It was only at that mont that Uriel realised he’d completely forgotten about the strange events of his advent, and how he’d survived it.
No, it was more than simply forgetting. It was as if the matter had been sealed away, his mind forced not to think too deeply about it.
Until now.
The Lady of Fire, the supposed Supre Spirit, looked the sa as she had during his advent: a petite fra of white flas, long flaming purple hair, and deep azure pupils.
This ti, however, white robes draped over her body, seemingly unaffected by her heat.
Slowly, with asured steps, she made her way toward him. Then, she sat down beside him.
Silence stretched. For long minutes, Uriel stared up at her, still lying down in disbelief. More than once, he asked himself whether he was dreaming, or if he had already gone mad.
Maybe he had already been in the white hell for millions of years, and his mind was finally starting to collapse. Though he felt like he had just arrived, it was possible.
Losing one’s sense of ti and going mad required exactly that, to lose one’s sense of ti.
A second, an infinity, a mont, an eternity; what was the difference to a madman, really?
"Hello." The Lady of Fire broke his spiralling train of thought, and he sat up, staring at her.
"Hello," he responded.
They faced one another, staring into each other’s eyes. In that mont, his mory of the advent beca perfect, and he rembered everything.
Every detail.
"You saved my life," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Are you real?" He couldn’t help but ask.
The Lady of Fire looked at him deeply. "Yes."
Her voice was warm and incredibly soft, mature and deep, velour in a way that lulled one into comfort and sleep.
"My na is Ophanis."
Uriel nodded. "Great. I’m Uriel."
Silence followed, and she simply stared at him.
"Are we," he began awkwardly, "dead? Did you die because of ?"
"You said we’d have to pay a steep price if you saved ... is this it? Did I doom you to death?"
Seeing the apologetic worry and panic on his face, Ophanis couldn’t help but smile, warmly. "In death, you worry about ?"
"If I said yes, wouldn’t that an you’d be dead too?"
Uriel was taken aback by her words, stunned into silence.
Still, he answered. "I—what? Do you not want to live, like everyone else?"
She tilted her head, confused. "Do you not want to live?"
"I was dying anyway. My desires don’t matter," he explained, shaking his head. "But Thoryl said you were the Supre Spirit."
"If you die, is our world not dood? Did I doom us all?"
She rolled her eyes at his answer, a perfect deflection. "I’m not the Supre Spirit. And even if I were, and I died, a new one would simply be born."
"Plus, we’re not dead."
Ophanis’ gaze lingered on Uriel’s face as she spoke, and when she noticed he didn’t react any differently, she smiled, if only faintly.
"Ah." He exhaled deeply. "Then who and what are you? Why did you save ? Where are we?"
She looked away. "I am Ophanis," she repeated, in a way that made it seem as though she believed that answer alone should suffice.
Uriel’s brows furrowed as he tried to recall whether he had heard the na before, or if there was so hidden aning behind it. Nothing surfaced.
The lack of recognition on his face dimd the light in her eyes, and if Uriel’s spark had been active at that mont, he would have sensed sorrow.
Sorrow, and grief.
"And I saved you because we are one. I cannot live without you, nor can I bear to see you die."
Shock and hesitation surged, drowning his usual aloofness. In that mont, he realised sothing deeply wrong.
He couldn’t feel his spark.
For the first ti, he studied her with the sa scrutiny she had shown him. Thousands of thoughts flashed through his mind.
Fragnts returned, seemingly random sentences he had once heard Enoch say, comnts about himself and the future, details he had gleaned from Thoryl, and countless other monts.
They aligned into a single realization.
"My future... you knew my past selves. We were bound together?"
She didn’t answer, but the truth was unmistakable. With a tired sigh, he closed his eyes and massaged his forehead.
Uriel usually took things in stride, rarely panicking. Even so, he was starting to feel worn down.
There was Enoch, a mystery layered atop a friendship that spanned countless lifetis, yet remained inaccessible to him. There was Salazar and Celeste, his supposed companions, who now wanted him dead.
Then there was Persephone, with the strange gaze she always gave him. Ayah, and the weight in her heart that made him uncertain whether she was a regressor or not.
There was Thoryl and the guides, Lirik and his clients, and so much more.
And now, Ophanis.
So many people he didn’t truly know, yet all of them carried years, decades, perhaps centuries, of shared history with him.
He was surrounded by ageless monsters who had witnessed life and death countless tis, beings who had reached realms of power he couldn’t even comprehend.
It was suffocating.
Being the only one who couldn’t rember left him vulnerable; weak, powerless, stripped even of the illusion of choice.
The mark on his chest grew warm, and suddenly he rembered the emotions he had felt on that day.
His hand moved to it, fingers brushing against the mark. Slowly, a mory surfaced, one not so distant. A conversation he had once had with Enoch.
...
["Wait—how do I know I’m going in the right direction, then? What if I create a Class worse than anything I’ve done in the past?"
"Did my past self, or future self, not give you any instructions to pass on to ?" Panic threaded into his voice. "Anything regarding my Class—or even my Spark?"
Enoch chuckled, giving Uriel an apologetic look.
"All you said was that understanding your disease would be enough. Understanding it is also your Death Quest."
"He..." Enoch chuckled again. "...said that if you can’t surpass him as you are, then it’d be pointless anyway."]
...
Uriel sighed.
’It’s pointless anyway.’
He opened his eyes and looked at Ophanis.
Her radiant blue eyes were trembling, on the verge of tears. Her breathing was laboured and uneven, her hands shaking.
Watching her, he shook his head inwardly.
What about the other side of it?
What did it an for Enoch, Persephone, Ayah, and Ophanis to live through lifetis with him, to watch him die again and again, only to see him return without a single mory of them?
What did it do to them to et his gaze, empty of the affection and trust he had once held?
How cruel was it to force them to rebuild those bonds every ti, only to lose him all the sa?
Just how broken were the people around him, exactly?
User Comments
0 comments from readers