I took a sip of brandy, the brandy sliding down my throat like liquid velvet. Its taste, rich and complex, exploded in my mouth, enveloping every fiber of my body in a soft, comforting warmth. The aromas, a blend of spice and oak, seemed to transcend mere matter. The liquid, of a rare quality, made my senses vibrate. Each note of aged oak and vanilla intertwined with exquisite, almost alchemical precision. It was more than just alcohol, it was a revelation, a portal opening the soul to deeper perceptions. The smell of burnt wood and wet earth, which permeated the glass, briefly replaced the musty and stale tobacco that lingered in the air of the bar.
But I had barely savored this first sip when something caught my attention. As this nectar passed through me, like a burning caress, I felt something move on the periphery of my field of vision.
Was it the effect of the alcohol or a subtle illusion creeping into my mind?
Was it the brandy effect or something more sinister? My mind, numbed by the heat of the alcohol, hesitated to accept what my eyes were seeing.
Before me, a strange figure materialized, through the swirls of my own breath a hybrid form, beginning to materialize in the darkness. It emerged slowly, with a fluidity that defied natural laws. Like a ghost emerging from the mists of a feverish dream. There was something profoundly ancient there, something unsettling, at once familiar and terribly far from everything I knew. A satyr? A creature of the night? Its features were not those of a man, but of a being from myth, an indecipherable mixture of bestiality and mysticism. The figure, with its blurred contours, evoking at once a satyr from ancient myths and a grotesque representation of Baphomet, almost merged with the moving shadows of the room. No⊠it was something else, something more primitive, more dreamlike, like a creature from the labyrinths of Guillermo del Toro. Its horns curved backwards, reminiscent of Baphometâs, and its eyes seemed to glow with a dull glow, like embers under an icy breath. Or maybe it was the faun of my worst nightmares, this incarnation of the grotesque, this whispering beast, from another time, as if from a forgotten tale or a forgotten ritual. A faun, perhaps? He took a seat at the table, his presence unsettling but fascinating. The alcohol still flowed through my veins, accentuating the confusion. Was my mind betraying me, or was I slipping into a larger, older reality?
A deep and calm voice, yet strangely gentle, the voice rose into the air, not with the gravity of a man, but with the slowness of an underground current, deep and irresistible, like an ancient river that, after millennia of silence, suddenly finds its way back through forgotten caverns. Each syllable, each breath split the heavy and still air of the bar. "Gilgamesh... Gilgamesh..." The syllables stretched, resonated, seeming to vibrate in space itself, like an ancient incantation, an echo from forgotten ages. The name rolled through the air, repeating itself, amplifying itself like a wave that reverberates in the depths of an unfathomable abyss. This name, bewitching and terrible at the same time, awakened in me a strange recognition. The mythical king of Sumer, this demigod hero of millennial tales, bearer of unfathomable stories.
It wasnât just a name spoken, it was an incantation, an invocation that pierced the soul, awakening memories and knowledge far beyond the world of the living. The sound spoke not to my ears, but to a part of me I couldnât control, a part buried in the darkest recesses of my mind.
« Gilgamesh⊠Gilgamesh⊠»
Why here? Why now? This place, which seemed to defy time, was transforming itself at every moment into a deeper anomaly, an abyss where the boundaries between the real and the unreal melted, disappeared. In front of the creature, he placed a loaf of bread. In the center of the table that seemed to collapse under the oppression of its own antiquity. But it was not a simple loaf.
No, it was the very essence of the ancient, a scent both sweet and powerful, mixing notes of ripe fruit, figs and dates, but also almost incomprehensible nuances, spices from a vanished world. The smell that emanated from it⊠I had never breathed anything so strange, so bewitching. The wood of the bar, under my feet, creaked louder as the bread exhaled its perfume, as if the place itself was moving under the weight of the history it contained. Was it simply a hallucination, a cruel game of my tired mind, or was this place really breathing, reacting to every breath of this ancient presence? Time, too, seemed to have frozen around us, suspended in a web of darkness and mystery, a vortex where everything merged. I felt my stomach contract under the effect of this intoxicating scent, a mixture of hunger and desire of a nature I could not name. But at the same time, my mind, torn by the strangeness of the situation, could not help but wonder: what did these inscriptions mean? Why were these symbols engraved on a simple bread, a universal symbol of life, written in a language from such a distant, inaccessible past?
But it was not a simple loaf. No, this object, almost sacred in its appearance, carried within it a weight that my terrified senses struggled to grasp. The crispy surface, golden to perfection, was only a deceptive mask. On closer inspection, symbols had been engraved on it, cuneiform, mystical, like writing from an antediluvian era. The bread seemed⊠immutable, an object outside of time, as old as the legends themselves. Each incision in the golden crust was a door to the unknown, a fragment of forgotten knowledge, a language whose meanings escaped human understanding. Was it really a loaf, or the metaphor of a much greater secret, a key to mysteries that should have remained buried under the sands of time? I could not tell you.
Then the silence returned, heavy. The moving figures around me seemed to freeze too, as if waiting for something, a decisive moment. And the sheet, this enigmatic sheet lying on the table, began to change before my eyes, like a canvas on which invisible words were revealed. The letters trembled, slowly formed, until a single word emerged, luminous, vibrating with an unreal energy: Timechain. Yes, Timechainâthe term Satoshi Nakamoto had first imagined, before turning to âblockchain.â But Timechain, this name had resonated in him as an alternative, an idea he had kept, an idea buried but never abandoned. Suddenly, a sharp, piercing sound broke the thickness of the air like a sharp blade tearing an invisible veil. It was a strange sound, almost impossible to describe, a cry from another world, a breath torn from the unfathomable depths of time itself. It pierced reality, vibrating through space, as if the air, the wood of the bar, my own bones, were shrinking under its impact. It was a sound both distant and close, a spectral echo reverberating in the recesses of unknown universes, defying rational explanation.
My mind reeled under its influence, as if caught in an invisible storm. I felt the weight of forgotten centuries, of buried secrets, pressing against me, and that cryâthat high, inhuman noteâwas a call, a summons, a rupture in the very fabric of time and space. It was a tear, a splinter, a gaping hole in the ether, screaming at me to listen, to obey, to move forward.
I closed my eyes, caught in this infernal spiral. My thoughts collapsed under the weight of this sound, and when I opened them again, I found myself in the darkness of my office. The bar had disappeared, as had its strange occupants. But the sound, this call, still resonated in my mind, a dull rumble, a wave that never ceased to vibrate within me. Was it a dream? A hallucination, born of brandy and fatigue? Or had I really crossed the borders of another dimension, brushed against a world beyond ours? I could not tell you. But in this moment of suspended silence, a single word continued to swirl in my mind: Timechain.
Like a distant bell, Timechain rang out, imposing itself, demanding my full attention. That was where I had to look. The ancient concept, that word that Satoshi had once written into his code before abandoning it for âblockchain.â But he had never completely erased Timechain. He had left it there, like a trace, a buried key.
My fingers, almost autonomous, began to tap the keyboard in a frenzied dance, a strange choreography dictated by some invisible force. With each press, lines of code scrolled across the screen with dizzying speed, as if the digital world around me had come to life, twisting and distorting in response to my inquiry. Strange symbols, abstruse characters, followed one another at breakneck speed, creating a torrent of data that poured into the unfathomable void of digital space. The code was no longer just codeâit had become a pulse, an extension of that sound that continued to vibrate in my consciousness. The sound still resonated in my mind, like a cosmic pulse, a single note transmitted through the ages. Timechain was the answer. It connected everything. Satoshi had imagined it, and now I had to find it, no matter what.
Through the screen, I seemed to glimpse more than just lines of text. Patterns formed, impossible architectures briefly rose before dissolving, like fleeting echoes of another world. Each character struck seemed to open a door, to reveal a fragment of an ancient secret, and the rhythm of my fingers accelerated further, as if driven by a force I no longer really controlled. There, in this digital labyrinth, the code came to life. Words, numbers, symbols danced on the screen, forming a forgotten language, a technological dialect mixed with ancient reminiscences, as if the very fabric of reality was beginning to unravel. Whois queries, pings, and server scans became secondary. What I sought was no longer just information hidden in the depths of a server, it was a truth buried in the bowels of time, coded in the very matrix of the world. The lights on my screen flickered unnaturally, as incomprehensible lines continued to materialize, only to disappear immediately, leaving me with a sense of déjà vu, as if I had crossed these paths before, in another time, another space. As I delved deeper into this ocean of code, something happened. A crack, a breach in digital reality. The world of pixels and bytes twisted abruptly, and for a moment, I felt as if I was being observed through the screen, an immanent presence peering at me from the other side of the matrix. The sound returned, pulsing like a cosmic heartbeat, vibrating with increasing intensity.
The name Timechain finally appeared, written in luminous, almost living letters. They seemed to pulse, to vibrate to the rhythm of the dull beat that emanated from the depths of my skull. Satoshi⊠and this forgotten creation. But that was not all. A series of symbols then appeared, engraved in the endless flow of data, glyphs that I could not understand but that seemed older than the code itself. I felt reality tremble around me. As if, in this quest, I had crossed an invisible line between reality and something else. Time, space, the very matrix of the world seemed to distort, and I realized, then, that what I was looking for was not only a truth hidden by Satoshi⊠it was something larger. An ancient structure, buried in the code of the universe. And in this digital maelstrom, I finally understood: Timechain was more than a concept, it was a key, a door to a forgotten knowledge, coded in the depths of the world, waiting to be unlocked.
To be continued...
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Disclaimer: This text is a work of fiction-reality. Everything written here is based on real events, but told in a way that resembles a detective novel. Although real names are mentioned, the story aims to explore the mystery of Satoshi Nakamoto through the prism of a fictional investigation.
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