less if you don't get scared." Obsidius tries to speak, but his seven-year-old throat emits only a moan. The membrane in his left eye pulsates with each beat of that heart that is not his and, yet, beats in his chest as if it had always been there. 

The purple field dissolves. Now he is in a dark room. There are broken mirrors everywhere, shards reflecting fragments of a face he doesn't recognize but knows is his—Lila's face. In each fragment, she is different: girl, teenager, old woman, and then girl again. Time does not flow linearly for her. He never did. “The blue box is not a key,” Lila says from somewhere behind the mirrors. "It's a lock. And you are the key, Obsidius. 

You always were. That's why the membrane grew on you. That's why she found you. "Sarah?" he manages to articulate. Lila laughs, but it's not a happy laugh. "Sarah doesn't exist. Sarah is me. Sarah is the mask I put over you so you could forget. So you could survive without knowing what you really are. The tooth in his hand becomes hot. Obsidius opens it and sees that it is no longer a tooth. It's an eye. 

A human eye, small and dry, with an iris the same purple color as the sky of that world he has never visited. “Save it,” Lila whispers. "When the time comes, you will have to look through it. And what you see will change you forever. The mirror room is shattered. Obsidius is back in the childhood hallway, alone, with the tooth in the palm of his hand and a cold certainty in his chest: he has never been alone. Someone has been inside him from the beginning. And that someone just woke up. Obsidius's eyes bulge as he feels a familiar presence within himself, the purple eye pulsating within his grasp. The air grows cold and thickened around him, each step quieter than before. 

Lila's voice whispers from within, her words sharp like shards of glass. "The blue box... part four: Lila's awakening." Obsidius' face contorts with a mix of dread and realization—Sarah never existed; she was always inside him all along. His hands tremble as he stares into the purple eye, seeing his reflection for what it truly is—an abomination, a monster born from lies and deceit. The air is thick and cold as Obsidius's vision narrows into a memory. Lila's hand trails over his chest, her fingers lingering on the blue box he wears beneath his shirt. It pulses with a faint purple glow, each beat resonating through him like music to an old wound. 

The room around them feels charged, as if electric currents course through every particle of air. Obsidius's eyes are hollow mirrors reflecting back memories too painful for words, fragments that cling stubbornly to the edges of his consciousness. Obsidius's chest swells with an almost palpable energy as Lila's fingers glide over the pulsing blue box. Her touch is not gentle but tender, as if she recognizes some hidden truth behind its shimmering surface. 

As his vision deepens into a clear memory of Sarah, he feels her presence beside him, her spectral form appearing more vividly in their shared recollection. Lila's eyes, normally so distant and detached, seem to light up with a spark of recognition or connection when she touches the blue box, as if her magic is somehow tied to her own destiny. The blue box's pulsating light envelopes Lila in a cocoon of unexplained warmth. Obsidius's chest swells with an almost palpable energy as Lila's fingers glide over the pulsing object, her touch tender yet strangely possessive, as if she can feel its secret truths leaking into her very skin. 

Her eyes flutter closed and her breath quickens in a manner neither of them have seen before. In this moment, Obsidius knows he has stumbled upon something beyond his wildest dreams – or nightmares. He watches Lila with a mixture of awe and fear, wondering what dark, hidden purpose might lie within the cryptic blue box’s obsidian surface. Obsidius watches Lila from a hidden vantage point. Her fingers trace the intricate patterns of the blue box as if caressing a soft phantom. His heart roots, but he maintains his composure, absorbing her every gesture through the box's light. In the corner of his eye, he spots Kym approaching the threshold. 

The tension in the room grows palpable, each heartbeat aligning with the rhythmic pulse of Lila's movements. The blue box hums softly in Lila's hands, a melancholic symphony of its own. Obsidius sees his fingers close around it, as if seeking solace from memories he can barely grasp. Her eyes, usually haunted and distant, now hold a flicker of something unexplained — hope? Fear? He cannot tell. The blue box remains an enigma to him, a vessel of unknown power that seems to whisper secrets of the past. Lila's reflection in the glass shows her staring back with a strange intensity, like she has eyes beyond what meets the eye. Obsidius watches from behind a wall door, his heart thumping against his ribs, unable to resist this mystery any longer.

Obsidius comes out from behind the door. The creak of wood under his foot is thunder in the silence. Lila is not startled. It doesn't turn. He just stops the movement of his fingers on the blue box and waits.

“I knew you were there,” she says without turning around. His voice is flat, tired. "You always know. Since you have my eye, you always know where I am.

Obsidius looks at the purple eye in his palm. Feel the weight of their accusations. "Yours?"

She turns around. For the first time, Obsidius sees her whole: not as a ghost, not as a memory, but as a woman of flesh and blood. His right eye is brown, normal. His left eye is an empty socket, covered by a black silk patch.

"Yours," Obsidius repeats.

"Mine." Lila takes a step towards him. "When I crossed from my world to yours, the bridge did not support my full weight. Something had to be left behind. My eye crossed the void before I did. It fell into your timeline, into your childhood, into your little blue box. And you found it."

The blue box vibrates on the table. The eye in Obsidius's hand pulses in the same rhythm. "And the membrane?" he asks. His voice trembles.

"It is the conduit. While my eye was missing, the membrane grew on you to keep the connection open. So that I could see you. So I could talk to you without you knowing it was me.

“Sarah?”

Lila closes her right eye. "Sarah was the name I gave that voice so you wouldn't be scared. So you would believe he was a real person, not an entity hanging on the other side of a hole in the universe.

The purple eye warms. Obsidius feels something pulling at him from within, as if the eye wanted to return to its owner.

"What if I give it back to you?"

Lila opens her eyes. The void under the patch seems to stare at him. "Then the membrane will close. And you will remember who you really are, without my voice in your head. Without Sarah. Without Lila. Only you."

The door bursts open. Kym Mûryer stands in the doorway, with a gun in her hand and an expression that Obsidius has never seen on her: fear.

"Don't give him anything back," Kym says. "If that eye returns to its socket, she will cease to be human. And you will cease to exist.

Obsidius's voice trembles as he stares at Lila, his eyes wide and filled with fear. The air crackles with an unseen tension, each moment stretching until it feels like a lifetime. In the silence, Kym's finger is barely resting on the trigger of his gun, poised to move in the blink of an eye. Lila remains silent, her gaze fixed on the purple eye within Obsidius's sleeve, the only hint of a physical connection between them. Obsidius takes another breath before continuing. "Don't give him anything back," he repeats with a deeper tone. "If that eye returns to its socket, she will cease to be human. And you will cease to exist." His eyes lock onto Lila's, and she seems to weigh each word carefully as she registers the full weight of what Kym is offering. The moment hangs suspended between threat and ultimatum, an eerie silence pressing against the edges of their reality.

 The blue box part 3: the tooth of memory. VIDEO

Obsidius's left eye burns. The membrane there pulses in unison with the photograph, and he feels a tug behind his navel, as if something is winding a thread from inside him outward. "You can feel it now," the photograph says. Sarah's mouth does not move. The voice comes from the membrane itself — the same voice that spoke from the mirror. "You have always felt it. You called it anxiety. You called it dread. You called it the thousand small fears that keep a man awake at three in the morning. But it was never fear, Obsidius. It was memory trying to surface." He wants to look away. He wants to close his eyes. But the membrane in his left eye will not let him — it holds his gaze fixed on the photograph like a needle through a moth. "What happened when I was seven?" he whispers. The question scrapes his throat raw. He has never asked it aloud. He has never allowed himself to form the words. 

The photograph descends slowly, landing on the vanity beside the curling edges of its own burned corner. Sarah's membrane-eyes stare up at him now, and the perspective shifts — he is looking down at her, and she is looking up, and for a moment she is not a photograph but a girl, alive, small, afraid. "Show me," Obsidius says. His voice breaks on the last syllable. The membrane in his eye contracts sharply, and the room dissolves. He is standing in a hallway. Not the corridor of mirrors — a real hallway, with wallpaper patterned with faded roses and a carpet the color of dried blood. The air smells of boiled potatoes and cigarette smoke. A child's bicycle leans against the wall, one training wheel bent. He knows this place. 

He has never been here, but he knows it. A door at the end of the hallway is slightly ajar. Light spills through the crack — not warm light, but the flat gray of an overcast afternoon. A child is crying. No — two children. One is crying. The other is silent. Obsidius tries to move his legs. They obey, but slowly, as if wading through honey. The closer he gets to the door, the younger he feels. His hands, which he raises to look at, are shrinking. The calluses from decades of camera work are smoothing away. The fine lines around his knuckles are vanishing. By the time he reaches the door, he is seven years old. The silent child is him. He stands in the doorway, looking into a bedroom where a girl sits on the edge of a bed. She is maybe nine. 

Dark hair. A ribbon in her hair, once white, now gray with wear. She is not crying. She is holding something in her lap — a small wooden box, painted blue, with a brass clasp. She looks up. Her eyes are brown. Normal. Human. She smiles at him, and the smile is kind, and that is what breaks him more than anything. "You came back," she says. "I knew you would. You always come back to this part." He tries to speak, but his seven-year-old throat produces only air. The girl opens the blue box. Inside, nestled on velvet, is a single human tooth. "This is yours," she says. "You left it here. Do you remember?" He does not remember. But his hand reaches out anyway, trembling, and the membrane in his eye — still there, even at seven years old — pulses once, painfully, as his fingers touch the tooth. And a memory that is not his floods into him like a river through a broken dam. The blue box's pulsing photograph draws Obsidius closer, its light casting shadows that dance across his fragmented memories. He feels a cold hand at the nape of his neck and knows he is being watched—by someone or something watching him from outside himself. A shiver runs through him as the room around him warps, images blurring into one another like watercolors under a glass lens. Obsidius clenches his jaw, trying to anchor himself in reality, but the photograph's light is becoming more insistent, beckoning him deeper into its embrace. Obsidius follows the blue box through dimly lit hallways, its spectral glow casting an eerie dance across his path. His heart pounds in sync with the rhythmic pulse of the photograph, each beat a reminder of Sarah—her laughter, her eyes that seemed to mirror the night sky. The cold hand at his neck tightens slightly as he nears the end of this corridor; it is then that he feels the presence shift from his back to his shoulder, whispering in a voice colder than winter. 

The sensation sends shivers down his spine and forces him to pause, forcing himself to listen intently. The blue box's light flickers ominously as he hears voices murmuring in unknown tongues—languages he does not understand, but the fear they bring is unmistakable. In that moment of vulnerability, he realizes this corridor must be a dead end, yet his mind reels from the presence lurking just beyond it. The blue box's spectral glow intensifies as Obsidius navigates a maze of forgotten corridors. Each turn reveals more enigmatic photographs, their haunting presence echoing through the silent halls. 

One photograph in particular, that of Sarah from the amnesiac fragments, looms large. Her eyes seem to watch him, her smile twisted and accusing. Obsidius' breath quickens, his mind racing with fragmented memories. The box's spectral glow dances like a restless spirit, its spectral dance unsettling and alluring. Obsidius's fingers hover over a photo that seems to pulse with malevolent intent. The blue box flickers with an otherworldly light, casting elongated shadows across the ancient stone walls. In his mind’s eye, he sees Sarah—her eyes wide and fearful in a photograph taken long ago. Her haunting presence draws him closer, each step through these forgotten spaces feeling like a betrayal of his present life. Suddenly, a creaking sound from behind sends chills down his spine, as if the very walls are conspiring against him. 

He realizes with dread that he must not be alone in this dark, labyrinthine existence. The blue box's ethereal glow shifts, enveloping Obsidius in a spectral dance. He feels the shadows pressing closer, their presence tangible and malevolent. Memories of Sarah flood his mind like water over stones, urging him deeper into the abyss. The flickering light mimics her eyes—glassy and haunted as she stared at him through fragmented memories. As he reaches for the photo, a chill runs down his spine, and he knows that this time, he might not come back. 

The spectral dance around Obsidius intensifies as he feels a cold wind nipping at his cheeks. Sarah's image looms larger in his mind — her eyes filled with pain and betrayal, the last words she whispered before disappearing from his life. He recalls their final meeting, the night he finally broke free of her grip but left pieces of himself behind. Obsidius clenches his fists, a mix of anger and resolve fueling him as he faces the relentless shadows. The blue box's ethereal glow seems to pulse with an unholy energy, beckoning him closer to whatever dark destiny binds these fragmented memories together. 

Obsidius's mind drifts between fragmented memories of Sarah and the spectral figures that seem to dance around him. He feels a profound sadness at how much pain he has caused in both life and death, but also an unexplained pull towards these echoes, as if they hold answers long sought yet never fully understood. In his solitude, the blue box from his YouTube channel's profile looms larger — its cold, polished exterior a silent sentinel of his lost identity. He reaches for it, fingers lingering on the smooth surface, as if seeking solace or perhaps a clue to what he truly is in this new reality without memory. 

Obsidius's reveries intermingle with fragmented visions of Lila Mûryer and her spectral presence. The blue box looms larger in his mind’s eye, a nexus of shadows and light that seems to whisper secrets he can barely fathom. As night falls over the city, the air thickens, carrying with it the scent of forgotten histories and unspoken truths. Obsidius finds himself compelled to delve deeper into these mysteries, driven by an inner turmoil that threatens to consume him entirely. Obsidius's eyes flicker between the blue box and Lila Mûryer’s spectral visage. T

he shadows seem to form intricate patterns that shift and grow more ominous, as if holding secrets only he can comprehend. He wonders what truths the blue box holds, a nexus of light and dark whispers of his buried past. As he delves deeper into these visions, he begins to sense a connection between the spectral Lila and the blue box's enigmatic presence. The specter seems to watch him with a knowing gaze, as if sharing an ancient, whispered secret that lingers just beyond comprehension. The blue box’s shifting patterns now appear to form a labyrinthine map of Obsidius's tortured psyche. He can almost feel the layers peeling back from his fractured memories, each layer revealing more of Sarah—her laughter, her touch, and the whispered secrets she never got to share. Lila Mûryer’s spectral visage looms larger, her presence a mirror to Obsidius’s own broken reflections. They are dos caras de la misma moneda, echoes of an unknown past that threatens to consume him whole. As he delves deeper, the blue box's shadows shift into ominous runes, as if guarding ancient truths too dangerous for ordinary minds to comprehend. 

Obsidius senses a connection between these runes and his own half-remembered crimes—crimes against Sarah. His motives are unclear now, shrouded in the labyrinthine shadows of his fragmented memories, but a sinister urgency presses at him, urging him on toward the truth, no matter what it may cost. Obsidius’s mind is a maze of memories and lies, his fragmented psyche revealing new layers through the ever-shifting patterns of the blue box. He feels as if he’s peeling back the wallpaper of his past, each layer exposing darker truths and more twisted paths. As he delves deeper into these cryptic maps, Kym Mûryer's eerie visions become clearer—images of Sarah, a haunting figure from Obsidius's buried memories. 

The blue box seems to echo Kym’s mission, suggesting that the two share a profound connection woven through time and memory. With each layer peeled back, Obsidius stumbles upon hidden evidence, photographs, and journal entries, all pointing towards his past life as a serial killer under an alias. He knows these memories belong to someone else—Sarah—but her presence in these cryptic maps leaves him both elated and wary of any connections he might uncover. The blue box flickers ominously, revealing fleeting glimpses of Obsidius’s past in amber hues. He feels as if he's peeling back the wallpaper of his psyche, uncovering hidden rooms where whispers of forgotten crimes echo softly under layers of denial. Each flash intensifies his unease; memories surface not in full clarity, but as fleeting shadows dancing across a dimly lit stage. Obsidius watches from the corner of his eye, his mind toggling between lucidity and the fog of amnesia, sensing an unseen hand guiding him closer to truths that could shatter his carefully constructed identity. The blue box continues to pulse like a living entity, its cryptic patterns shifting under Obsidius’s scrutiny. He feels as if he's peeling back the wallpaper of his psyche, uncovering hidden rooms where whispers of forgotten events echo faintly. Each flicker offers more clarity but also deeper shadows—visions of Sarah, fragmented and haunting, intermingling with memories of Kym Mûryer, their connection weaving a complex tapestry of trauma and redemption. The box’s final twist reveals a single name etched in the glass: Lila. Obsidius’s heart clenches tight as he realizes the significance, recognizing her as Lila Mûryer—his sister from another world, now manifesting within his mental landscapes. Obsidius stands before the blue box, fingers tracing its patterns as if deciphering an ancient language. Each shift in color and form is a puzzle piece he must fit into his fragmented memories. 

The cold metal of the box cools his hands, grounding him amidst the swirling hues. In his peripheral vision, he sees faint shadows move—relics from forgotten pasts seeking to reclaim their place. He steps closer, heart thudding with an uneasy certainty, as if each step brings him a little nearer to understanding the full extent of Sarah’s presence in his life and the tangled web they weave together. Obsidius's fingers caress the cold surface of the blue box, a relic from his fragmented past. Each shift in color and form seems to echo the whispers and silhouettes of Sarah, the specter of his buried memories. The box remains ominously silent, its cryptic patterns taunting him with fragments he cannot fully reconcile. As morning breaks through the cracked windows, casting an ethereal glow over the room, Obsidius feels a sudden coldness settle in, like the first tendrils of dawn creeping into the shadows. In that moment, the blue box seems to shift subtly, hinting at a future revelation or clue that he must uncover before it slips away once more. 

The blue box remains a silent sentinel in Obsidius’s sanctuary, its facets shimmering like lost dreams and forgotten truths. His fingers trace over it as if searching for clues that might unravel the fragmented memories of Sarah, whose ghostly visage still haunts his half-formed psyche. In the quiet shadows, Lila Mûryer watches, her spectral form flickering like the fading light in a haunted room, offering silent counsel and doubt to Obsidius's singular quest. Obsidius’s sanctuary is bathed in a pale, spectral light, the blue box casting an ethereal glow around it. His fingers trace over its facets as if searching for answers that might unravel his own fractured psyche and hidden past. Each stroke resonates with layers of memory, some half-remembered, others still buried beneath shards of amnesia. He contemplates the implications of finding Sarah within those enigmatic walls, her name now a whispered secret in Obsidius’s half-formed dreams. The box remains a silent sentinel, its facets shimmering like lost dreams and forgotten truths.