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It’s like diving into freezing water, numbing and tranquil; terrifyingly soothing. The pressure is dizzying, however. There is little air to breathe, and it feels as if his body is shrinking little by little. Hard to open his eyes—darkness. Fuzzy static running down his spine and limbs—faint ache when trying to move.
Kayn comes to regardless, pushes himself up despite the protest in his body, and takes a good look at the world around. One thing is certain: this is not where he fell asleep. It alerts him immediately, shaking him out of whatever dull stupor he’d been in.
And with clearer thoughts comes a raging headache, throbbing in his temples like a heartbeat. Had he really fallen asleep?
“No,” is spoken in response. It echoes, sourceless, close and far at the same time. Familiar, yet uncanny, like it doesn’t belong. In a way that makes his mind feel strangely empty. Quiet.
As for the world, it shifts before his very eyes. No horizon meets his gaze when he searches for it. Space itself surrounds him, a galaxy where luminous specks ascend in the form of reversed rain. There’s purity in them—as far as he can feel—and his whole body resonates with it, the ora within vibrating under his skin. It pushes him to his feet.
A presence materializes behind him.
“You’ve sure taken your sweet time to rouse.” And the spell is broken. Kayn turns back, swiftly enough that it spins him on the floorless ground. It’s textured like water, and yet it remains inert under the motion. “Good morning.”
“Rhaast,” Kayn says in greeting. “This is your doing.”
Rhaast shrugs, a short, nonchalant thing. “Indeed.” Ahead, Kayn seems moments away from going on a rant about the hows and the whys. Though Rhaast promptly silences him, unfolds his arms to gesture at the world. “This is the space where your consciousness and mine intermingle. You can quit gawking at it now.”
“I’m not—forget it. You should have let me prepare if this is how you wanted us to fight.” Because of course that’s what he expects. Even though Rhaast is unarmed, he waits for a sudden shift regardless. It is not how he had imagined it—their ultimate confrontation. He wants the thrill of it, to leave with physical proof of Rhaast’s defeat in his hands.
Oddly, Rhaast himself doesn’t seem to reciprocate those feelings. “I want to talk.”
They never just talk.
And, ironically, they don’t talk. Instead, Rhaast extends a hand, wordless, and it’s the type of invitation that Kayn knows to be hesitant about. He’s suddenly vividly aware that he’s unarmed as well. He’s aware that, if Rhaast had decided to take him here, there is far greater purpose to it than he can yet grasp. He doesn’t know if he has the means to wake from this space, either. Needs to see the full picture.
Rhaast’s hand is cold when he touches it.
“One day, I shall conquer both your body and the universe,” Rhaast starts, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Kayn’s stomach twists with it, but his mouth remains shut. The cackling of something reverberates deep within the void and he recognizes it to be Rhaast’s satisfaction. Sickening.
Kayn comes to realize that even as two opposing entities, their sentiments remain entangled. It’s a faded thread that keeps them connected—what Kayn feels, Rhaast does as well; what thrums within Rhaast is Kayn’s to live through just the same. And yet Kayn still fails to understand his purpose here. Which puts him at a disadvantage. Lack of knowledge is always a disadvantage. All he knows is that he’s walking somewhere, hand in a firm grasp and eyes fixed on the faceless celestial… thing that speaks in Rhaast’s voice.
“The faceless celestial thing that is Rhaast, in fact,” and who reads his thoughts word for word, apparently. “Are you not happy to see me? I’ve been looking forward to this.”
“Looking forward to what, exactly?” because Kayn can’t help the question. The more time passes in this liminal place, the less grounded he grows. His steps are light as he follows the other. They trace a circle, fluid as though they truly are underwater. And no, he is not quite sure he’s happy to see Rhaast. Because it makes him realize that he doesn’t know who Rhaast is.
“I could give you some explanations,” and it isn’t clear whether it’s a response to Kayn’s words, or to his thoughts. “Your mind is no longer a feeble thing, and you have proven worthy of knowing what outcome our inevitable showdown will carry. In truth, you should feel honored of being in my presence. Or,” his voice drops in time with Kayn’s frown. “Should I be honored instead, Your Imperial Highness?”
It prompts Kayn to finally step back. Rhaast had lowered himself into a bow, yet the air of arrogance in the move is palpable. That mocking tilt of his head makes the ora in Kayn’s body boil. “So you do plan to fight after all.”
A murmur echoes within the void. “Not quite. Not before you witness the universe’s extinction beside me.”
This time, when he grabs onto Kayn’s hand, it’s no longer in feigned invitation. The drag of his feet is less coordinated, yet still firm with purpose. And Kayn follows, oddly accustomed to the rhythm. Particles of light surround them, restless; an intangible tune accompanies their steps.
It’s a cacophony in Kayn’s mind as much as it is around him. “Once you can no longer withstand the weight of my power, when your psyche gives way to its new host, you will cease to exist. Your death will be as exquisite as the dance of ora contained in your body.” It takes a single step closer for Rhaast’s glowing form to tower over Kayn.
Until everything the Ordinal can see is a crimson galactic bloodbath.
In a universe that isn’t his, the nihility buzzes with silence. The heavy pulse of nothingness makes his ears ring—his head like lead. Tardily, he feels himself falling.
“With your demise shall come the rebirth of a new world,” then, with the hint of a chuckle in Rhaast’s voice, “do you like it?”
It catches Kayn off guard, just like the giant hand that spreads out underneath him. Familiar chill cushions his fall.
“You’re a lunatic,” he offers in lieu of an answer, half for the frustration of getting ragdolled, and half because no sane being would be fascinated by this emptiness. In fact, Kayn is not even certain what Rhaast means by the rebirth of the world. He pries his eyes away to glance back, brow cocked in question.
What he sees is the same tilt of Rhaast’s head, beaming with pride. It reminds Kayn of a dog.
“This is what you want to reign over?” His words bite, yet Kayn has the passing thought that Rhaast belongs here. Solitude suits him—a lone star watching over its budding galaxy. Though, that realization doesn’t settle well in Kayn’s stomach.
It doesn’t settle well in Rhaast’s either, if the slight jerk of his hand means anything. “You will not live to see it, and my goals far surpass your comprehension.”
Kayn barks out a laugh. “You asked me if I like it. And I think it’s sad, even for you.”
“I believe your ambitions are equally pathetic.”
“Show them to me, then,” and the void dematerializes in front of his eyes. Rhaast is once more leading him through the swaying steps of an aimless dance. This time, Kayn thinks he likes it.
He likes how his feet feel lighter, or the sudden surge of power that phases through him when he dares to lift a hand towards Rhaast’s face. Like this, it’s simple to picture himself with a weapon gripped tightly in his hold. One leg behind the other, the blade of his scythe hovering just centimeters above the ground, and the manic glint of danger in his eye.
A swing forward, aimed with purpose at the glowing plane of Rhaast’s chest.
Shattering glass and lucent ora that push against him. The weight of an entire galaxy flowing from his being—into his being—all around. And his hair, longer, brighter. His scythe stained with ichor.
Though, in the midst of it all, he stands alone.
“Rhaast?”
No answer.
“Rhaast,” louder, while his eyes scan the unfamiliar place. He’s in a plaza, seemingly deserted save for the still thriving trees and flowing fountains. If this is another projection within the dreamscape, he needs to offer Rhaast the credit he’s due: the surrounding buildings are tall, imposing in their architecture, and covered in marbles and gold—the rare kind, natural in few of the inhabitable planets he’s visited.
The tranquility here is unsettling. Rhaast’s galaxy had seemed almost soothing in comparison. This, on the other hand, reminds Kayn of a forest going silent before danger struck. It cannot be truly deserted, as the place is clean, maintained. So the emptiness is deliberate, the air stilled in waiting, no matter where Kayn walks. Like it’s wary of his very presence here.
Like he is the predator.
It makes Kayn feel larger than his own body, as though this alone was proof of his mightiness. Pride burns as hotly as the fresh wave of power that radiates from his being, and even the floor beneath his feet trembles at being stepped on.
However, something is missing, and it irks Kayn to no end. He doesn’t mind the cowering, the eyes he now feels on him from the obscured corners of the area, and neither does he care for the fear that seems to follow him like a shadow. But something is missing. Something is missing.
The feeling sits heavy in his chest, the same type of restlessness that pounded against his ribcage back when he’d last faced Nakuri. Bile rises in his throat, bitter and scorching like it’s trying to claw its way out. He closes his eyes so he can’t see how the world loses shape, tunes out the noises that far too closely resemble screams, and braces himself on the hilt of his weapon.
Something doesn’t feel right. His existence doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t feel right.
Blue eyes stare at him when he focuses again. His own, Kayn reckons. And the figure ahead moves in time with him. On touch, it ripples like the surface of a lake, fragile and ephemeral.
“Perhaps next time you could refrain from tainting my gifts with your foolish humane misery,” the reflection shows Rhaast stepping up behind him, and his presence takes away the last of Kayn’s unease.
“Where were you?” he asks instead of an answer, pointed, like Rhaast had somehow personally offended him.
“Once you take your rightful seat on the imperial throne, it will be you alone that can persist. I shall be naught.” Rhaast hardly sounds fazed, and Kayn wonders if it’s because he doesn’t deem it probable, or, on the contrary—he has made peace with it. “You give yourself too much credit; I will simply not lament the deplorable state of your vessel in that scenario. You will become a madman.”
“So will you,” Kayn spats, drawn back to Rhaast’s lonesome galaxy.
Rhaast offers a noncommittal hum, resting his clawed hands on each side of Kayn’s body. “Perhaps… Although your absence should make up for it.”
It feels like the jab should bite more than it does, that their proximity should be overall more threatening, that the temperature shouldn’t drop to the point where Rhaast himself radiates comforting warmth. Their reflection glimmers almost mockingly, calm now that Kayn no longer reaches out to perturb its surface. He sees himself with the same foreign, sapphire eyes, he sees the entire world diffused into Rhaast, he forgets that no reality would ever replicate the image ahead.
“Rhaast?” he partially turns his head to glance back. There’s a light squeeze of his shoulder; go on. “You said you wanted to talk. We’ve yet to truly do so.”
“We never just talk,” reminds Rhaast. And, indeed, they do not talk. Instead, they dance around each other in dreamscapes that will never reach fulfillment, they offer each other gifts of insanity, then watch a feeble stream of water that keeps them away from a delusion. That is the depth of their abyss, in the physical manifestation of their joint consciousness.
And Kayn loathes it.
“Do you wish to return?” while a strand of hair catches onto Rhaast’s claws. It’s not unkind—in a tone that does not fully suit his stance. Hesitation stiffens Kayn’s body and stutters his breath. “You must, eventually,” as Rhaast catches onto the feeling. “Dreams always come to an end.”
“Where will you be?” Kayn asks as the water draws closer.
He is answered with a laugh. “Where I always am,” with you. Coddled in the back of Kayn’s mind until one of them caves in. Hidden from the eyes and ears of the world for Kayn alone to know. Abstract until the point of no return, when he will see the end of the universe—the one where his ambitions get to live, or the one where Kayn does.
Although he has no eyes to watch through, it seems like Rhaast is just as lost in their mirror image. They alone remain in a chasm that gradually succumbs to evanescence, facing a reflection that promises the unattainable. No longer does his galaxy engulf them, and neither do his emperor’s skyscraping colossi.
“Call me that aloud,” says Kayn, suddenly desperate when the water threatens to swallow them both.
And then a hum. “As you wish, My Emperor,” before the world turns dark.