I came to with a fit of coughing. Water poured out of my mouth as I felt repetitive pressure on my chest. It stopped as soon as the coughing started. Then I felt arms wrapping around me, holding me in a tight embrace.
"It's okay, baby. It's okay," the voice said as it rocked me gently.
It took me several moments to calm down and realize it was my mother. She held me tight to her chest and stroked my hair softly.
I needed that. I was scared out of my mind. I nearly died. I began to sob, and my mother held me even tighter; I gripped her and cried. She said the worst was over. I hoped it was.
I fell asleep in her arms, and she let me. You don't sleep in your mind; it's dangerous. But she let me. I was able to sleep because I had someone to wake me up. She protected me.
I woke up relaxed, calmer.
"About time," my mother said with a small smile.
"We don't have much time left. It's dangerous to linger. Let us begin."
I stood up and looked around; I saw my mind for the first time. The storm had subsided now. The sea was tranquil.
It... It was beautiful. The blue-green ocean stretched as far as the eye could see. It was more beautiful than anything I had ever seen.
In the far distance, I could see a stretch of land. My other mask.
I looked beneath my feet. The sand-covered ground was small, tiny really, in comparison with the vast, endless ocean.
"This is my mind?" I asked my mother inside my head.
"Yes," she replied.
"Is everyone else's mind like this?"
"No."
"Am I... special?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She hesitated, trying to say something but stopped herself.
"Not here. We need to create a mask and leave."
She looked up, and my gaze followed hers. The sky was a little darker now.
"So what do we do?" I asked.
"We do nothing. I will do everything. And when I'm done, I will say things to you, and you will affirm them. A nod will do. Remember, say nothing."
I nodded.
She faced the sea and stretched her hands outwards. For a few moments, nothing happened, but then I saw.
Mist poured out of her hands, steady and slow. Soon, everywhere was covered in smoke.
And then she began to sing.
Her voice, soft and melodic, poured into the air like sunlight spilling over the horizon, gentle yet commanding. The ocean stilled at first, as if listening, each note weaving through the waves and calming their restless dance. The sea began to stir—not violently, but in awe, a response to a force greater than itself.
She raised her hands, and the waters rose with them, pulled upward as if they longed to touch the heavens. Columns of ocean ascended, shimmering like liquid crystal, trembling as if caught between reverence and rebellion. Her song swelled, fuller now, every note carrying a weight that pressed against the air and made it hum.
The ocean began to part. Slowly, with a groan that seemed to echo from the depths of eternity, the walls of water shifted, pulled back by the will in her voice. Each movement seemed an act of defiance against the natural order, yet it was beautiful—a union of chaos and command.
Her voice faltered for the briefest moment, her breath hitching, but she did not stop. She poured everything she had into her song, her melody raw and unrelenting. The ocean quaked, its depths rumbling as though protesting the strain, but the void between the parted waters began to reveal itself.
From that void, the earth began to rise.
It started as a whisper—dark, glistening soil bubbling up from the abyss. It grew, surging upward, solidifying into a mound that widened and stretched, defying the nothingness that had held it captive. The land took form, jagged and barren, trembling under the weight of its own creation.
But she didn't stop.
Her song shifted, softened, coaxing instead of commanding. The barren land began to transform. Tiny shoots broke through the soil, unfurling leaves that reached for the unseen sun. Trees rose slowly, their trunks twisting and stretching until they stood tall and proud. Grass spread in waves, blanketing the ground in green. Wildflowers erupted in bursts of color, their delicate petals swaying to the rhythm of her melody.
And then, life came.
Birdsong joined her hymn, tentative at first, then jubilant, as if the creatures were born knowing her tune. A breeze carried the scent of blossoms and salt, wrapping the island in a breath of vitality. The once-barren mound had become a living forest, vibrant and teeming with promise.
Finally, her song faded.
The silence that followed was heavy, sacred, as if the world itself paused to honor what had just been born. She lowered her hands, trembling, her breaths shallow and ragged. The forest stood before us, impossibly real, impossibly beautiful.
She turned to me, her eyes dim but determined.
The air in the mindscape was unnervingly still, the sea as tranquil as glass. The woman stood at the edge of the island she had crafted, her gaze fixed on the endless horizon. The man lingered behind her, silent, the weight of what was to come pressing on him like an invisible tide.
She stepped closer, raising her hands to hover near my temples. There was no physical touch here, only the suggestion of it in this ethereal space. Her lips parted, and she began.
"Your name is Lothario Waker," she said, her tone commanding, as though chiseling the words into the foundation of my being. "You are brave. You are quiet and observant. You act only when it is needed, and when you act, it is with precision and purpose."
Her voice echoed in the stillness, each word weighted and deliberate, sending ripples through the motionless sea.
"You value loyalty above all else. You protect those who cannot protect themselves. You endure, no matter the cost."
The sea began to stir. A faint shimmer rippled beneath its surface, as though something ancient and unseen was shifting deep below.
"You do not falter. You do not doubt. You carry the strength of the storm within you, but you wield it with care."
The horizon darkened, the blue-green waters deepening to a shadowy, foreboding hue.
"You are Lothario Waker," she repeated, her voice rising like a crescendo, filling the space with its resonance.
The final word rang out, and for a moment, the sea stilled once more.
Then I staggered, my chest tightening as if something unseen had gripped my heart and squeezed. A sharp, searing pain radiated through my torso, forcing me to gasp for air. I clutched at myself, my breath shallow and erratic.
And then it came—a migraine so fierce it drove me to my knees. The pressure in my skull was unbearable, as though the very essence of who I was had been rewritten.
I balanced myself as the pain subsided. I looked up and observed her.
My mother was pale now, her body trembling. I could see how much it cost her to keep standing.
"Is it done now?" I asked, in my head again.
She shook her head. "No. Not yet."
She pointed at the island she had created. "Go there. Into the water. To your new mask."
I staggered back; I didn't want to go back in there, ever again. I was scared of the deep. I couldn't swim. I didn't want to die.
She saw this and came to me, holding my hand.
"You must do this. To complete the masking."
"Come with me."
"I can't. You must do this on your own."
And so, with a great deal of hesitation, I went into the water.
I did the same thing my mother told me to do. Throw one arm over the other and use my legs to propel myself. And again, the current helped me.
I was halfway through when I heard a familiar voice from the depths. It was Mouk.
"Ya said ya wasn't going to say anything. I'm dead because of ya. Are ya sorry?"
I almost spoke but caught myself. I was sorry, and I wanted to tell him.
I remembered my mother's warning, so I kept swimming, or at least an imitation of it.
Then I heard Aidra's voice. "The scarf. I have it."
I paused.
Aidra spoke again. "I have the scarf. Do you want it?"
I answered, "Yes."