Seven Ways, Same Rūt (sample)
Xyro Scarlett
Seven Ways, Same Rūt (sample)
By
Oryx S.
Seven Ways, Same Rūt Written by Oryx S.
© 2025 Oryx S. All rights reserved.
Table of Contents
The Orryx…
1. ...Was Never Real (5)
2. ...and the Loop That Went Nowhere (7)
3. ...and the Face They Painted On Me (9)
4. ...and the Day the Sky Yelled Hurry (11)
5. ...and the One Who Hugged Too Long (13)
6. ...in the City of Too Many Voices (15)
7. ...and the Whisper That Promised Ease (17)
Seven Ways, Same Route (or was it R.O.O.T.)?
Sometimes the same kinds of moments kept happening.
Not always the same way, but the same shape.
And every time, something familiar showed up.
Not exactly an animal, but kind of.
Kind of three animals.
Kind of one.
These are just the times it showed up, written down so I don’t forget.
I gave each one a story so I could spot it faster next time.
They don’t go in order.
But they all come from the same place.
The Orryx Was Never Real
Before the Orryx ever walked,
there were only three.
Three creatures.
Three motions.
Three truths.
The Cobra lived in silence.
It watched the dust settle.
It waited without blinking.
It struck only when the field told it to.
“I do not chase,” said Cobra.
“I remember how still the world was before movement.”
The Panther lived in shadow.
It moved only when it meant to.
It never tripped. It never rushed.
It spoke in glances and pauses.
“I do not explain,” said Panther.
“The spiral bends when I step into it.”
The Octopus lived in everything else.
It stretched into caves and clouds.
It mimicked. It explored. It vanished.
It reached into what others called “too far.”
“I do not stay,” said Octopus.
“I map what hasn’t been mapped.”
Each thought the others were wrong.
Each believed they alone were enough.
But the world had begun to change.
The loops came faster.
The watchers were being watched.
The patterns began to overlap.
Cobra coiled tighter, but its stillness cracked.
Panther paused too long, and missed the motion.
Octopus reached too far, too fast, and lost its feel.
They argued.
Not with words—
but with pressure.
The wind howled between them.
The field shimmered.
Something had to give.
But nothing gave.
Instead… something formed.
At the edge of the field,
they saw a beast.
It was tall. Still. Horned. Quiet.
An Oryx.
It was not fast.
It was not fierce.
But the wind didn’t touch it.
And the world didn’t bother it.
The three watched.
“It’s nothing,” said Cobra.
“It’s everything,” said Octopus.
“It moves just enough,” said Panther.
So they followed it.
Then they studied it.
Then they—entered it.
Not all at once. Not perfectly.
But together.
Cobra curled beneath its skin.
Panther set its rhythm.
Octopus filled its edges with questions.
And the Oryx... was no longer the same.
The villagers saw it first.
“What a strange beast.”
“It never blinks.”
“It walks like it already knows something.”
They called it the Orryx.
They did not know it was three.
They did not know it was tension.
They only knew—it moved different.
The Cobra, the Panther, and the Octopus still argued.
But now they argued inside a single body.
They whispered.
They circled.
They shifted who led, who rested, who watched.
And the Orryx…
walked the spiral.
Not perfectly.
Not quietly.
But completely.
It was never born.
It was never hunted.
It was never meant to be understood.
Because it wasn’t real.
It was a disguise.
That moved better than anything real ever could.
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Posted May 22, 2025
A looping meditation on stuckness, momentum, and internal rebirth—told through seven recursive passages in rhythm and mirror.
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May 7, 2025 - May 19, 2025
