The voice from the walls seemed irritated by his questions. "I told you before, do not ask about things you have no knowledge of. I will not give you an answer now. But if you are an obedient boy, I promise you will learn everything. I also want to tell you that you agreed to this."
Noor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "What? I agreed to this? That’s impossible. Stop joking with me."
"You will know everything when this is finished," the voice said, its tone firm and absolute. "Now listen, and stop asking questions."
Noor fell silent. He tried again to grasp a single clear memory from his life, but everything was a vague fog. He stopped trying, not wanting to exhaust his mind, and simply nodded, signaling for the voice to continue. The most update n0vels are published on 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭⟡𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘦⟡𝘯𝘦𝘵
The voice seemed to soften, its tone becoming calm, almost noble. "Your first test will be to create a tennis ball. Can you do this, Mr. Noor?"
Noor thought for a moment. "I’ll try," he said, his voice laced with resentment. "It’s not like I have any other choice, thanks to you."
"Well," the voice sighed. "Begin."
He sat cross-legged on the floor and cleared his mind. Taking a deep breath, he began to visualize the components of a tennis ball, just as the voice had told him. He repeated the facts in his mind.
Rubber ball. Lightweight. Yellowish-green. Round. Covered with felt. Smooth seams. Weight around 57 grams. Diameter between 6 and 7 centimeters. Now, materialize.
He pictured the ball in perfect detail, formed its shape in the air before him, and extended his hand to grab it. He felt it for a second before it collapsed in his fist like an empty eggshell. He opened his eyes to see the crushed remains in his palm.
"Damn it," he muttered. "I thought I did everything right. What went wrong?"
"You only imagined the shell," the voice explained. "You convinced yourself the inside was complete because the outside looked right. That is a fatal error. You must build from the core, layer by layer. The foundation must be sound, or the house will fall. Try again."
Noor tried again, and again, and again. Each time, the ball was hollow, shattering in his hand. He finally stopped, thinking carefully about what the voice had said. From the core.
He closed his eyes, sweat dripping from his brow. "The essence first," he muttered, "then the foundation, then the rest of the structure."
His mind was a storm of distracting thoughts, random images and worries trying to break his focus. He fought to push them away. He had learned long ago how to quiet the noise. When one stray thought appeared, he would counter it with another, related one, leading his own mind down a false trail until the original distraction faded. He did this again and again, clearing a space of perfect silence in his head.
He started over. He pictured the core. The solid rubber. He shaped it, felt its density. Then he added the felt lining, weaving it together in his mind, merging it into a single entity. He built up the layers, connecting the sections seamlessly.
And now the final touches. The outer shape. The yellow color. A perfect mental image of the ball formed in his mind.
He reached out and closed his hand around it. This time, it was solid. A strange euphoria washed over him. He had done it.
"Yes!" he exclaimed, a triumphant grin spreading across his face. "I did it!"
"Well done," the mysterious voice congratulated him. "But don’t celebrate too much. This is only the beginning."
The word "beginning" landed on Noor’s shoulders with a heavy weight. He sighed wearily. "What’s the next step?"
"Create a door to the next room."
Noor’s heart sank. A door was infinitely more complex than a tennis ball.
"But first," the voice cut in, "you must create a few simpler things. Anything requires practice. This power is no different. Now, make me a fly swatter."
"A fly swatter?" Noor scoffed. "Is there nothing more challenging?"
"Make this first," the voice replied, its tone silencing his arrogance. "Then you can request something more difficult."
Noor fell silent. He sat back down and imagined the fly swatter in precise detail: the long handle, ending in a square net of intersecting plastic. He added the color, the texture. He finished the image and reached out. It was there in his hand, solid and real.
"Now create a fly," the voice responded sarcastically, "so you can kill it."
Noor paused. "Can I really do that?"
"Of course not," the voice replied, its tone dry as dust. "Do you think you’re a god?"
Noor felt a flush of embarrassment. "I know it was a stupid question, but... why not?"
The voice sighed deeply. "Can you truly imagine all the inner details of a fly? The vital functions, the microscopic cells, its genetic structure? The blood, the immune system, the digestive system? The wings, the head, the mouth? And after all that, could you place within it a soul? That spark of life, the engine that no science has ever explained?
"All of that is the work of The One Above All, who says to a thing ’Be,’ and it is. He is the one with the unlimited ability to create life. With your imagination, you can create objects with difficulty, because your mind has limits. No matter how intelligent you become, you are a creation with boundaries you can never break".