>>5734119>>5734121>>5734147There was not much you understood in the man's explanation, as he expected. You do at least understand this: these gods are men, or at least, they care for humanity and are not of this age. You wonder, then, from where they come.
The woman smiles. "Time, we have learned, is not so simple as a sequence of events. From one perspective we will not be born for another 600 generations. Yet from another, we were born before the time of your grandfathers. And from still another, we were not born at all, but have always been."
You ask then about the visions, what is their purpose in them? Why is it you and not, say, the boy? Why is the magic cone necessary?
The woman looks to the man for help, but he raises his palms, as much to say, I will have nothing more to do with it. The woman sighs, then, and looks up and away. "Our purpose is too difficult to explain," she says, with a sadness that seems to hint at a lonely desolation. Then her eyes light up with some thought. "You had a brother once," she says. "In your envy you slew him--no, no we don't really care about that," she adds gently, seeing you turn your face away in shame. "The point is, we faced a similar situation. And in our envy we committed an unspeakable act, for which, we too, must live in exile. And it is our hope that in our exile we might reverse part of what we have done, but we cannot see so far ahead the consequence of our actions. The device is an amplifier, but we do not have your gift, or if we ever did, we have lost it. When we peer into time we alter its course and our prophecies are useless. But you, and others like you, are true prophets. We do not why this is, despite all our knowledge, but we know that it is so."
With that, she nods at the man he presses one of the stones on his bracelet and the silver ball above your head flashes with a strong light that blinds you. What follows are waking dreams of things that are far beyond your comprehension, with the only commonality being the presence of men. But varied are the men, in bizarre clothing and attire and in diverse settings: seas of sand as far as the eye can see and a clear river between and wondrous temples that point to the sun, then the sea, and enormous canoes with many oars, men in golden armor, in white sheets, then in armor of a duller color, men succumbing to the blows of long spears and arrows thrown from bows that are held sideways, and from disease, pestilence, hunger, then from spears that shoot lightning and smoke, and villages so large the eye cannot encompass them, cottages so big they cannot be fathomed, people in the multitude, vast canoes with cloth fixed to them that puff in the wind, and then the visions begin to blur into one another until you can make no more sense of any of it. It feels as though you will go mad, but suddenly the visions end, and you are back in the white room.
But you are alone.
>Wait where you are>Look for the boy>Try to leave>Write-in 
