As all eyes remained fixed on Ñout's lips, the goddess continued with a soft, almost dreamy voice.
Ñout: "Fortunately, I was able to resolve this imbalance problem… I modified Shēdo's nature. Now, he emits a little light… and a little darkness. Thanks to that, your decisions can endure. Otherwise, ahah… you all would have fallen into the most sterile neutrality."
A silence followed. Ñout lifted her eyes to the sky, her gaze seeming to search an invisible distance.
Ñout: "But there is something I don't understand… Why would the Scriptomaton erase Shiro and Kuro? It's not in its habits… It never acts thus without absolute necessity… Could it be that…"
She stopped, her expression frozen by a suspicion. Then she shook her head.
Ñout: "No… No, it couldn't… That would be… unthinkable."
The silence thickened again, laden with unanswered questions. Sakolomé, who until then had dared not speak, observed Ñout intently. A thought crossed his mind.
Sakolomé (internally): This is the first time I see a goddess… Is she telling the truth? Or is she lying?
He hesitated, then stepped forward slightly.
Sakolomé: "Uh… Madam?"
The goddess slowly turned her head to him.
Sakolomé: "Are you really… a goddess? And… is it possible… to become one?"
Ñout gave an amused smile.
Ñout: "Haha. You see? Thanks to the new Shēdo, you are capable of doubting even in front of me. That is proof the balance has really been restored. Even if… the way the Narration acts remains a mystery."
She then looked at him with a strange tenderness, almost maternal.
Ñout: "Yes, I am a true goddess, my little one. And no… one does not become a god. One is… or one is not. It's as simple and as brutal as that."
Sakolomé: "What? But…"
Ñout: "What don't you understand? Do you think a dog can become a tiger? That a snail can become a lion? No. Either you are a lion, or you are not. The same holds for gods."
Her voice suddenly grew deeper and more grave, as if speaking from somewhere beyond the world.
Ñout: "A god is not born… it remains. That is the whole difference with other creatures. Beings like you, however powerful you become, are caught in the web of causal frames. Even if you eventually break free, you come from it. Gods, we, are subject neither to Shiro, nor to Kuro, nor even to Shēdo. We have never been under any influence, causal or moral. We are gods by essence, not by becoming. Do you grasp the nuance, Sakolomé?"
A silence.
Then Sakolomé slowly inclined his head, struck by the weight of what he had just understood.
Sakolomé: "I… I see. Yes, I understand."
As calm returned, Ñout smiled slightly and snapped her fingers: the flames forming the arena's walls immediately extinguished, dissipated like an illusion. She let a silence hang, then declared serenely:
— There is still something that bothers me.
Her gaze settled on Sakolomé, piercing, almost playful:
— Little one… do you really think the mere imbalance of forces would have been enough to bring a goddess like me down before you? And besides… you speak as if we were allies.
Sakolomé's eyes widened, disoriented.
— Huh?
Ñout slowly approached him, every step imbued with a majesty that seemed to precede even the notion of majesty itself. Her voice resonated, soft yet loaded with crushing weight:
— No… it's not that. I felt something… a presence forgotten since immemorial times.
Her gaze shifted over Sakolomé, then Bakuran, and finally Salomé, still unconscious. She paused, lips curling into an enigmatic smile:
— It would be a pity not to see you awakened one day. Your progress… is slow, too slow. Even with the demon sleeping inside you, Sakolomé, it is not enough.
She then lowered her eyes, her expression growing more serious, and turned toward Salomé:
— The other thing… the one I sense… still sleeps. She almost showed herself when I arrived, but as soon as she felt my presence, she went back to sleep. In that body lies a power… far more fearsome than the demon in you.
All stood frozen, breath caught, before Ñout's unreal aura. A collective shiver ran through the arena; even Zelongue, usually unshakable, seemed tense. The goddess moved toward Sakolomé, her steps barely touching the ground.
— Normally, she began, gods do not meddle in human affairs… but you are no longer mere humans. You have become hosts for something that has rendered your inner logic… absurd, even for us. We watched silently… but now that I'm here…
She softly placed her hand on Sakolomé's head. A cold wave swept through him; his body tensed.
— …I will settle this, my way.
Sakolomé trembled, voice barely audible:
— Wh-what are you talking about?
Ñout tilted her head, eyes shining with a golden gleam:
— You know you have never been able to use mana, don't you? So tell me: how do you explain that you are capable of manipulating an energy that transcends your current state… without your body collapsing? It's because of him.
— Him…? murmured Sakolomé, eyes wide.
But before he could react, his legs gave way; he collapsed heavily to the ground. Beside him, Bakuran fell as well.
— What's happening to them?! shouted Jin Muleo, alarmed.
Ñout kept her gaze lost in the void, a slight smile on her lips.
— I could no longer tolerate this disorder. I imposed on them… an inner choice.
— An inner choice? repeated Lingyin, confused.
The goddess nodded, her tone calm, almost benevolent:
— Yes. They are now immersed in internal confusion. If they manage to maintain balance, to confront their shadow without losing themselves… they will become Deviants.
All widened their eyes, shocked.
— Deviants?! Kai blurted, voice heavy with tension.
Ñout continued, now graver, her words sounding like a verdict:
— But if they fail… if they cannot accept this internal struggle or resist the call of their shadow… then they will lose their identity forever. And will die.
— No! Jin Muleo protested. Why impose this on them without their consent?!
Ñout raised an eyebrow, amused:
— What a… stupid question. Would I really let a cosmic inconsistency spread?
Her gaze slid toward Salomé, still unconscious, then back to the group:
— That little girl… and her two brothers… are now caught between life and death. It is the price of cosmic coherence.
A golden veil spread around her, radiating overwhelming heat. The goddess offered one last enigmatic smile:
— Farewell.
Then she vanished. Silence. As if she had never existed.
In the sky, the immense eyes invoked by Zelongue extinguished one by one. He clenched his fists and let out a heavy sigh:
— Tch… she just ruined all my plans…
Rivhiamë sprang from Sakolomé's body, rushed to his side and touched him, worried:
— Sakolomé… hold on!
The Nothingness.
Not a void as he had ever known, but a nothingness so pure it seemed to close in on itself. Sakolomé opened his eyes: there was neither ground nor sky, only a gray-white expanse without landmarks, as if even the thought of space had been erased.
— Where am I…?
His voice immediately died, swallowed by the absence. Then silhouettes appeared around him: dozens, hundreds, all reflections of himself. Some bore scars, others gleaming armor, some laughed cruelly, others sobbed, kneeling. Each seemed real, bearing its own memories and emotions.
They stepped forward in unison, their voices mingling into an oppressive roar:
— Who are you, Sakolomé?
He froze.
— I am… me.
A sharp laugh broke out, dry, like breaking glass.
— You? You never existed. You are but a fragment in causality, an error in the weave.
— No…
— All those lives you think you have lived? Illusions. Even your battles, your pains, perhaps they are another's dream.
Sakolomé stepped back, short of breath. Every word seemed to shake the very foundation of his identity. The more he fixed those other "him"s, the more he doubted: which was the real one?
One version, larger and stronger, stared at him with a scornful smile:
— Look at me. I am what you could have been if you ceased holding back. I have the strength, the respect, the power you desire. You are but a shadow of me.
Sakolomé felt his heart race. A chilling thought crossed him: what if they were right?
Then a whisper imposed itself, almost inaudible:
— You do not have to choose.
He breathed deeply. His hands trembled, but he stepped forward and answered:
— Maybe everything you say is true. Maybe I am nothing. But… it's not for you to decide who I am.
The silhouettes retreated, dissolving into the nothingness like reflections chased away by light.
A crash suddenly tore the space. The ground — or what passed for it — collapsed, and Sakolomé plunged into an endless abyss. He landed on a dark, viscous surface, a cold breath sending a shiver through him.
Before him, a figure detached itself from the darkness: another Sakolomé, identical yet with luminous eyes and a cruel smile.
— I am your true strength, said the silhouette. Everything you hide, everything you refuse to admit.
— You are… my shadow.
— No. I am you without chains. I am the one who is not afraid to strike, to destroy, to crush any obstacle. Look around: every time you failed, it was because you feared facing yourself. Let me guide you, and you will never know defeat again.
Sakolomé clenched his fists.
— You want me to become you.
— Not "become." Accept me and together we will never be weak again. Or refuse… and I will take your place.
The entity attacked without warning.
She grabbed Sakolomé by the neck and lifted him into the void:
— Sakolomé… give up. Let me take back my place. You know as well as I do that you were never strong enough for the outside world!
She violently threw him. Sakolomé landed awkwardly, gasping. Before him stood his double — but he was more than a copy. His eyes vibrated with raw power, unshakable confidence.
— Look, he said raising his hand. A torrent of red mana burst from his palm, crackling with inherent power.
— You never knew how to control this body. You borrow a demon's strength, you survive on crutches… but I am the true navigator of this vessel. The mana belongs to me.
A blast shot out. Sakolomé barely dodged but spat blood, a painful shock radiating in his chest.
— Wha…?
The double smiled coldly.
— You see? You are weak. So weak that you still refuse to admit the truth.
Sakolomé stood, trembling.
— Wha… what exactly is happening?
— What happens, the double resumed, is that your existence is at stake. You have never been the true Sakolomé.
His words hit harder than any blow.
— Then… who am I? he stammered.
The double stepped forward, threatening.
— If you are truly me, what is your name? Where does it come from?
— I… I am Sakolomé! Father… father gave me this name!
— Wrong answer!
He pounced, faster than lightning. Sakolomé tried to defend but his opponent knocked him down violently. Blood stained his lips.
— You are but a shell, a living denial. How can you understand others if you refuse to know who you are?
Another blow struck his ribs, throwing him back.
— You sicken me, continued the double, you disgust me. Why do you run? Why do you refuse to face your own foundations?
Another blow, another spray of blood; Sakolomé fell heavily, each breath ripping through him.
— Why do you look at me like that? the double whispered, approaching, his aura crushing all around.
He landed a fierce hook, breaking Sakolomé's nose. Sakolomé staggered, eyes blurred, but remained standing.
— You have never controlled your mana. You never saved Bakuzan. You couldn't protect Sally nor even Salomé against Zelongue… Tell me, what use are you?
Those words struck his heart. Was it an illusion? Or the truth he refused to see?
Rage rose in the double's eyes.
— You are pathetic! Why do you refuse to acknowledge who you truly are?!
He rushed at him in a barrage of blows. Each impact sparked a memory: his defeats, regrets, the cries of those he couldn't save. Sakolomé bent under the onslaught, but something cracked within him.
And suddenly, amid this tumult, a question pierced him:
— Who am I?
For the first time, he dodged a blow from his opponent. His breath caught; a flash of lucidity crossed his eyes.
— I understand… he murmured.
— Don't talk nonsense! roared the double, launching a new attack.
Sakolomé deflected it with a gesture, then struck his double in the abdomen. The impact echoed like a detonation. Both stepped back, breath short, faces bloody.
— I understand now, repeated Sakolomé. You are not just my shadow. You are Sakolomeh… the true me, the one I buried. The one I was ashamed of, whom I thought I could deny.
He lifted his head, shining eyes.
— My real name is Sakolomeh… or Sakolomi. Father named me after the hero of an old novel he cherished, a man who never denied any part of himself, even his darkness. For distinction, he altered the name, he transformed it… and I became "Sakolomé," an incomplete shadow. But… he said I would probably know one day…
The double—Sakolomeh—remained still, his gaze softening imperceptibly.
— In that same story, added Sakolomé, Sakolomeh adopts a young abandoned girl, whom he names Salomeh. Father had said that I would understand this bond one day… that I would claim it when I was ready to accept myself.
Sakolomé advanced, steps heavy but determined. Then he held out his hand, palm open.
— You are part of me. I cannot keep denying you.
Sakolomeh looked at him long and hard. Then he smiled — a smile mixing anger, pain, and pride — before taking the outstretched hand.
The outlines of the double blurred, dissolving in a wave of scarlet energy that merged with Sakolomé. He fell to his knees, breath short. A strange calm settled within him. He was still Sakolomé… but now, he had recovered what he had lost.
For the first time, he felt whole.