What was that feeling I felt, in that short illusion? The distinct feeling ricocheted into my memories as if I had never experienced it to begin with; somehow the memory continued to construct itself after the illusion had ended, before being covered under the fog of the past.

I subject the memory to a cognitive interrogation. Why was it that the distinct feeling made me so afraid? What was I afraid of? Where did the feeling come from? How did I become aware of that distinct feeling in the first place?

The confusing barrier, which prevents me from satisfying that last question, was the feeling's lack of a connection to any distinct physical sense or any concrete thought. The distinct feeling was a solitary idea, an emotion without a purpose. It could have been, according to the title of Dan's spellbook, a qualia. Perhaps that is why I was afraid?

That still doesn't explain why I briefly felt that same feeling when I began looking into Dan's eyes.

Dan's face has recovered from a white paste to his unusually-pale-yet-healthy complexion. He leans forward over the table as if to say something, his extended palms held flat upon the wood surface as his wrists bend his draped arms upward. His blue eyes cast a silver sheen which travels from one iris to another. I am struck with the suspicion that he is peering deep inside of me, a terrible guilt that he is sifting for sins which I have tried so hard to keep secret. It is a just punishment for my terrible ways. As he breaks eye contact, I feel my shoulders slump down a little in relief. An ignored knot in my neck subsides.

Dan's brows slump in confusion and intrigue for a moment, before they are nullified by Dan's neutral, skeptical tone. "What makes you so sure that the magician you saw was me?"

I doubt myself as I recall the lack of clarity in the magician's face, the contrast of the firm knowledge of seeing the eyes, nose, and mouth, with the lack of knowledge about their appearance. Still, it's difficult to disregard that distinct feeling that I felt, looking at Dan, at that one moment. "Somehow, when I looked into your eyes, I felt the same sensation that I did when I looked at that magician in the illusion. It's difficult to explain the feeling. I suppose you'd call it a qualia."

Dan leans back again. "A quale, you mean?" He briefly shakes his head. "I'm not so certain that a quale alone could explain the connection between the magician in your vision and I. It's just... too specific."

"What do you mean?"

"A single quale would not be enough identify me. Qualia aren't even thoughts, but empty molds upon which thoughts may grow. I especially can't find any reason why the quale that I induced would be connected to me."

"Why not? What was it?"

"It was the quale of fear."

I feel the temperature of my face drop a few degrees as well. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would I be afraid of you? I've just met you."

"You're right; it doesn't make sense. The only good explanation would be that the book was responsible. Exactly where that line of reasoning leads, I don't know, but every possible turn seems foul..." Dan stands up from his stool. His lips stretch in a slight grin. "Of course, that's assuming that the magician you saw in the dream was me, which I highly doubt."

The Book's voice rises up again. I feel its restrained suspicion. "It seems that Dan is hiding something from us. Don't you find it odd whenever Dan smiles like that? That same grin was on his face when he offered to enchant the armor for you, and yet again when he said that he didn't get any sleep last night."

That's unusual. I don't think I've ever heard the Book utter words so specific. I contemplate those events for a moment. I suppose it is a bit strange that Dan would smile in those situations. At the same time, perhaps he simply enjoys talking about magic. Actually, now that I think about it, Dan could have easily smiled before the enchantment as a matter of benevolence... but that's not the only reason he smiled, was it?

I remember that moment in the enchantment room, right after Dan put an arm on my shoulder, at the very moment that I turned around. There was a silver glint in his eyes, wasn't there? That same silver glint made me feel that same burning, condemning guilt. Greyfeld was right.

"You were reading my mind, weren't you?" I slide my stool away from the table with my feet, and stand up to meet my eyes with Dan's horizon.

Dan's lids perk wider open. "What makes you think that?"

"I saw a silver sheen in your eyes, just a moment ago. The look gave me a nagging feeling of guilt, as if you were searching for something inside of me. I also know that you were reading my mind back in the enchantment room, right after you caught me."

"Well, you aren't wrong that I have searched through your thoughts, at one point or another," Dan admits, "although you should know that I haven't done so without good reason."

"Don't try to evade the question. You know exactly when you invaded my mind. So, tell me: why did you do it?" Part of me feels frustrated that the privacy of my mind has succumbed to another being. Yet another part of me feels exited from the thrill of the questioning, encouraged by the Book to press harder.

"Fristad, for your own safety, I simply cannot tell you when the mind-reading occurred, or my reasoning behind it. If I did, then the book could use that knowledge to its advantage."

"So it's only about the Book now, is it? It has nothing to do with you, how the intimate knowledge of another being might benefit you?" I smile as I cast a watchful gaze at this cloaked void magician. My heart races at the possibility of cornering Dan's logic, exposing his evil.

"Perhaps we should talk about this when you are less heated? We might as well eat some lunch." Without waiting for my response, Dan walks around the table and begins climbing the stone brick stairs behind me.

Wait, why is he leaving? How dare he ignore me again! "Fine, then. But keep in mind that avoiding the questions only makes you look more suspicious."

"Nobody's on trial here." Dan's voice echoes richly against the obsidian walls, along with his footsteps. He stops halfway between the bottom and the first level, and leans his head over the unprotected inner edge, looking down at me. He beckons with his hand. "Come on, aren't you hungry?"

I sigh in exacerbation. As I walk toward the stairs, I become aware of my shriveled stomach releasing small jolts of pain. My mind feels tired, finally responding to the toll of creating so many worlds. As my foot falls upon the first stone brick slab, and then the next few dozen, I look down upon Dan's crafting room. Our short, birch stools stand slanted. Some empty vials lay upon the right edge of the table. A few vials, filled with strangely colored liquids, still rest within the brewing stands, although the steam and grey smoke has since ceased.

I turn my head the other way, and see shelves crammed with books, chests, jars, and artifacts. The sheer amount of books makes me unusually joyful. There are so many. The amount of information that they contain must be humbling. Wouldn't it be wonderful to read all of them?

"Hey Dan, how is it that you have so many books?" I ask.

"Time," he answers briefly.

I wonder exactly how long, but I've probably asked too many questions at this point.

After many flights of stairs, past many levels of wooden flooring, we arrive at the top, where an obsidian wall opens up to a stone passageway. Dan walks through the exit first. As I follow him into the narrow neck of stone, I feel as if I have exited a fog.

After a long moment of wandering down the hallway, we come back to the center room, where a book and quill sit upon a large table. We pass by the table, and enter the kitchen on the other side. Jonas is sitting at the dining table in the chair on the right, reading a book with a green binding. As we walk closer, I notice that the book is titled "The Diamond Factory." It's a dystopian fiction novel. I remember Jonas talking about it earlier.

"Hello, Jonas," Dan greets. "How was your morning?"

"It was swell. I miss the sheep, though. How did it go with Fristad and the book?"

"We made some good progress, actually," Dan replies with a dose of optimism.

"Is that so?"

"Yes. After some tests, I am relatively certain that the spirit influencing Fristad is indeed human."

The Book reacts with anger and shock.