Sean had finally stopped trying to dance correctly.

Eljara considered this a considerable improvement.

He was still bad.

But now he was bad with conviction.

The music shook the floor beneath them. Coloured light moved across old brick, iron balconies, glasses, faces and the polished surfaces of Autopods passing beyond the square.

Bluetime was gone.

Doskvol had become night again.

Not the old night his grandparents had known.

This one had neon.

Plasmovision.

Advertisements.

Headlights.

Music loud enough to make darkness seem decorative.

Sean leaned towards Eljara.

SEAN:
“You’re smiling.”

ELJARA:
“I’m watching you dance.”

SEAN:
“That doesn’t answer the question.”

ELJARA:
“It answers several.”

SEAN:
“I’ve improved.”

ELJARA:
“You’ve stopped caring.”

SEAN:
“Same thing.”

ELJARA:
“Not remotely.”

Someone crashed into Sean from behind.

He caught the young man before he fell.

The stranger grinned at him.

“Good night!”

Then disappeared again.

Sean stared after him.

SEAN:
“Do I know him?”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“He seemed very happy to see me.”

ELJARA:
“He’s happy to see everybody.”

SEAN:
“Suspicious.”

ELJARA:
“Temporary.”

The chorus hit.

Everyone around them shouted it.

Sean knew roughly half the words and solved the remaining problem with volume.

Eljara heard him.

ELJARA:
“That isn’t the lyric.”

SEAN:
“No one can hear me.”

ELJARA:
“I can.”

SEAN:
“Then stop listening.”

She laughed.

And that was when it happened.

Nothing changed.

That was the strange part.

No flash.

No Resonance alarm.

No impossible shadow appearing above the stage.

No dead person suddenly deciding to join the party.

The music simply continued.

People continued dancing.

Someone spilled a drink.

Someone kissed somebody.

A woman near the stage was laughing so hard she could barely breathe.

Completely ordinary.

And yet Sean suddenly stopped hearing the evening as separate pieces.

The drum.

The voices.

The feet striking the floor.

The lights moving across faces.

Hundreds of bodies arriving on the same beat without ever doing it perfectly.

Some early.

Some late.

Some graceful.

Some terrible.

And all at once it felt like one thing.

Sean’s smile disappeared.

ELJARA:
“What?”

SEAN:
“Fuck.”

ELJARA:
“That serious?”

SEAN:
“I don’t know.”

She looked at him.

Not worried.

Not amused now either.

Just attentive.

Sean looked around again.

SEAN:
“Did something happen?”

ELJARA:
“Lots of things are happening.”

SEAN:
“You know what I mean.”

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“Well?”

She waited.

SEAN:
“Eljara.”

ELJARA:
“I don’t know.”

Sean turned towards her.

That answer bothered him considerably more than a confident one would have.

SEAN:
“You don’t know?”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“That’s inconvenient.”

ELJARA:
“For you?”

SEAN:
“For civilisation.”

She smiled.

SEAN:
“Is it the music?”

ELJARA:
“Partly.”

SEAN:
“The drink?”

ELJARA:
“Possibly.”

SEAN:
“The crowd?”

ELJARA:
“Certainly.”

SEAN:
“The lights?”

ELJARA:
“They help.”

SEAN:
“So that’s it.”

ELJARA:
“Is it?”

Sean frowned.

SEAN:
“You’ve just explained it.”

ELJARA:
“No. I named some ingredients.”

He looked at her.

ELJARA:
“Flour isn’t a cake, Sean.”

SEAN:
“That sounds like something Stacy would say.”

ELJARA:
“Stacy would give you measurements.”

SEAN:
“And Caelwyn would ask what cake means.”

ELJARA:
“Precisely.”

Sean laughed.

For a moment the feeling weakened.

Then the music changed.

The next song was slower.

People shifted.

Couples moved closer.

Friends put arms around shoulders.

A woman near them began crying.

Not sadly.

She was still smiling.

Her friend kissed her forehead.

Someone lit a cigarette.

Someone else raised a glass.

And suddenly the feeling came back.

Stronger.

Sean exhaled.

SEAN:
“There.”

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“You felt it?”

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“What is it?”

Eljara looked at him.

ELJARA:
“Don’t.”

SEAN:
“Don’t what?”

ELJARA:
“Explain it.”

SEAN:
“I haven’t explained anything.”

ELJARA:
“You’re about to try.”

SEAN:
“I’d like to know what’s happening.”

ELJARA:
“Those aren’t the same thing.”

Sean looked annoyed.

ELJARA:
“You know fear.”

SEAN:
“Yes.”

ELJARA:
“You know desire.”

SEAN:
“Occasionally.”

ELJARA:
“You know grief.”

His expression changed.

SEAN:
“Yes.”

ELJARA:
“You know being drunk.”

SEAN:
“Expert.”

ELJARA:
“This isn’t any of those.”

SEAN:
“No.”

ELJARA:
“So let it be the thing you don’t have a word for yet.”

Sean stared at her.

SEAN:
“That sounds dangerously mystical.”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“Religious?”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“Magical?”

ELJARA:
“I didn’t say that either.”

SEAN:
“Then what?”

ELJARA:
“I just told you.”

SEAN:
“You don’t know.”

ELJARA:
“Exactly.”

Sean hated how reasonable that was.

They moved towards the edge of the dance floor.

The sound was still loud, but conversation no longer required shouting directly into one another’s faces.

Sean leaned against a railing.

SEAN:
“You ever felt this somewhere that wasn’t a party?”

Eljara didn’t ask him what “this” meant.

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“Where?”

ELJARA:
“A funeral.”

He looked at her.

SEAN:
“Cheerful.”

ELJARA:
“You asked.”

SEAN:
“What happened?”

ELJARA:
“Nothing.”

SEAN:
“Again with the useful answers.”

She ignored him.

ELJARA:
“People had been talking. Moving chairs. Pouring tea. Bringing food. Saying things people say when someone dies because silence frightens them.”

SEAN:
“Sounds familiar.”

ELJARA:
“Then somebody said his name.”

SEAN:
“And?”

ELJARA:
“That was it.”

Sean waited.

ELJARA:
“For a moment the whole room felt full of him.”

Sean’s eyes narrowed.

SEAN:
“Ghost?”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“Echo?”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“Resonance manifestation?”

ELJARA:
“No evidence.”

SEAN:
“Then the room wasn’t full of him.”

Eljara looked at him.

ELJARA:
“Wasn’t it?”

He started to answer.

Stopped.

ELJARA:
“I didn’t say he was physically there.”

SEAN:
“You said the room was full of him.”

ELJARA:
“It was.”

SEAN:
“That’s contradictory.”

ELJARA:
“Only if you insist that meaning has to occupy space.”

Sean went quiet.

He disliked when Eljara did that.

Mostly because he usually needed several minutes afterwards.

SEAN:
“So you’re saying this is meaning?”

ELJARA:
“I’m saying that’s one word.”

SEAN:
“Better than nothing.”

ELJARA:
“Is it?”

He sighed.

SEAN:
“You really don’t want me to solve this.”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“Why?”

ELJARA:
“Because the second you decide what it is, you’ll stop noticing everything that doesn’t fit your answer.”

That landed.

Sean looked back towards the dancers.

SEAN:
“Scientists say synchronisation.”

ELJARA:
“They might be right.”

SEAN:
“Psychologists say group emotion.”

ELJARA:
“They might be right.”

SEAN:
“Priests say sacred.”

ELJARA:
“Some might be right.”

SEAN:
“Magicians say magic.”

ELJARA:
“Some might be right.”

SEAN:
“Drunks say bloody good party.”

ELJARA:
“Often right.”

Sean laughed.

Then looked at her again.

SEAN:
“And in Doskvol?”

ELJARA:
“What about it?”

SEAN:
“We’re the unfortunate bastards living somewhere all those answers could theoretically overlap.”

She smiled.

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“That’s deeply inconvenient.”

ELJARA:
“You keep saying that.”

SEAN:
“Because I prefer my mysteries separated into categories.”

ELJARA:
“You live in the wrong city.”

He couldn’t argue.

The band stopped between songs.

For a few seconds there was only the sound of the crowd.

Breathing.

Glasses.

Laughter.

Shoes on stone.

Someone calling for a friend.

A child complaining that they weren’t tired.

The feeling remained.

Sean looked at his drink.

Then placed it on the railing.

Eljara noticed.

ELJARA:
“What are you doing?”

SEAN:
“Experiment.”

ELJARA:
“You’re putting down a drink.”

SEAN:
“Scientific method.”

ELJARA:
“Stacy would be furious.”

SEAN:
“Why?”

ELJARA:
“No control group.”

Sean waited.

The feeling was still there.

He frowned.

SEAN:
“Damn.”

ELJARA:
“Not the drink?”

SEAN:
“Apparently not entirely.”

ELJARA:
“Tragic.”

The crowd began singing before the next band number started.

A few voices first.

Then more.

Sean listened.

SEAN:
“Do you think this is where religion begins?”

Eljara turned towards him.

ELJARA:
“Careful.”

SEAN:
“I didn’t say this is religion.”

ELJARA:
“Good.”

SEAN:
“I mean this feeling.”

She waited.

SEAN:
“Before anybody has a theory.”

ELJARA:
“Go on.”

SEAN:
“Someone feels this.”

He gestured towards the square.

SEAN:
“Everything looks exactly the same, but suddenly it doesn’t feel ordinary anymore.”

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“Then someone asks why.”

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“One person says god.”

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“Another says spirit.”

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“Someone else says magic.”

ELJARA:
“Yes.”

SEAN:
“Stacy says neurochemistry.”

ELJARA:
“Probably with diagrams.”

SEAN:
“And perhaps all of them started from the same bloody moment.”

Eljara looked at him for several seconds.

Then smiled.

SEAN:
“What?”

ELJARA:
“That was annoyingly good.”

SEAN:
“Ha.”

ELJARA:
“Don’t get used to it.”

He looked far too pleased.

SEAN:
“So which explanation wins?”

ELJARA:
“You really need a winner?”

SEAN:
“Yes.”

ELJARA:
“Why?”

SEAN:
“Because otherwise everything can be true.”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“Thank Christ.”

ELJARA:
“Several things can be true.”

He groaned.

SEAN:
“Worse.”

Eljara turned towards him.

ELJARA:
“Music can change your body.”

SEAN:
“Yes.”

ELJARA:
“A crowd can change how you feel.”

SEAN:
“Yes.”

ELJARA:
“Memory can transform a song.”

SEAN:
“Yes.”

ELJARA:
“A religious person can genuinely experience a moment as sacred.”

SEAN:
“Yes.”

ELJARA:
“And in this world something supernatural might also be happening.”

Sean pointed at her.

SEAN:
“There!”

ELJARA:
“I said might.”

SEAN:
“Still counts.”

ELJARA:
“No.”

SEAN:
“A little.”

ELJARA:
“No.”

The crowd sang louder.

Sean stopped arguing.

The feeling was back again.

That strange thickness.

As if the night had acquired another dimension that wasn’t visible but was somehow present.

For the first time, he didn’t try to grab it.

Didn’t ask whether it came from the drink.

Or the song.

Or Eljara.

Or the crowd.

Or something stranger.

He just stood inside it.

Eljara noticed.

ELJARA:
“Better.”

SEAN:
“What?”

ELJARA:
“You stopped trying to solve it.”

SEAN:
“Temporary lapse.”

ELJARA:
“Of course.”

The band returned.

The bass hit.

People cheered.

Eljara held out her hand.

Sean looked at it.

SEAN:
“Again?”

ELJARA:
“You’ve been thinking for almost ten minutes.”

SEAN:
“And?”

ELJARA:
“It’s starting to show.”

SEAN:
“Cruel.”

ELJARA:
“Dance.”

SEAN:
“I still don’t dance.”

ELJARA:
“Sean.”

He looked at the crowd.

Then at her hand.

Then smiled.

SEAN:
“Fine.”

They went back in.

This time Sean didn’t care what the moment was called.

Magic.

Meaning.

Chemistry.

Communion.

Memory.

Love.

A very good song.

Something supernatural.

Nothing supernatural at all.

Perhaps the label could wait.

Because sometimes the experience comes first.

Before theology.

Before science.

Before magic.

Before anyone decides what happened.

There is simply a moment when an ordinary night suddenly becomes heavy with meaning—

and every word you know seems a little too small for it.

Have you ever had that moment?

At a concert, a party, a wedding, a funeral, around a fire, beside someone you loved — when nothing visibly changed, but suddenly everything meant more?

What did you call it afterwards?

Explore Blades ’68 with Mythveil Chronicles.