Lamair didn't answer immediately. The question lingered in the empty expanse like a weight pressing against his thoughts.
'What do you become after it?'
He tried...
"A soul."
The world flickered. He felt unravel again, this time not into nothing, but into something thin, drifting, and incomplete. He could feel himself being pulled, stretched across something vast and unseen, like a thread caught in an endless current. It wasn't gone, but he wasn't alive either, nor whole. It was wrong. The sensation snapped.
...
"A memory."
He stood again, this time watching people speak his name. There were stories of him, fragments of his shared memories, laughter, and grief.
But the longer it went on, the more distorted it became. His name changed. His deeds twisted. His existence reduced to something small, then smaller... then gone.
He had been erased not by death, but by time.
...
"A continuation."
