I.
He was born.
Eyes opened, red eyes. He blinked. And blinked again.
He breathed. Existed. Lived.
Rebirth.
There was something above him. He distantly knew that it was called "brick," though he couldn't be sure. It stretched along the hallways, out into the distance, ending in the dark. Torches lit it along the way.
The ceiling, also made of brick, continued downwards, along sharp corners. It extended to the floor. A brick floor. Everything around him was a tunnel. A tunnel made of brick. And it was dark.
There were doors. Metal doors. All of them shut, in even intervals along whatever he was in.
He believed it was called a hallway, upon further review.
Awareness. He was aware. This was good.
He sat-up, ran a hand through his hair, brushing himself off. He inspected his hand. Dark skin, with three, gold rings. Two on his fingers, two on his thumb. On his wrist was a cuff. On his opposite wrist was a strange, fan-like device. He looked down further and discovered that he had a torso. A torso wearing a cream tunic of some kind, a blue layer over a kilt on his legs.
His legs were the same color as his hands. His face must have been, too—and yes, he had a face. And ears. And hair.
Arm cuffs. A collar, a choker. Two arms, two legs. A face. A body. He was aware.
This was good.
He did not know what this place was, he discovered, soon after that. He did not know how far it should be, or what lay beyond the doors. He did not know anything that was outside of this place, or anything that was outside of the last few minutes of his life. He found this out while he explored the floor with his hands, felt the cold tile and the slick mold. But it existed.
He too, existed, then. He must exist, because he was aware. He was apart from this place, and that meant that they both existed. There was him, and there was here. That meant, by logical extension, that he was also someone who has things to do here, and that meant he was also a being, which gave him existence. Two for one. He was definitely real.
This was his place, then, he decided. If he was here, then this was where he should be. He would discover what this place was.
He stood up, his purple cape trailing behind him. This was him, and he was here. He would discover soon-enough.
II.
He explored.
There was a lot more to this place than he first assumed, he discovered. Doors led to more doors, staircases that stretched impossibly in all directions. He walked, and walked alone, across hallways and stairs, in endless spirals and chambers that had fire and steel, things he knew but didn't know at the same time.
Some rooms had writing—strange, because he didn't know that he could read, but he could, so he supposed that was alright. His hand brushed along the text. Dust fell from the walls, in a thick layer at his feet.
Something you can show, but you can't see.
It can be seen but you haven't seen it.
Riddles, he thought. Something nice swelled within him as the thought passed his mind, and then he smiled. He liked riddles? Yes. Yes he did. He liked riddles.
He liked things.
Interesting.
He wasn't sure what the two riddles meant, but he was glad that they were here. They would give him something to do while he explored.
There was just so much to explore here, though! It was a game, he decided, and he felt another jolt of happiness at the idea. A game. Yes, he liked those, too.
He was learning so much about himself today!
He knew that he liked games, that he liked to explore, that he could read, and that he liked riddles.
He didn't know anything else about himself, though, besides what he discovered upon birth. He had two arms, two legs, two eyes, two ears, and everything else that came with it, as far as he knew. It felt normal to him.
He couldn't be sure that it was—he didn't know what he was, after all, only that he existed and that there was this place—but he knew that he was here, and that he liked games, and all those other things that he knew.
He still had a lot more to do, though, and he smiled at the fact that he had three tasks ahead of him. Find out who he was, find out what this place was, and solve these riddles.
He shut the door and continued on, through the maze.
He was full of hope.
III.
He missed the sun.
He wasn't sure what spurred the thought, but it was there. An unwelcome intrusion. They happened, sometimes. An absent sorrow when he discovered those strange tablets with creatures on them that he didn't recognize.
Tears had spilled down his face when he touched two of them. He didn't know why.
He didn't know anything.
What was the sun?
He knew, vaguely, that something must exist beyond this place, for there could be no place without something outside it, logically. For this place to exist, there must be something else to define it. Everything was defined by opposition, so there must be something beyond here.
Besides, who else would make all these doors?
It was another passing thought, and it made him pause. Who else?
Yes. Who?
If there was him, then there must be others, too. Others that existed beyond him. Others. Others, and they had the sun with them.
He didn't know what that was. But he knew that he wanted it. He wanted to be outside. He wanted to be out of this place, with them. With others.
He jogged, down the hallway. Right into an endless pit he barely managed to pull himself out of.
IIII.
He was starting to get frustrated.
He talked, often. To himself. To whatever self that he had.
He vented his frustration to the walls. He kicked them sometimes.
"I want out!"
He didn't know anything beyond these walls. He didn't know anything beyond himself. He didn't even know himself!
One door lead to another, and then another, and then another. Frustration built inside of him. Endless frustration, as endless as these walls and these walls and these walls!
There were so many goddamn walls!
He knew that things were beyond it, and he knew that there were others, and he knew that he didn't belong here. He knew that as much as he knew anything, and he might not know anything, but he knew that he didn't belong here!
It can be seen, but you haven't seen it.
He laughed at himself when the answer came to him, but it was a laugh full of frustration, as much as hopelessness.
"An exit."
He sank to the floor and put his face in his hands.
His hands had started to fade. They were grey, now, as was the rest of him. He no longer wore gold. He no longer wore a cape, or a crown. He was a washed-out photograph, hollowed with time.
He was alone.
"I wish there were others here."
IV.
He didn't like the others that were here.
He didn't know when the voices started, or why. Some, mad part of him blamed himself for his wish. As if something had granted it in the wrong way.
But they came.
Those intrusive thoughts that weren't his, that made him fall against the floor. That tripped him and trapped him. Crawling voices. Hands that reached through the floor after him. Hands that made him run and scream. Hands that he woke with in his eyes and in his ears and in his mind and in his soul.
They followed after him.
There were a hundred of them—there must have been. Maybe. He couldn't have been sure. He never had the time to count them when they appeared.
They pierced him. Pierced his soul. Ripped it until he had to pick up golden puzzle pieces again every time, put them back together again.
They always followed him.
They were always in his shadow.
He learned to shiver on the floor, holding his soul while he tried to push them away.
They always got to him.
V.
Static.
It was the only way that he could make them go away.
A thick, white static that blanketed his mind. He learned to use it when they invaded his soul. He disappeared. Deeper and deeper. Deeper into himself until he was on the walls. Until the grey had gone black and he could shrink, shrink until they would leave him alone.
Shrink further. Smaller.
Smaller.
He lay against the walls. He could crawl on them, now. A Shadow Ghoul, some mad part of him thought, and he heard them again, loud and piercing in his mind.
Rage. Rage.
Angry, they were angry at him for thinking of it. Thinking of him.
He quieted them.
He thought of nothing.
Static settled over him again. And he was nothing. Nothing in this place but a shadow.
Smaller.
VI.
Darkness.
He dripped with it.
It was inside him. Inside his soul. It was him.
A shadow made of it. Without being. Without thought. He could crawl inside anything now, he knew. He could live this way. Inside of him. He could crawl inside of his soul and make it his home. He could take all of his memories and his name. He could live.
He could live here.
Comfortable.
He could become him.
He was pleased.
He would be born soon, again. And he would be free.
He would live in a boy who solved his Puzzle and he would take his shadow. Replace him. Replace him. Crawl inside of him and take his name.
He just needed to be free.
VII.
...
I-
No. Me.
Okay.
...
VIII.
Dark.
"..."
I am.
Dark.
I am the Dark One.
VIIII.
...
...
...
X.
"I wish for friends."
He was born.
A/N:
I was in the middle of writing the next chapter of Exchange, and then I kind of remembered Atem had no concept of life before the labyrinth while he was in the Puzzle, so this kind of happened.
Review if you like, I suppose.