What the hell? The thought is sharp, angry, fully formed. Why the hell is he smiling like that? Like a… a manic? And why doesn't I hear his last words? The thought bounced back, hitting an even stranger observation. One minute... he can see guardian expression?
A jolt, profound and physical, coursed through him. It isn't just seeing the smile. It is feeling a sensation, a tangible something spreading through what has been empty space.
Huh! My body. The thought was strangled, disbelieving. It is back. My previous body. The familiar, long-forgotten sensation of skin, of bone, of muscle memory. It is faint at first, like static, then solidifying, anchoring him in a way he hasn't been anchored before. He feel the strange fabric of the place press against form.
What is happening? But the real question, the urgent one, slammed back into his awareness: Which path should I take? The guardian's words echoed, the pressure mounting. If he go in the path of reincarnation, would he regret something? A life unlived? A purpose unfulfilled? Or go in the other path, the mirror of the unknown? Maybe that path meant he's never reincarnate. Maybe it is dissolution, or transformation into something else entirely. So which side do he go?
"Hurry," the guardian's voice cut through his frantic thoughts, no longer chime-like but sharp with urgency. "There is more consciousness coming on the way. Choose the path now."
Which side do I go? The question hammered in his thoughts, amplified by the sudden, terrifying return of a mind that could panic, that could think in words and concepts. But time is running out. The faint trails behind the guardian are becoming more distinct, more numerous. The golden expanse feel crowded, expectant.
Having no choice, truly having no logical basis for choice, he cleared he thoughts with a force of will he hasn't known he possessed. Instinct, perhaps? A pure, unadulterated leap into the unknown, rather than a step into the known cycle.
He forward on the path of the mirror.
Just as he took the first step – a physical step, the feeling of lifting and placing a foot – the guardian and the reincarnation path dissolved. Not fade, but vanished into the omnipresent golden fog, like mist struck by sunlight. Only he, in his newly returned body, and the vast golden mirror remained.
And then, a new problem. As he stepped forward, the distance between him and that mirror doesn't decrease as it should. It feel… twice as great. Like the space has stretched, elastic and cruel, specifically for his movement.
What could he do? Nothing but move forward. So he does. He walk, his legs stiff and unused in this strange place, towards the impossibly distant mirror. He is thinking about this body, about the feel of it, about the strangeness of needing to move it, and he is moving forward.
After sometime… how long? Minutes? Hours? The concept of time is still fluid here, but the feeling of effort is not. His legs ached faintly, his breath, though not needed for air, feel constricted. "What!" The frustrated exclamation is hoarse, unfamiliar. "Why is this happening? Why didn't I reach there? And why is the distance greater than previous?"
It isn't just not getting closer; it feel like every step he took added more distance, or perhaps the mirror itself is receding faster than he could walk. But having no choice, a recurring theme – he move forward. Even after more time passed, there is no difference in the distance between them. The mirror remained a distant, golden expanse, mocking his efforts.
Frustration choked him. And his body, this returned body, feel very fast, but also very… limited. In his conscious form, he hasn't become tired. There is no exertion, only being and moving. But now, the muscles burned, the unfamiliar sensation of fatigue washed over him. So he stopped. Forced himself to stop, take the rest. Lean against… nothing. Just stand there, catching him metaphorical breath in the shimmering golden air.
After resting, he move again. Pushed through the ache. Walked towards the receding golden light. Then, tired again. Rest. Then move. Then rest. His patience is reaching the peak, a brittle edge of desperation. There is still no discernible difference in the distance between them. The mirror remained a golden impossible goal, shimmering, indifferent. His patience is waning off, dissolving like the reincarnation gate has.
But then, just as he feel the last vestiges of his resolve beginning to crumble, it suddenly broke. Not his patience, but the illusion of distance. Without warning, without any change in his movement or the mirror's appearance, their's distance decreased. Drastically. Rapidly. In moments that feel like the blink of an eye after an eternity of struggle, he is just in front of it.
It loomed before him, immense and silent, the intricate golden designs pulsating with soft light. His heart, a muscle he hasn't feel beat in an age, hammered against his ribs. Relief warred with profound confusion and apprehension. What is this place? What is this mirror? What awaited him inside?
But what could he do now? There is only one direction left. Standing here, staring at his reflection that isn't a reflection but a doorway of pure golden light, he has no other option. So, he focused on controlling his emotions that are obviously showing on his face, the weariness, the confusion, the fear, the lingering trace of panic. He took a deep, unnecessary breath, the golden air filling his lungs, anchoring him for the final step. The Mirror of ______. He still doesn't know the word. But it is time to find out.
And then, just as the last flicker of his patience threatened to extinguish entirely, dissolving him back into the frustrated aimlessness he's feel before this bizarre body reasserted itself, something shifted. The distance shrunk. Not gradually, but with a sudden, unnerving acceleration. One moment it is impossibly far, mocking his trudging efforts; the next, it is right there.
He stumbled, the unexpected proximity catching him off guard in this heavy, unfamiliar form. His chest heaved, more from shock and residual frustration than exertion now. It is right here. The vast golden mirror.
Standing before it, his emotions warring within him – relief, anger, exhaustion, and a fresh wave of apprehension – he tries to compose himself. The 'Guardian' had seen my face? Had seen his emotions? The thought is disquieting. It meant this form isn't just some shell; it is him, in a way he hasn't been as a pure consciousness. But why? Why now?
Pushing those questions aside for the thousandth time, he focus on the mirror. It isn't just large; it is immense, stretching upwards and outwards far beyond his field of vision. Its surface isn't glass or polished metal, but something that shimmered like solidified light, infused with intricate, flowing designs of pure gold. These patterns pulsed faintly, synchronized with the pervasive golden aura that bathed the entire expanse, though here, right at the mirror's edge, the light feel brighter, warmer, almost alive.
The air around it hum with a silent energy. There is no reflection of him in the mirror's surface, only the swirling, golden patterns within its depth. It isn't a mirror in the sense of showing an image, but perhaps a mirror reflecting something else entirely. The thought sent a shiver down his spine that isn't from cold.
The 'Path Guardian'. His maddening smile. The missing word. "Mirror of ______."
What was it a mirror of?
He stand there for a long moment, the silence of the expanse pressing in, broken only by the faint hum of the mirror and his own ragged breathing. The other path, the one through the vortex of conscious whispers and official-looking beings, is gone. Utterly vanished, along with the Guardian, swallowed by the golden fog he has seen earlier. There is no turning back. Only this.
Relief warred with a renewed sense of dread. He's chosen. He's chosen the unknown, the silent, the reflecting surface that doesn't reflect him, over the known cycle of reincarnation, however daunting that vortex has seemed. Why? Was it the fear of forgetting? Of repeating? Or simply a stubborn refusal to go where I am expected, guided by officials?