We continue with this series, and today's post is a bit less caffeinated. I haven't been feeling very inspired to write those mega-posts I used to, but I'm still slowly building this world for you.
In Holozing, it was long assumed that the creatures were simply part of the ecosystem, like more complex, more powerful animals, more connected to the elements. But the more their behavior is studied, the less that explanation fits. They aren't born like other living beings,
they don't evolve in a traditional way, and, strangest of all, they seem to respond to things that aren't visible: changes in the energy of the environment, human emotions, and even events that haven't yet occurred.
The most unsettling theory—and one that's gaining increasing acceptance among the few scientists who dare to question the established order—is that the creatures aren't organisms in the classical sense. They are manifestations. Living fragments of something much larger and older than the world of Holozing itself.
It is believed that, before the islands existed as we know them, there was a single energetic structure that maintained everything in balance. It wasn't a god in the traditional sense, but neither was it simply "nature." It was a conscious, or at least reactive, system that regulated the elements, the climate, and even the stability of the terrain. Something like an invisible core that connected everything.
The creatures would then be extensions of that core. Not independent individuals, but "nodes" of that system, designed to interact with the physical world. That's why each one is linked to an element, why they appear in specific places, and why their presence alters the environment in such precise ways. They are not there by chance; they are fulfilling a function.
This would also explain why a complete life cycle has never been found on them. There are no clear records of birth or death in the biological sense. Some simply appear, others disappear without a trace. As if they were activated or deactivated depending on what the system needs at that moment.
The most unsettling aspect of this theory isn't its origin, but what their absence implies. If the creatures are part of a larger system, their disappearance isn't an isolated event. It's a structural failure. It's as if the world has lost key pieces of its inner workings.
And that fits all too well with what's happening on the islands: areas where the weather behaves erratically, abrupt changes in the elements, regions that seem to be slowly "shutting down." These aren't natural disasters; they're symptoms.
Some researchers go even further. They suggest that this original core didn't disappear, but was fragmented or sealed. That the creatures were its only way of interacting with the world, and that someone—or something—severed that connection. If that's true, then recovering the creatures wouldn't just be a matter of ecological balance, but of restoring a lost consciousness.
But there's a problem. If the creatures are fragments of something larger, reuniting or reactivating them might not return the world to normal. It could awaken something that has been dormant for a long time. Something that, perhaps, should never have been broken in the first place.
And that's where Holozing stops being just a creature and exploration story and becomes something much more unsettling: a world that wasn't broken by accident, but because someone, at some point, decided it should be.