Darkness.
Then, breathe. Not one mind, but a tangle—a traffic jam in a tunnel far too small.
Henry: Am I dead?
The thought sparks with sarcasm, defiance, a desperate edge of humour masking something deeper. It ricochets against the walls of shared consciousness like a rubber ball in a shoebox.
Aldric: Dead, yet again? How methodologically fascinating—
That voice crackles with manic energy, already cataloguing, theorizing, vibrating with delight at the problem at hand. It's the opposite of Henry's frantic bounce—cold curiosity wrapped in mad laughter.
Cain: Is everyone alright?
Calm. Grounded. That third voice settles like an anchor dropping into turbulent water. Measured, concerned, trying to assess damage and prioritize action.
"Wait—who said that?" Henry's internal voice edges toward panic. The sensation is alien: he can feel the other minds, distinct yet tangled, like three people squeezed into one sleeping bag.
Aldric: Oh, excellent! Company! This is going to be infinitely more engaging than existential limbo by myself.
Cain: Let's not panic. This is real. Somehow we're all... in here. A pause—testing boundaries, reaching out through the mindscape. Can you feel the body? The hunger? There's a family nearby...
Henry latches onto that: Okay, ground rules—who's driving this clown car? Because if it's the mad scientist, we're crashing into a house in five minutes.
Aldric: Whoever manages not to blow it up, obviously! Though statistically speaking, that eliminates approximately nobody.
Cain, with quiet firmness: We need to cooperate. At least until we understand what's happened to us. To... whoever we are now.
The thought feels strange. Whoever they are. Three distinct lives, three separate histories, now compressed into one body—a frail, weak body that feels like it's been starved and ill for months.
Memories begin to leak through the cracks between them. Henry recalls neon lights and manga panels. Cain remembers the weight of responsibility, the cold sting of a knife, the warmth of saving someone. Aldric... Aldric remembers centuries—explosions, grimoires, the void, the endless, boring void.
Henry: Okay, anime protagonist rules say I should be the lead, right? I've got the most personality.
Aldric: If personality means "idiotic bravado masking abandonment issues," then yes, you're positively overflowing.
Henry: Ouch. Okay, that was—
Cain: Both of you, focus. His thought cuts through cleanly, without anger—just necessity. Our body's moving. Someone's coming. I hear footsteps. Breathing. A woman's voice—Mum? And... younger? A child?
The mindscape quiets. For the first time since waking—or born?—the three souls press their attention outward, toward the physical world.
Light bleeds through eyelids. Rough fabric beneath what feels like skin. The smell of herbs, broth, something medicinal and warm. Voices, distant but growing clearer:
"—still sleeping. Good. He needs rest after the fever broke."
That's a woman's voice. Warm, but threaded with exhaustion and relief. Mirella, Cain's memory supplies—though it's not his memory anymore, it belongs to all of them now.
"Mum, can I poke him? See if he wakes up?" A younger voice, impatient, curious. Lira. The sister. She sounds frustrated, bored, maybe a little worried underneath.
"No, Lira. He needs sleep. The healer said—"
"The healer said a lot of things. She also said he'd recover in weeks, not months."
Henry: Oh. We're sick. Great. Dying and then immediately bedridden. The luck.
Cain: We're not dying. We're recovering. The body is weak, but stable.
Aldric: For now. Fascinating specimen, really—three souls in one weakened frame. I'm surprised the structural integrity is holding. Oh! Perhaps I should monitor the—
Henry: Absolutely not. No experiments on the body. This is our body now.
Aldric: Your objection is noted and filed under "Boring."
Cain: Shh. They're coming closer.
The voices draw nearer. Footsteps—light ones, the sister. Then heavier, more deliberate: the mother. The door creaks open.
Light floods in, and the trio forces their shared consciousness into focus. They need to move. They need to live. That means coordination.
Henry: Okay, who takes control? I vote me—I'm charming, I can talk us out of—
Cain: I have more recent medical experience. If they ask about symptoms—
Aldric: I have centuries of observational—
Without warning, all three souls surge toward the front at once.
Their hands jerk in three directions—the left twitches, the right smacks the cup, feet kick the covers. Their mouth opens and out comes,
"Wa—w-ant. Hrm. THIRST, NO, MOTHER, WHAT IS THIS FLESH—oh gods—"
Mirella and Lira stare, mouths agape.
Lira blurts, "Elias?! Are you okay?!"
The mother's eyes are wide, worried. "He's still feverish... Sweetheart? Try not to move."
Internally, chaos explodes—
Henry: Nice going!
Cain: Sorry, I—
Aldric: Glorious! The disharmony of souls manifesting in motor function—
Henry: Shut up, Aldric!
Cain forces calm. Let me handle this. He gently settles them, smoothing the body's motions, focusing on steady breathing. The panic in Mirella's face softens as he regains control.
He croaks, "Water, please."
Mirella helps him sip, visibly rattled but relieved.
"There you go, Elias. Just stay still, okay?"
Internally, all three take a shaky breath.
Henry: Elias. Huh. That's... not the weirdest name I've had.
Aldric: Elias. I shall update the records accordingly.
Cain: It suits us. Let's not scare them any more if we can help it.
Mirella rushes to help, propping pillows. "Easy, easy. Don't strain yourself. The fever was bad, sweetheart. You've been asleep for three days."
Henry: Three days!? How long were we dead?
Aldric: Time flows differently in the void. Fascinating variable—
Cain: Focus.
Lira hands over a cup, watching with sharp eyes. "You scared us. Mum was making herbal remedies every six hours. I had to help. It was gross."
Henry, with forced lightness: "I'm... sorry?"
The word comes out uncertain, and Lira's eyes narrow. "You sound weird. Are you sure you're okay?"
Aldric: Interesting. The sibling has excellent observational—
Henry: Not now!
"Just tired," Cain answers quickly, smooth as water. He reaches for the cup, and the motion is careful, controlled. "Thank you for taking care of me."
Mirella's expression softens with relief and something deeper—guilt, perhaps, at not being there more. "Of course, baby. We were so worried. The healer said if the fever didn't break by tomorrow..."
She doesn't finish, but they all understand the implication.
Cain: We're going to need to be careful. The body's weak. We can't afford to slip up in front of them.
Henry: So we just... pretend? Act normal? Speak in sequence like a Victorian lady taking turns at the tea service?
Aldric: A compromise, then. We establish protocols. Cain manages medical/emotional interactions. Henry handles social nuance and humor. And I—
Henry: Monitor our vitals and catalog everything without touching anything dangerous?
Aldric: You wound me.
Cain: It's not perfect, but it's a start.
Lira is still staring, unconvinced. "You really do sound different. Did the fever mess with your voice?"
Henry: Oh no. Oh no, oh no—
Cain squeezes Henry's presence back, keeping control. "Just dry throat. I'll be fine once I drink."
He takes a long sip, and for a moment, all three souls sync: the cool water, the weakness of the body, the weight of pretending, the strange new reality of three.
Outside, Mirella begins preparing a light broth, still muttering thanks to every healer in the region. Lira settles on a stool, watching with the intensity of a child who'd spent too many nights worried.
Aldric: We need rules. Clear ones. Or this experiment ends in catastrophe.
Henry: Agreed. For once.
Cain: First rule: one of us leads at a time. The others observe, advise, but don't interrupt unless critical.
Henry: Second rule: We don't freak out the family.
Aldric: Third: I get to study how—
Both Henry and Cain: No.
Aldric: ...Noted.
Elias lies still, drinking broth, as three souls finally stop screaming and start, carefully, to listen to each other.
Henry: This better not mean we have to share toothbrushes.
Aldric: I resent the implication. Hygiene is an adventure!
Cain: …Goodnight, both of you.
They have no idea what comes next. But at least, for now, they're not tearing each other apart.
That's something.