Cameraman Never Dies-Chapter 175: Solarae’s TED talk on psyche

Judge placed his hand against the wall like he was trying to absorb some ancient wisdom from the wood. He squinted dramatically, as if concentration alone could give him answers. Predictably, there was no one nearby. No whispers, no lurking shadows, just the faint creak of the Cloud Strider taking off from its dock.

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"Figures," he muttered, dropping his hand. It wasn’t like he expected someone to be lurking outside, but old habits die hard. Paranoia came with the job.

"Solarae!" he called, addressing his spirit companion, loud enough to make it clear he was annoyed. He hadn’t taken Solarae along when he left the house earlier, partly because the spirit had refused outright. Something about ’being a liability with his current strength’.

From the box of artifacts sitting near the side of his study, a faint glow flickered. The light hesitated for a moment— probably on purpose— before floating lazily into the air. It looked like a tiny firefly, except less motivated.

"You called, Master?" the orb said, its voice felt like it had woken up from a nap it didn’t want to end.

The light began to grow, forming a thin silhouette that eventually morphed into something vaguely human. Solarae’s form was still unimpressive— tall and lanky with messy dark hair— but he had a slightly healthier glow than usual, less pale and less skinny. Judge wasn’t sure if it was a sign of progress or just good lighting. Talking about lighting, the guy’s hair started to reflect all the light there was like a damn mirror.

"Don’t act so smug," Judge said, falling backward onto his bed. "You’ve been freeloading in that box all day. At least pretend you’re useful."

"My liege," Solarae replied, bowing with exaggerated finesse. "I live only to serve."

"Yeah, yeah. So, any updates? Memories coming back yet? Or are we still stuck in the tragic amnesia phase?"

Solarae knelt like a knight swearing fealty, though the effect was ruined by the faint smile on his face. "Recovering my memories will require strength, my lord. And as I’ve mentioned, I am not yet strong enough."

"Great. So, where are we at, strength-wise? Halfway there? A third? Or are we still at the ’weak and helpless’ stage?"

Solarae shook his head. "Not even a quarter, Master."

Judge groaned, draping an arm over his eyes like a bored theater actor. "Unbelievable. You can’t speed this up? Multitask a little? Strength and memories? You know, efficiency?"

"My lord," Solarae said with the exhaustion of someone explaining algebra to a toddler, "it is technically possible. But doing so would be... unwise."

"Unwise how?" Judge arched a brow.

"My lord," Solarae began, his tone taking on the patience of someone explaining why you don’t microwave metal, or glass, "recovering memories now would risk overwhelming my psyche. The principles I once knew are far beyond my current psyche’s capacity."

Judge peeked out from under his arm. "What happens if your psyche gets overwhelmed? Do you start seeing things? Froth at the mouth? Explode?"

"The mildest outcome," Solarae said, gesturing with one hand like he was delivering a lecture, "would be a headache so severe that you’ll wish for death. The more serious cases involve madness, with strange voices whispering bizarre ideas into your mind, delusions of grandeur, and eventually losing all grip on reality. Some might think it’s some ancient evil guiding you, but no— it’s just your own brain turning against you."

"Fantastic," Judge muttered. "Sounds like a party."

He sat up and wandered over to his desk, grabbing a random trinket to fidget with. "So, let me get this straight: your psyche is like a box, and principles are... what? Stuff you shove inside it?"

"Not quite there, but it could be said so," Solarae said, nodding. "But if the box is too small and you try to cram too much in, it breaks. Or worse, it tries to expand too quickly and— "

"Boom. Got it," Judge interrupted, waving him off.

He twirled the trinket between his fingers, frowning slightly. "I had this massive headache once after using Enhanced Cognition for too long. Was that my psyche breaking down or what?"

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Solarae stood, crossing his arms. "Psyche doesn’t deplete, Master. It’s your brain’s capacity to understand principles— it can grow over time but never diminishes. What you experienced was likely ether depletion. Ether fuels principles to create ethercrafts, and when you run out, your body starts to feel the strain. Push too far, and you risk ceasing to exist altogether."

"Cease to exist?" Judge raised an eyebrow. "Like, poof? Gone? Just like that?"

"More like a gradual fade," Solarae said with a shrug. "First, you’ll feel exhausted. Then, your form will start to unravel, and finally— poof."

Judge squinted at him. "You make it sound way too casual for something that terrifying."

"I’ve seen worse," Solarae said, brushing imaginary dust off his sleeve.

"Right." Judge set the trinket down. "But what about that headache? It didn’t feel like just being tired."

"Master," Solarae said, his tone shifting to something like mild exasperation, "did you actually understand the principle behind the ethercraft you were using?"

"...Not exactly," Judge admitted.

"There’s your answer. That seems like the case of a divine blessing, a divine power likely powered your ethercraft. When that ran out, that principle starts to depend on your psyche, and it clearly wasn’t up to the task."

"Lovely," Judge muttered. "Okay, next question. My mom sealed my extreme emotions so I wouldn’t accidentally blow up the house or something. Was that really necessary?"

"Absolutely," Solarae said, nodding firmly. "Unchecked divine power can be incredibly dangerous, especially when tied to volatile emotions."

"Define dangerous," Judge said, narrowing his eyes.

But before Solarae could respond, a sharp knock echoed through the room. Judge froze, his eyes darting to the door.

"Dragons value privacy," he muttered under his breath. "So whoever’s knocking better have a good reason."

Solarae wasted no time reverting to his light-ball form. He zipped back into the artifact box like a kid hiding from chores.

Judge sighed, straightening his vest and brushing imaginary dust off his sleeves. "Interruptions... the bane of my existence."

He strode to the door, muttering under his breath about how he was starting to miss the peace of being alone.