As I’ve already said, I started writing this to leave a copy of myself before entering the Tunnel.

But the Tunnel itself—what it is, what it means—is something I have yet to describe in any real detail. It is a place, an entity, something too vast to be captured in words alone. To perceive it requires attention. To understand it demands dedication.

The time you give these words is my way of letting you in on its existence. But your ability to grasp it depends first on my skill as a storyteller and second on your willingness to listen—despite whatever forces might try to prevent you.

My knowledge of its nature comes from gathering fragments of what little I could observe while inside. Even that, however, has proven more challenging than I anticipated. So, for now, I avoid it.

Yet the more I learn, the stronger it becomes. The deeper it grows.

I do not want to know more. And yet, I have no choice—my very nature compels me to seek a solution out of this situation. But in doing so, I am only pulled further in. The mere concept of the Tunnel consumes me, leaving me with the absurd but undeniable feeling that its vastness fills me with emptiness.

It is a fool’s battle. A consequence of ignorance. And that fact alone fits seamlessly into my ongoing analysis: I must be a fool.

What I must do now is learn from it. Accept my part in whatever this is, even if I may not emerge from the other side as the same person.

I’m sorry. The more I try to explain it, the more the Tunnel contracts its walls around me—closing in, yet expanding all the same. A fascinating monster. One that has held me captive for too long simply for thinking about it more than I should.

Even these words, this small attempt at explanation, will likely cost me.

So instead, let me show you the Tunnel another way. Through my story. Through the eyes of someone fated to this task. Someone with a vantage point no one else has.