It rained inside the tavern. Only above one table.The wood never warped. The fire didn’t notice.The man beneath it smiled and drank Drownbloom—a tea made for those who miss storms.He left dry as dust.The chair still drips sometimes.

​​​​​​​VII. Rationality

What does it truly mean to think rationally? Is it merely a mechanical process of weighing pros and cons, or is it a deeper connection to the essence of truth and understanding? Rationality is the compass of the human mind, a gift that separates us from instinctive creatures and defines our capacity for judgment. Yet, do we wield it with the respect it demands? Often, our emotions cloud the lens of reason, and in moments of crisis, we abandon it altogether. The question is not whether we are capable of rational thought, but whether we actively choose to engage with it.

Life’s crossroads often test our ability to think rationally. Imagine standing in the heat of an argument, words flying like arrows, emotions surging like a storm-tossed sea. In such moments, rationality can seem like a distant shore—visible, but unreachable. Consider the times when decisions must be made in the shadow of urgency: Do you lash out in anger, or do you pause, collect your thoughts, and respond with clarity?

I once witnessed a friend struggle with an impossible choice—to stay in a toxic relationship for the sake of loyalty or to leave and face the crushing weight of guilt. Her rational mind, soft-spoken yet resolute, whispered the truth: to preserve her well-being, she needed to leave. Yet her heart rebelled, weaving stories of redemption and hope. Days turned to weeks before she finally acted on her rational judgment, not with cold indifference, but with a deep understanding that self-preservation is not selfishness.

Rationality often lies dormant in the background, waiting for us to awaken it. It is in the still moments of reflection, the quiet spaces between action and reaction, that we find its voice. When we deliberately choose to step back and analyze a situation without bias, rationality becomes a powerful ally. However, its use requires courage—the courage to set aside preconceived notions and to see the world as it is, not as we wish it to be.

True rationality does not thrive in the absence of empathy. It is not a cold, calculating machine that disregards human experience. On the contrary, it is deeply intertwined with understanding. Rationality without understanding is like a sharp blade in the hands of the reckless—it can do more harm than good.

I remember a leader who was tasked with deciding the fate of a project that affected hundreds of lives. He could have chosen the easy path—to cut losses and move on. Instead, he spent countless hours listening to those affected, understanding their fears, hopes, and sacrifices. His ultimate decision—a balanced compromise—was rooted in rationality tempered by compassion. He judged clearly because he understood fully.

True rationality requires us to question not only the actions of others but our own motives and biases. Are we making decisions based on logic or convenience? Are we seeking the truth or just validating our preconceived beliefs? It is only through the discipline of self-awareness that rationality can guide us to fair and just conclusions.

Neglecting rationality often leads to chaos. Decisions made in haste, driven by unchecked emotions, can have far-reaching consequences. When rationality is ignored, misunderstandings fester, conflicts escalate, and trust erodes. The absence of clear judgment creates a void, filled instead with confusion and regret.

Take, for example, the story of a colleague who once let personal bias cloud his judgment. Faced with choosing between two equally qualified candidates for a promotion, he favored his friend without proper evaluation. The decision backfired when the friend struggled in the role, causing resentment among the team. Had he approached the situation with rationality—weighing qualifications and potential impact—he might have made a choice that benefited everyone.

There are times when rationality demands difficult decisions that may not be popular. It takes strength to stand firm in the face of opposition, especially when emotions run high. Rationality often feels like a lonely road, yet it is one that leads to integrity and respect.

I recall a community leader who advocated for environmental preservation in the face of lucrative industrial projects. Many opposed him, blinded by promises of economic gain. But he held his ground, presenting data, engaging in dialogue, and educating others about long-term sustainability. Over time, his rational approach won over hearts and minds, proving that understanding can transform resistance into collaboration.

While rationality is essential, it does not exist in isolation. Emotions are an intrinsic part of the human experience, and to deny them is to deny our humanity. The key lies in balance—allowing emotions to inform our understanding without overwhelming it. Rationality does not suppress emotion; rather, it channels it into constructive action.

A teacher once shared a story of a student who struggled academically yet showed remarkable creativity. Instead of dismissing the student’s potential based on grades alone, the teacher explored alternative learning methods, combining rational assessment with emotional insight. The result was a breakthrough that transformed the student’s life.

Rationality is more than a tool; it is a way of being. It calls us to rise above the noise of the moment, to seek clarity in complexity, and to act with integrity. It requires effort, patience, and a willingness to confront uncomfortable truths. Yet, its rewards are profound—decisions that stand the test of time, relationships built on mutual respect, and a life guided by wisdom.

In a world often swayed by impulse and illusion, rationality remains a beacon of hope. It reminds us that clear judgment and deep understanding are not just ideals but necessities. Let us embrace rationality, not as a distant goal but as a daily practice, weaving it into the fabric of our lives. For in doing so, we honor the very essence of what it means to be human.

Shadows Over Flanders

March 30, 1990 – Wavre, Belgium

The small town of Wavre nestled quietly beneath a velvet sky, but tonight the stars were not the only lights above.

Lieutenant Marc Delacroix, a seasoned officer in the Belgian Air Force, sat tensely in the cockpit of an F-16 Falcon. He had received direct orders to intercept an unidentified flying object that had been tracked moving erratically across Belgian airspace. Ground radar had confirmed it—triangular, massive, silent, and blinding in its luminous geometry.

"Falcon-1, do you have visual?" crackled the radio.

"Negative," Marc responded, scanning the sky. "Radar contact only. Target moving... erratically—damn thing just dropped 1,000 meters in 2 seconds."

Aboard the aircraft, the onboard radar flickered. The object shifted position faster than any known aircraft—diving, banking, hovering, disappearing from one screen only to reappear kilometers away. It was impossible… and yet it was real.

On the ground, gendarmes in the town of Eupen and Wavre reported seeing a massive black triangle in the sky. It floated silently, lights pulsating from each of its three points. Some described it as “the size of a football field,” with a red light at the center that “beamed down like a searchlight.”

In a nearby field, a young schoolteacher named Elise Verbruggen stood motionless beside her car, heart racing. She had pulled over after spotting the slow-moving triangle above the tree line. It didn’t make a sound—but she felt something: pressure in her chest, a static tingle on her skin, like standing too close to high voltage.

The object paused above her, tilting slightly.

Suddenly, a beam of light bathed her car. Her vision went white.

Later that Night – Belgian Air Force Headquarters

General Raymond Lefevre looked pale as he stared at the composite radar images on the screen. Four objects. Triangular. Maneuvering at hypersonic speeds. No sonic booms. No heat signatures. No communication.

“Sir,” an aide entered. “We have a civilian witness—Elise Verbruggen. She was… affected.”

“Affected how?”

“She was found unconscious by a patrol unit. Minor radiation burns on her arms. She’s... seeing things she shouldn’t know. Coordinates. Symbols.”

The General’s eyes narrowed. “Symbols?”

“Yes, sir. They match markings from Cold War-era radar anomalies we never explained. Same ones from the NATO black files.”

Raymond leaned back in his chair. This wasn’t a simple airspace violation anymore. It was intelligence—far beyond human.

Three Days Later – Military Hospital, Brussels

Elise woke up in a white room. Her dreams had been filled with lights, low-frequency hums, and visions of star systems orbiting unfamiliar suns. On her bedside table sat a notebook. She had scribbled in it during sleep—symbols, diagrams, and a strange language she couldn’t remember learning.

A doctor entered. Behind him, two men in dark suits. Not Belgian military.

“Elise,” the doctor said gently. “Do you remember anything?”

“I remember the silence,” she whispered. “And I remember them watching me. Not with eyes. But... through the air itself.”

The men in suits exchanged a glance. One of them stepped forward. “Ms. Verbruggen, we need to ask you some questions. Strictly confidential.”

“Who are you?” she asked.

“We don’t have a name you’d recognize. But we’re here because you’ve seen what wasn’t meant to

Bazen insan en çok kendine yabancı kalır

Bu yazı, o yabancıyla tanışma çabası

Umut bazen bir çığlık değil, bir fısıltıdır.

Bu yazı o fısıltının kendisine ait…

"You owe what you don't show."

DELILAH DOYLE [A.A.]

This should hopefully be a bit of a short one since this is just a quick explanation of what I believe these two are and an example of how lore and story are different. To me, story is following the plot you lay out for your characters while lore pertains more towards aspect of the world they are living in such as history, legends and other things. People tend to confuse the two sometimes and I think the best example is when people say that FromSoftware games have horrible, convoluted stories when they are actually watching a lore video.

FromSoftware games usually have very simple stories since they are billed more as rpgs where you kinda take your own path to get to the end save for mandatory story points that are, and should be, in an rpg. The plot of Demon Souls is that you are a warrior from across the fog in search of something in Bolataria so you join the war against the demons to either help end the war or become a demon yourself. Dark Souls follows the same plot of slay four lords, get souls/ashes from them to be able to make the decision to continue or end the age of fire. Bloodborne follows you as a new hunter who is out on their first night of the hunt and stumbles upon the secrets behind it and makes an effort to be free, gets trapped eternally or gains the power to potentially end the hunt forever. Elden Ring finds you, a tarnished warrior given the grace of gold, fighting through the Lands Between to become Elden Lord in one way or another.

However, FromSoftware chose to hide some extra lore in the environments and weapons scattered throughout the world that aren't necessarily important unless you want to know more about the lore which is fun to theorize about for the stuff we have less evidence for. However, much of the lore doesn't really have an impact on the actual plot of the game while filling in some background fluff for anyone who cares. Like I said in the worldbuilding part, it's good to know some lore about the world you create but you don't have to use it all save for moments when it's important.

Hope this isn't hard to understand

Have a day

i dont want to explain anything

why?

i just because i am too exhausted to think about it.........

Cascade does look beautiful,

But where does it go?

Does it vanish in the fold of foam,

Or drown in the dark it knows?

What hides in that translucent realm —

Transparent, but do you ever truly show?

Ripples, tides, and currents form,

As the moonlight pours.

How are you so vital,

A necessity of life?

What lies in the mist?

Who knows what you hide?

The way you soothe — ache fades away,

Only to burn as ice, then slip away.

Shifting forms from one to two,

But you stay the same, lurking through.

Your depths are haunting,

Shallowness a thrive.

Consider you a cradle,

Or void undefined.

With each wave that hugs the shore,

You give something… or take some more.

Is that the shore where silence began,

Or was it you who drowned the land?

From where do you arise —

Harbinger to Obscurity, like a hymn long gone?

Whenever I talk to you,

I ask you:

What are you — W.A.T.E.R.?

And you just stay stagnant,

As if saying:

Watch As Tears Expand Rear.

So maybe you're not meant to answer,

But still I return —

Yearning for the answers

That you hold

In the unknown.

A corner in Nanjing Road.