'Myself' found himself in an unfamiliar place. The bed was nowhere to be seen, and the walls had vanished, giving way to an endless sea of nothingness. Beneath him, there was no floor—only a vast expanse of fog that danced around his calves.
He quickly noticed that his body felt somewhat different, as if it wasn't entirely corporeal.
Sure, he had legs and arms, and his form was wrapped in white mist resembling a flowing, ever-changing tunic. But if he stared hard enough at his hands, he could vaguely perceive what lay beyond them—like looking through a murky, shadowy tank.
'It's such a unique sensation,' 'Myself' thought as he rubbed his fingers.
'I feel solid, but it's more like I'm made of gas—compressed to its limits, forming something close to a crystallized state.'
He continued feeling himself and looking around. "I don't think I'm in my soul sea. It doesn't match any of the descriptions given in the novel, and even though I have no experience with these things, I can tell this is something completely different."
"Hmmm… is it perhaps something like a mindscape?"
"It makes sense, despite everything. It might be something akin to a mind world—the realm between both souls."
As 'Myself' pondered, he began walking aimlessly.
This was the first time he had been in such a place—unsurprising, given how abnormal it was to be a being with two souls.
'Now that I think about it, I've read some articles about twins who developed different traits after one sibling died. It's kind of hard to dismiss those articles as false, especially considering our inability to prove the existence of the soul. It's been one of the longest-standing unanswered questions in both philosophy and science, after all,' 'Myself' lampooned as he wandered through the nothingness.
'Man… now that this world can prove the existence of the soul, how many philosophical questions could be answered? Even better—how many new questions would arise now that this one has been settled?
"Did the Spell create the soul?"
Where does the soul begin and the mind end?
What comes first—the body or the soul?
Does the soul exist in a blank state, and the body gives it identity?
Or is it the soul that carries the identity?"
God, how many questions! Such a shame the world was already ravaged long before the fall of the Nightmare Spell… I wonder how many philosophy works were lost.'
He kept walking, and the fog continued to dance beneath him.
Despite never having been in a place like this before, 'Myself' found it oddly familiar—as if he had returned to somewhere he'd once visited as a child, only to forget it ever existed.
As he continued on, his thoughts wandered again.
'It might be that philosophy is considered a dead discipline in this world. Given that everyone's busy fighting the Spell, they probably don't care about some strange questions posed by a guy in the 18th century.'
Suddenly, the fog in front of him shifted, pulling 'Myself' out of his wandering thoughts.
The mist coiled and began to take shape, forming a vague humanoid figure. But unlike 'Myself's more solid form, the fog could only pretend to hold shape.
He knew, instinctively, what he was looking at.
"Zachary," 'Myself' said calmly.
The fog shifted. Despite the lack of features, 'Myself' found himself surprised by his ability to understand it. It made sense to a certain extent—if this place truly was the realm between both souls, then being able to feel the other's state was expected.
What truly surprised him was the condition of Zachary's soul. It looked feeble, almost wounded—fragile enough that even the gentlest wind might tear it apart.
The fog continued to shift. It had no defined features, but 'Myself' could vaguely make out the shape of eyes forming within it.
Zachary tried to hide it, but 'Myself' noticed quickly—he was nervous, maybe even afraid.
For a moment, 'Myself' felt guilty about what he was about to do. But he had already made his resolve. He couldn't afford to lose even the tiniest piece of his persona. So he buried the feeling and looked steadily at Zachary.
"Do you like philosophy?"
Zachary shifted nervously, not daring to speak—if he even could.
'Myself' had originally wanted to take a roundabout approach, to enunciate some sophistry and slowly unravel Zachary's identity. But in the end, he decided against it.
With a heavy sigh, he opened his mouth. "Look, I'll be straightforward with this... Lay down your Soul, and give me your body."
Zachary's soul trembled further. 'Myself' couldn't tell if it was from anger or deepening fear—perhaps it was both.
He briefly considered quoting Slave Knight Gael as a joke. But he didn't dare. He was, after all, asking someone to die. Worse—he was asking someone to surrender ownership of their own body.
How could he possibly joke in a moment like this?
So 'Myself' chose to take Zachary seriously, as a gesture of respect. He understood that what he was doing was despicable. He didn't know what kind of life Zachary had lived, and he had no right to judge its worth.
And yet, despite all that, 'Myself' still chose to place his own life above Zachary's—claiming it was more valuable, denying the boy his right to continuity.
Steeling his resolve, he continued studying Zachary's soul. Compared to his own... it was pathetic.
He could sense a few things clearly.
Zachary's soul was undoubtedly damaged—likely from the usurpation—but what confused 'Myself' was why his own soul felt more solid.
He'd expected they would be similarly weakened. In fact, he was almost certain he'd taken even more damage at the beginning. So why?
Was it the age of the soul? Zachary was, at most, seventeen years old. 'Myself' was twenty-three.
Then, a realization struck him—and he was almost certain he was right.
It was because I reforged my ego as 'Myself.' My conviction and my enlightenment strengthened my persona. Even without a name, I managed to retain my sense of self.
With this newfound insight, 'Myself' understood something else with perfect clarity.
If he wanted to, he could fight Zachary for control over the body—and he would win.
But he couldn't come to terms with that outcome.
It might be hypocritical of him, considering what he had planned to do—but he still wanted to try a different path.
It was ultimately for self-satisfaction, but at the very least, he wanted to feel as though he wasn't taking someone else's life by force.
A voice pulled 'Myself' back to reality.
"Can't we... you know... just share?"
Zachary added quickly, no longer trying to hide his nervousness.
"We don't even have to share the body. You can stay in control—just being able to keep existing is enough for me. I could help you in different situations, you know? Two minds work better than one, as they say."
The suggestion sent a pang through 'Myself's' chest. He could feel the hopefulness in Zachary's voice. With a sigh, he replied.
"You already know the answer to that question. Just as I can perceive your emotions, you should be able to perceive mine."
He spoke while trying to suppress the disgust he felt for himself.
The silence that followed didn't last long. Zachary spoke again, his voice trembling with sadness.
"You're right. I can feel even more than that—maybe because your sense of self is so much stronger than mine."
The fog shifted uncomfortably.
"It's almost suffocating, to be honest. Your emotions and thoughts bleed into mine, and it's hard to tell them apart."
Zachary took a breath before continuing.
"It's actually kind of surprising. My parents were both Awakened—normal ones," he quickly added, "nothing like the Legacies. And even with the difference in age, for a mundane—no offense—to suppress my being like this is practically impossible."
He was quiet for a few moments before adding softly:
"And that's without even considering how we ended up in this situation. Are you... perhaps a Lost? That could explain how your soul came to be without a body. But that wouldn't make sense, considering your status as a mundane."
'Myself' gave Zachary a long, thoughtful look.
"How much were you able to sense about me?" he asked after a pause.
"Not much, to be honest. After a sudden, terrible pain, I found myself expelled from my body—and then I was just here. That's when I heard my name from afar, and suddenly I was flooded with memories that weren't mine... but felt oddly familiar."
Zachary glanced cautiously at 'Myself' before continuing.
"They were vague, but I caught glimpses—of a family, two parents and a sister... and a classroom I didn't recognize."
'Myself' quickly connected the dots. It made perfect sense, and he could tell Zachary wasn't lying—he would have sensed deceit the way he sensed his other emotions.
It must've been when I read his name through the Spell. The merging had already started at that moment. It must've been thanks to my quick reaction that he didn't fully awaken within me. I was right... if I hadn't stopped myself, I would've become Zachary instead of 'Myself'.
He considered quietly what to do next.
He had thought of sharing his memories with Zachary before. It had felt too dangerous at first. But now, after seeing the current state of their souls, the risk of losing his self felt small.
"I'll show you who I am."
'Myself' said suddenly, catching Zachary off guard.
"Are you sure? I can sense how much you recoil at the thought of merging," Zachary replied, his voice a strange mix of hope and pain.
"That's true. But I also think this might make things easier for both of us."
'Myself' closed his eyes and began to feel along the border between their souls.