illusionary dream

Indra Comes, Ji Vanishes

"Ugh, her again? So boring." A balding old man, legs crossed, lounged idly at the alley entrance. Endtimes had left him looking decrepit. He’d wanted to scroll through videos of curvy beauties, but Ozan had flooded his feed these days.

"Ms. Ozan, could you tell us how you found that book?" A cluster of floating screens surrounded her, their retractable, tentacle-like microphones jabbing forward.

Ozan, dolled up, spouted vague platitudes: "Found it by accident, I guess. Just a coincidence."

"They say the book saved you!"

"Yeah, I fainted from low blood sugar. Who knew those ships would suck me up without checking if I still had a pulse..."

Her subtext hung unspoken: Sumeru, that so-called high-civilization planet, ought to rethink how many Earthlings they’d secretly executed. But Ji had warned her not to blurt out such things—or mention the hidden book cache. A few days back, flattered by attention, she’d nearly spilled her life story. Even in endtimes, where privacy was a joke, caution mattered.

She only remembered that day: the boy Ji, holding the book aloft, shouting, "Ozan! Ozan! I brought you a book!" He’d never guessed the ship’s door would be so flimsy, crashing open at his charge. Then the white ** stopped, the ships froze—and the familiar apocalyptic roar fell silent.

"What is this?!" In Indra, the mightiest planet of Sumeru at the galaxy’s core, a towering elder’s voice held a flicker of anger. Clad in a right-collared robe, he stood over three meters tall by Earth’s measurements, his white beard trailing to the floor. Subjects far shorter than him prostrated themselves on golden, translucent ** tiles. Indra’s density was staggeringly low; its high-density building materials, hauled from other worlds and anchored by special means, made its inhabitants seem to walk on clouds. They neither ate nor excreted, and their bodies, far less dense than Earth’s, rendered them invisible to humans.

No one dared speak. Endtimes or not, all Earth-related tasks fell to Indra’s people. The elder paced, uncharacteristically agitated. "How can Earth have books? How can humans relearn to love words? This is the endtimes! Humans must not think!"

"Indeed, Lord. We eradicated all Earth’s books a millennium ago by their time, severing their tool for awakening. This book..." A courtier, holding the book on a golden platter, stood rigid. He’d wanted the Lord to see it but feared overstepping. He’d already read its contents. The bearded elder stepped close, then drew back, hesitating to open it.

"No. No." He waved it away.

"A report!" A loud voice echoed through the hall.

"Speak!" the bearded elder snapped.

"One full scan of Earth will reveal more hidden books. From this one, we can trace fingerprints, DNA, environmental pheromones. It would be trivial."

"Do you think I don’t know that?!" the elder retorted. "What of the spiritual aftermath? Have you considered that?"

"Forgive me!" The man retreated, and the translucent tile beneath him slid open. Ashamed, he hurled himself downward—a choice, not a punishment. Others had wanted to suggest tracking those influenced by the book, or mention the girl’s livestream, but the elder cut them off.

He knew their thoughts. With a gesture like opening a drawer, he pulled up a hologram: Ozan’s livestream.

Earth’s affairs were simple, really. Humans were a lab experiment Sumeru had planted, testing if a primitive planet could spawn high civilization—defined by superior morality. They’d sown five castes: Śrāvaka, Pratyekabuddha, Bodhi, Icchantika, Supreme. In 20,000 Earth years (two Sumeru weeks), civilization had bloomed.

Now the experiment must end. Letting Earth’s civilization run wild was unthinkable. Yet forcing its end risked backfiring: Sumeru’s moral decline would trigger a dangerous energy transfer, filling Earth with their lost power—just as it had in ancient Egypt.

"I must meet them."

"Please, Lord, reconsider!" Voices begged.

But he turned abruptly, vanishing into his private chamber, into a teleportation pod. He’d planned this long before; his show of indecision had been theater. Codes, energy, wormhole coordinates—all ready. The moment a book surfaced on Earth, he’d set his plan in motion.

"It’s time to visit an old friend."

Five thousand years had passed since his last trip to Earth...

Ozan, flush with livestream and appearance fees, rushed to find Ji after her interview. She was giddy—finally, she could treat him to a feast! No more mooching off his snacks; this time, she’d splurge. She ordered a mountain of takeout: braised pig trotters, spiced beef lungs, boiled fish. No one cooked privately anymore; everything came via delivery.

Ji lived next door, and he’d given her his door code—no secrets between them. Drones dropped off the food, stacked in bamboo boxes. She grabbed them, shouting, "Dinner! Dinner’s here! Hurry up!"

As usual, she dug in without waiting for him, savoring the moment.

Half-full, she paused. Ji hadn’t appeared. She set down her chopsticks, searching room by room.

But the place was empty.