The mural on the wall was not a tangle of random lines. They created shapes. Shapes from a real model of what looked like multiple cities on a piece of land. Cities that ranged in purpose and size, though in no particular order. Many lines were still jumbled. The correct pattern of thunks would complete the picture. And then something would happen. He was certain of it.
Zan spent some time jogging through the halls, testing out new patterns. 5-6-1-2-3-4. 4-5-6-1-2-3. He even tried all odds and then evens, and then vice versa. 1-3-5-2-4-6. Each new pattern of numbers would produce a different picture in the shifting walls of the eighth room. Some of the pictures were more beautiful than others. But none were fully colored, and thus he was not yet finished here.
He realized something during all of this activity. He was not hungry. He was not thirsty. He was always kept at a balance. He breathed heavy, and even had limitations to his speed and agility. But as far as nutrition went, he was always satiated. Even resting for a few minutes seemed to restore his energy. He seemed to have distant memories of taking naps, otherwise known as sleeping during daylight. It was a pleasant thought, but not necessary. Was it himself or this place that caused this?
After marveling at the different etches in the walls, a new pattern came into his mind. He thought of his favorite toy as a child. If I ever even was a child. Maybe I was born exactly how I am now. The toy was a prism. Depending on how he would spin it in the light, different colors would appear. But he remembered the six main colors he would create most often. Red, Yellow, Orange, Green, Blue, Violet. Any other light that was White included all six colors.
He forgot about the numbers. He only saw the colors. Unique and united in the prism. He placed the thunks in the order of light, starting with red. He returned to the seventh room. The pattern had shifted once more, though he had known this already. He felt vibrations in the floor for each thunk replacement. But he did not expect what he now saw.
There was no color within in the lines in the wall calligraphy. The room felt more still than it ever had before. He had thought this was the best pattern yet. Now it looked as if it were the worst. So what if he put them in reverse order? Violet first, then Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange, Red.
Yes. This was it. He knew it. He ran with great speed, replacing each of the thunks. He dropped the final red one in the sixth room, then sprinted to the seventh room before the walls had even stopped shifting. A few seconds later, a force of aura blasted from the walls and pushed him backwards. The six colors of the thunks bled from equidistant corners of the walls, filling in the lines. He could hear music of different octaves coming from each, played according to pitch and speed based on the direction the color was currently moving. All symphonies were different, yet complimentary to one another.
They approached the ceiling, then converged in the center. The colored lights seemed to bleed off the ceiling, falling in all directions about him. Laughter echoed on the walls. All colors combined. The bleeding lights collected on the floor in the center of the circle. A shape began to appear. A seventh orb. It took matter upon itself, then fell to the floor making the same sound as its name. Zan approached the seventh sphere. He lifted it into his arms, the object feeling both heavier and lighter than its previous counterparts. It even felt as if he held nothing at all, while at the same time draining his energy to where a nap actually seemed necessary.
The colors falling from the ceiling reversed direction. A draft seemed to be pushing all the air upwards. He held the White thunk above his head. It began to rise slowly towards the bright white center where the colors converged. At first he watched the orb, marveling at the infinite shades of shadows dancing on its surface. As the seventh orb drew closer to the ceiling, his attention was drawn around him. The light from above was being eclipsed. Several thousands of different hues appeared in each color. It seemed impossible to ever number how many different colors there were. Some he saw as clear, perhaps colors his mind could not comprehend. He looked towards the center of the ceiling once more. He saw a black circle with a bright white ring around it. He could hear the ringing of planets coming from it. He was reminded of the sun and the moon, whatever those were. He knew they both were light.
Then all went black. The light was fully obscured. He felt a pull towards what had been the center of the circle. It was a light tug at first, a suggestion. It grew into a subtle nudge, and then an awkward shove. Now it grasped him, pulling him with increased vigor. He slid, then stumbled to the center. He cried out, his greatest effort to resist already exhausted. He put his hands out to catch himself. His heart stopped, then doubled in speed as he continued to fall. His chest had been filled with a thousand feathers like a pillow, each brushing against his beating heart. He was falling down a pit. As he fell, he looked back up to the only place he could remember. If you only know one place, it must be your home. For all must have a home. He saw one last thing before all shrunk before his eyes. He saw one last thread of light, brighter than all the others against the backdrop of nothing. It was the blue thunk, pulsing from bright white to deep oceanic blue, gently but quickly. It never stopped, though it shrank into nothingness as he continued to fall.