Legend XCII – The Gaze Collector

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There was a small creature whose existence was never recorded in the great bestiaries because it seemed neither dangerous nor useful, and perhaps that was precisely why it survived for so long. It was called the Gaze Collector, not because it stole eyes, but because it preserved those that would otherwise have been lost. Its body was low and squat, covered in pale, scaly skin that appeared almost translucent in the filtered light of the forest, as if made of damp stone and old leather at once. Small, blunt horns protruded from its head, more suggestion than weapon, and its large ears stood erect, alert, as if listening less for sounds than for moods. But what made the Gaze Collector unmistakable were its eyes: large, round, a deep blue-green, reflecting not only its surroundings but something beyond, as if gazing both outward and inward at once. The Gaze Collector lived close to the ground, among roots, stones, and young greenery, where the forest was still undecided whether to grow or perish. He moved slowly, cautiously, not out of fear, but out of attentiveness, for every step was an encounter. His task was to capture glances, those fleeting moments of seeing that otherwise belonged nowhere. When a hiker gazed at a tree without truly seeing it, when a child paused briefly before continuing on, or when an animal surveyed the forest in a moment of stillness, this incomplete glimpse slipped into the Gaze Collector's eyes and remained there, not captured, but preserved. In earlier times, when the world moved at a slower pace, he encountered many. One would feel a strange hesitation, as if having almost grasped something, and continue on without knowing why. But with time, the paths grew faster, glances more fleeting, and the gazes lost their depth. The Gaze Collector began to be filled less frequently, and its eyes grew heavier with all the unseen sights that no one collected anymore. It is said that at night it sits on stones and releases the collected gazes, not to people, but to the forest itself. Then leaves seem to look at one another, roots to recognize each other, and even the soil seems attentive for a moment. But with each year that passes without anyone pausing, the Gaze Collector shrinks a little, not in size, but in its purpose. It exists only as long as there are moments left unused. Some believe it has already vanished, but they are mistaken. For whenever someone stops unexpectedly, for no reason, and feels observed without feeling threatened, the Gaze Collector is sitting nearby. Forgotten creatures like it do not live on food or space, but on what remains when the world moves too fast. They are not a reminder or a consolation, but silent archives of the unfinished, and as long as there is still a gaze that does not know where it belongs, the gaze collector will not completely disappear.