132 A Frank Discussion With Oneself (1/2)

Where had he arrived? He didn't know. The only thing Reed knew was that he had finally reached the bottom of his heart. It was the end of the pilgrimage he'd started a billion years ago the day he foolishly chased her fleeting figure outside of the bakery.

The place he had washed up at lacked both time and space. Reed couldn't distinguish the difference between here and there, for instance. Neither then and now. He was too close to what made himself who he was.

There was a limit to how deep one could dig into oneself and he'd reached it. Just as matter was composed of atoms, the essence of a being's soul was also composed of some unique unit that could only be seen with the assistance of advanced tools.

The stone heart was a tool created for that purpose — to peer into the world of the soul, much in the same way that an electron microscope was used to peer into the world of the atom.

Where am I? I-I don't understand. Is this where I was supposed to go, or did I fuck everything up?

Reed looked around and saw nothing aside from a pitch-black abyss and small, floating motes of light. They buzzed around innocently to-and-fro in random directions, akin to fireflies on a summer night. Faint strokes of light were left in their passing wake that contrasted greatly with the pitch-black background of the foreign place.

The streaks of light initially appeared like the random scribbling a child would've made on a chalkboard. Reed thought of them as funny little doodles until he noticed something about them.

Reed stepped backward in shock. They might've seemed random and meaningless at first, he quickly changed his mind after he realized what they were actually doing.

Ten thousand motes of light had slowly drawn an image of immeasurable size. The portrait they'd drawn was so large, it wouldn't have fit on Mulia's starry sky had it been transposed on to it.

An enormous face. His own face. It was up there, staring right back at him as if it were alive. Reed's heart throbbed violently as he gasped in pure astonishment.

\”I've been waiting for the longest, Reed. So. Very. Long.\”

Reed raised his hands up nervously and said, \”Who are you... friend?! And why have you taken up my handsome visage? I've come in peace!\”

The enormous face in the sky laughed uproariously and said, \”God, you're such a riot. You're at the bottom of your own heart, and you're asking me who I am? Really, Reed?\”

\”Well, I've got a lot of freeloaders inside of me, so it's kinda hard for me to discern myself from the rest of the shit in here.\”

\”Hmm, that's a good point. I guess you're in the right to be a little suspicious. Don't worry though, I'm not another 'freeloader' that's hitched a ride if that's what you're asking me.\”

\”I'm you, Reed. I'm you within you. Been within you for the longest, too. Since the day you were born.\”

The enormous face sighed and said, \”I'm your goddamned source of will, you rat-brain. In simpler terms, I'm your soul. ...Or rather, all of us, together, make up what you and other people call the 'soul,' if that makes sense.\”

\”Look around you — every mote of light down here is a unique wish, belief, thought, or feeling you've come to think of as precious. Go on, take a look. Don't be shy, they all belong to you, after all...\”

Reed wandered around and snatched a mote of light that'd flown within arm's reach. The instant he touched it, the pitch-black world transformed into a flash of light.

When Reed opened his eyes, he found himself in a sprawling garden filled with all manner of exotic, colorful plants. He knew this place.

\”The Saphhire Garden?\”

It was a somewhat famous botanical garden and one of few, truly unique attractions that Cem-Elle had going for itself.

\”Hmm, so it takes a century for this little fellow to bloom? Talk about a late-bloomer, huh...\”

\”Feeling a connection with it, Ka'an? You know, it sort of looks like you... sort of mean-looking, glum, and shy.\”

\”...I don't know what you're talking about. I'm noth— \”

\”But it's also a bit cute. It's like a pouting flower trying its hardest to act tough. Acting as if it has thorns, even though it doesn't.\”