Fragile Shard 15. The Secret of Crystal Mountain.

The Dreamer gazed wearily at the translucent wall slowly advancing towards him. He had cursed the day he volunteered for the Crystal Mountain expedition countless times, and today, the concentration of curses exceeded all possible norms.

First, the mountain was exceptionally dull. It may be crystal, but it offered nothing extraordinary. The fact that a vast spot was spreading across the country was amusing; after all, what did a mountain have to do with civilization? So far, under the translucent crystalline folds, like flies trapped in amber, only a couple of secluded villages, half of the mountain range, and some forests and lakes had become stuck. At first, it was entertaining to witness peasants and a few sheep frozen in funny poses within the refracting material (hence the mountain’s name).

Secondly, the mountain was impossible to explore. Anything that touched it was instantly absorbed and trapped within its voracious insides, frozen like a thick jelly. The Dreamer lost several research drones, a pair of probes, and one of the two robotic dogs to its mysterious grasp.

The entire expedition could have been deemed a failure, with the camp packed up and everyone returning to the institute, where the supervisor, Pavel Savelyevich, would grumble, albeit while muttering into his thick gray mustache, “Well, well, what can we do here, let’s drink a bit whiskey, since that’s the case.” And then, the crystal mountain history would become someone else’s headache — military corporations or anyone else.

But something about the monotonous creeping mass of either jelly or diamond kept The Dreamer in the wooded mountain wilderness for the past four months. He felt something he couldn’t put into words or fully comprehend. Something resided deep within his consciousness, waiting patiently in the wings. And that something was definitely connected to the predatory mountain.

As the sky turned light crimson in the east, the cool air from the reliable stone mountains stirred fragrant herbs, and Dreamer sat among them all day. He shivered, groaned, half-rose, and stretched his stiff limbs, then fixed his tenacious gaze on the mountain (crystal, unknown, unstable). Not noticing anything new, he shrugged his shoulders and slowly wandered toward the camp, situated a few hundred meters higher up the slope on the mountain’s spurs.

Today, he wanted to dine outside, not in the ventilated room of a self-assembled expedition block. So he made a fire and warmed up a simple expeditionary combi dinner in a smoky cauldron, just like the ancient ancestors did. Refreshed, he drank some tart herbal tincture from a flask. The cozy crackling of the fire, the scent of pine needles, the cool mountain air, heather, and haze enveloped him, completely exhausting him as he crouched, leaning against a fallen tree trunk.

A thick, swirling mother-of-pearl mass gently enveloped him, shaking, soothing, caressing, and relaxing him. It flowed inside him with warm streams, filling him completely, making him part of something great, magnificent, and infinitely beautiful. Together, they whispered, “Cleansing. Recovery. Liberation.”

The Dreamer awakened from the peculiar vision, finding himself soaked in morning dew and lying several meters away from the sheer wall of Crystal Mountain, refracting in the morning sun’s rays. For the first few minutes, he simply stared at his blurry, distorted reflection. Then, like cold water from a mountain waterfall, horror washed over him as he realized that he had somehow ended up hundreds of meters from the camp. Fragments of the dream lingered, leaving an eerie and dreary feeling. Cleansing. Recovery. Liberation.

For three more days, the Dreamer remained at the expedition camp, and every night, he experienced the same dream, with the same all-consuming nacreous transparent mass and the mantra seared into his brain. Each morning, he found himself closer to Crystal Mountain. On the fourth morning, as he woke up, standing close to the translucent wall, something inside him finally snapped. Overwhelmed by a feeling of profound emptiness, it was as if something healing, bright, and kind had filled him, only to be taken away, abducted, forcibly removed.

All day, he sat near the mountain, and only three words circulated in his mind like an old record. Liberation. Recovery. Cleansing.

He watched as the crystal wall slowly inched closer, millimeter by millimeter. As dusk fell, darkness enveloped the mountains. The mountain was now just centimeters away from him.

The Dreamer rose slowly, gazing at the distant camp above. Then, he turned back to Crystal Mountain and waited motionless.

A warm and soft mass touched him. He made no attempt to step back, knowing that he couldn’t even if he tried. Recovery. Cleansing. Liberation.

As his entire face entered the mountain, he saw.

The mountain’s thickness, seemingly homogeneous from the outside, was filled with billions of multi-colored luminous lights constantly moving, creating bizarre clusters, adhering to objects inside the sprawling mass, and morphing into new forms over time.

Before his eyes, a deer gracefully galloped, composed entirely of bright purple luminous lights. In the distance, on a slope covered in swaying blood-red glowing grass, neon-firefly sheep grazed, their bodies all amber-yellow. A giant turquoise fish swam slowly overhead, leaving a shimmering sea-green trail in its wake.

Fireflies began to accumulate around the Dreamer, gradually covering him from head to toe. When he was completely enveloped in the luminous halo, a voice echoed in his mind once more: Liberation. Recovery. Cleansing.

But something new was added: Extract! Foreign! Exodus! Extract! Foreign! Exodus!

This new refrain sounded different, not reassuring, without a glimmer of hope.

The last thing the Dreamer felt in his life was a slight tingling sensation all over his body as the lights began to disassemble his body, molecule by molecule.

“Decontamination test phase procedure completed,” Hypercontrol’s mechanical voice softly bled through the station’s control room speakers.

“Excellent, Hyp. It’s time to wrap up work in this crystal and move on. We have four more infected planets. Initiate full disinfection.”

“Do you wish to back up?”

The deity in the command chair tapped its chin thoughtfully with long, white-gloved fingers as it gazed at the luminous dot pattern replicating the god-like figure of the virus, modeled after the disinfectant gel discharged from the station onto the planet.

“No, there is no need. We have already copied about a trillion similar forms of the virus, and they differ little from each other. Delete everything. And proceed with full disinfection. The expedition has already gone on for too long.”

“Fragile Shards: Whispers of Transience” is an evocative anthology that spans 15 years of the author’s writing journey. From mystical adventures to dark introspections, these tales traverse vivid landscapes, offering a captivating glimpse into the ever-changing tapestry of human emotions and perceptions. Each story is a unique shard, reflecting the complexity of life’s experiences and the resilience of hope.