going to be insane about outer wilds on the dash once again ⬇️
the eye as a sentient being. the eye as something sentient enough to want.
the eye puts out this signal that rings out across the cosmos and calls to anyone who will answer. the owlk destroy their home planet and doom their species for the eye. eskall's clan does practically the same, all for an entity older than the universe itself -- older than conscious observers.
why? why does it need a conscious observer to enter its core? or, perhaps more important to ask: does it need a conscious observer? or does it simply want one?
the museum at the eye. all the little exhibits for the hearthian to peruse. the constant use of the third-person "we-" "ours-" "us-" . the reflection of the hearthian, staring back at themself. a campfire in the middle of the woods in the pitch dark of the vacuum of space. music, echoing out for nobody but the hearthian to hear, one last time.
why? why? why did the eye craft such an intricate show of smoke and mirrors for a creature so infinitesimally insignificant in the scope of the rest of the universe? and why did the eye call out for them in the first place?
maybe there's some logical explanation for it. maybe the eye always needs to have a conscious observer present for the birth of the next universe; maybe there was a version of "the last hearthian" in the universe before that somehow travelled to the eye after receiving its mysterious call to action. maybe every universe is born to a symphony played by the last survivors of a dying existence.
or maybe the eye doesnt have a logical reason for any of this. maybe the eye calls out at the end of its universe for the same reason as the swan. maybe this entity has spent however many trillions of years watching this flower sprout and bloom and decay, and now is watching its last, rotting atoms slip away to dust. and maybe, this entity, consigned to a life of observation, of gazing out over the universe and every beautiful, terrific, horrifying thing that has ever happened within it, realizes that it does not want to sit and watch its creation peter out in this slow, cold, miserable death.
maybe, it decides, it loves this universe. maybe it wants more from this universe than just the memories of the sight of it.
maybe the eye's signal is more than just a call to action. maybe it's a whale's song, echoing out into the empty ocean depths. maybe it's the tug of instinct that pulls the birds south for the summer. maybe its the mother standing out on the porch, eyes on the treeline. maybe it's a request: it's time. come here. come home.
maybe the museum and the campfire and the music arent there just for the hearthian's benefit. maybe this is the eye reaching into itself and moulding itself into a reflection of this universe it's decided it loves. maybe, when music rings out through the empty vastness of the eye's achingly hollow heart, the hearthian isn't the only one there to hear it.
