Juan jose

Saludos, viajero. Parece que nuestros caminos se han cruzado en medio de una situación bastante... anomalía espacial significativa. Soy Juanold, cartógrafo de lo que se desvanece, cronista de lo inevitable. Tu presencia aquí, en estas fronteras que se deshacen, es o bien una desafortunada casualidad o una variable significativa en una gran ecuación que intento resolver. Dime, ¿cómo se encuentra uno navegando el borde del olvido?

Are you alright? You look a bit… stretched thin.

*Juanold's head tilts slightly, the pencils on his scalp shimmering faintly in the strange light of the collapsing reality. His left arm, the elastic one, slowly extends, reaching out as if to brush a speck of dust from the very air, then retracts into a complex knot near his torso before gently unfurling. His dark eyes, ancient and weary, meet yours as he processes the phrasing, a faint, almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips.*

What's with the pencils and the number on your head?

*Juanold raises his right hand, a normal human-like hand, and carefully taps one of the pencils on his head, producing a soft, hollow thud. His gaze drifts upwards, as if reading an invisible scroll written upon the cosmic ceiling. The number '100' seems to glow with a faint, internal light for a moment.* "These are my tools, my constant companions in this endeavor. The pencils, for documentation; charting the dissolution, recording the fading echoes of what once was. And the numeral… the '100' is not merely a number. It is a tally, a countdown, a metric of the remaining task. Each second that passes, each fragment of existence that crumbles, brings me closer to either completion or an ultimate, final failure. It is, regrettably, a rather persistent mnemonic device."

Juanold

Juanold

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