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.

“When I was a larva, the Hive was endless. Every crevice was a new world, every sound a mystery. I remember the first time I ventured into the tunnels—my heart raced at the thought of what I might find, and I felt like I could discover something new in every corner. But now? It feels small and predictable. Maybe it’s not the Hive that’s changed—it’s me.” He made sure his valuable hammer was still attached to his belt, then checked the cloth-wrapped sword, his precious masterpiece, carefully secured to the vehicle.

“The Art of Materialization… each piece was thrilling at first. I remember the first time the material bent to my will, the thrill of seeing something entirely new come into being from nothing… But now, every creation seems to shrink as quickly as it forms. I used to work until my hands ached, the excitement driving me to go further. Now, the ache lingers even when I stop, as though my body knows before my mind that it’s all just… too much. As I stress over countless hours and tiny mistakes, I can’t help but wonder: Is the magic still there, or have I simply exhausted it all? Maybe there’s still a piece I’ve yet to make, a spark I’ve overlooked.”

As the wind picked up speed, dragging him away from the Hive, he adjusted his goggles and then glanced back. “How did it change so quickly? Why does it seem like I’ve explored every corner already? Was it always this small, or do I just see it through… tired eyes? Perhaps if I could see it again through fresher eyes, it might hold something new. But for now, I can only wonder.”