Familiarity Fatigue

Everything he could carry fit into that backpack. Fire leapt into his land sail vehicle, unfurled the sail, and pulled the rope tight against his chest. It was a serene, silent Dawn Day, with a gentle breeze brushing against his face. Before slipping on his goggles, he took one last look at the Hive, its mounds looming quietly in the distance.

“As a larva, the Hive felt endless—every crevice a world, every sound a mystery. My first venture into the tunnels was thrilling, full of discovery. But now? It feels small, predictable. Maybe I’ve changed, not the Hive.”

He checked his hammer at his belt, then ensured his cloth-wrapped sword—his masterpiece—was secure on the vehicle.

“The Art of Materialization… Once thrilling, now fleeting. Creations shrink as fast as they form. I worked through aching hands, fueled by excitement—now the ache lingers, even at rest. Have I lost the magic, or just overlooked the spark?”

As the wind carried him from the Hive, he adjusted his goggles and looked back one last time. “Did it change, or did I? Maybe with fresh eyes, it would feel vast again. For now, I can only wonder.”