Chapter 12
In the void, there were no illusions. No mirages.
Only pure, unadultered experiance; images, actions, trapped within their black marble casing, responding to the touch of their owners. They played out, in linear time, crystal moments of the past hanging suspended in their pool of dark oil, until fingers brushed the surface and the drops began to chase eachother, living the moment, freeing the memory.
A small boy watched as the sunlight pooled onto the shining surface of an immense floor.
Specks of sand from footsteps taken outside glinted, golden.
Gold was everywhere.
There were no shadows here; they didn't dare intrude upon the honey- warm light that streamed through the pillars and splashed itself into a dazzling display of color upon the ground.
Shadows played only on the boy's face; he looked tired, but happy.
Yami couldn't see the boy's face.
The shadows kept getting in the way.
The golden scene, with its shining pillars and warmth and light pouring in from everywhere, seemed all at once to fold itself up and disappear silently into the darkness, like a piece of intricate origami gone horribly wrong. It went slowly, so as to prolong the sudden desperate fear that Yami would never see it again, and such was the feeling he had when the whole structure simply collapsed back into his own mind.
Yami held the globe, his fingertips lightly poised over the bladed markings. The whole thing had lasted less than three seconds.
"Will I ever see it again?" he asked, trembling, and he knew this was a stupid question, but the irrational feeling that he would never again be able to look upon that breathtakingly beautiful palace and the strangely familiar boy had overidden his extremes of logic.
There was no reply. Yami looked around, feeling the heaviness of the globe on his lap. Would his dark alter ego have had time to run off before the brief moment it had taken Yami to view the memory? No. That would have been impossible...
Yami no Ni Koe was on his knees, behind Yami. He was crouched over, and was clenching his head with both hands.
Yami watched him. Was this another trick?
Yami Ni looked up, saw that Yami was no longer reading the memory, and moved. Quick as lightning, the shadowy globe was in his hands. Yami Ni stood up, eyeing it, and breathing heavily.
Stunned at the sheer speed of Yami Ni's movements, and concluding that he must be more tired than he had thought, Yami got up abruptly. "I demand that you return that to me!!" he shouted, and made a grab for it. Yami Ni held it out of his reach. "You cannot have it back," he panted; Yami noticed that he really seemed to be in pain, and the hand holding the globe was far from steady. Yami was afraid he would drop it. "Give it back, Ni Koe!"
Yami Ni's agony didn't seem to have affected his facial skills; he smiled, viciously. "You don't need this. It is irrelevant to the task of re-combining our Souls." "Why?!" Yami cried, tortured by the thought of losing that golden memory. His hands were clenched at his sides, and his eyes were fixed, almost pleadingly, on the black sphere. Yami Ni steadied himself.
"I... I cannot give it to you-" Yami's eyes blazed. "But why?! I have every right to reclaim what is mine!" he shouted, his gaze dropping from Yami Ni's outstretched hand to Yami Ni's eyes. So identical to his own. Yami thought he saw the answer there, and he faltered, for perhaps that first time in his life.
Yami Ni slowly began backing away. Yami stepped forward, but Yami Ni's burdened hand shook and he fell back.
"...Why?" asked Yami again, like a heartbroken child. He looked, once more, at the globe.
Yami Ni dropped the memory. It fell and shattered onto the floor, a thousand pinpricks of obsidian shards spinning across the dusty stones of Yami's mind. The larger chunks lay, there, glittering.
"We do not need it," said Yami no Ni Koe, firmly. Yami would almost have preferred him to have said it in a more threatened tone of voice, which would have given the broken globe more value. For if it had really put Yami Ni in pain, wouldn't it have been worth at least a potential danger? But Yami Ni had said it was useless. Yami didn't want to believe him.
As his doppleganger abruptly left the room, Yami dropped to his knees in front of the shattered remains of the memory. He reached into the pile of what looked like broken marble and extracted a fair-sized chunk, which felt heavy and cool in his hand. It reflected his face just as clearly as the original had, when he tilted it at the right angle.
But its deep, black surface gave him no consolation, now that it lay in pieces on the floor. There was no trace of gold or light in between any of the cracked, marble-like shards, no matter how long or hard he searched for them.
Yami stared at the memory, the rubble strewn over his soul. It wasn't fair. It was his. It had been his, if only for those precious few seconds. And now the memory was fading from his mind, leaking from the broken sphere, and the most he could recall were the two objects that had been most prominent in the image; a boy, and a palace of light. Nothing more. He could not remember what either of them looked like, however hard he tried. Even the exact hue of the golden glow that he had percieved so much of while reading the memory was fast dimming.
Yami raised his hand and thrust it deep into the pile, pushing his palm against the sharpened edges of the black shards. Obsidian dust ground into his skin; smears of red anger marred the glassy, once-smooth surface of the broken memory.
He stayed that way for a few minutes, taking deep breaths, his head resting on his knees and his hand still forced in among the memory's remains.
Although his hand couldn't actually be injured in the Soul Room, the results of his actions would soon begin to affect the other parts of his body, and he would end up feeling sick or exhausted. He removed his hand from the pile, which glittered at him, coldly, and sat back on his heels.
Numb, he idly walked his fingers over to the fist-sized shard that he had discarded before plunging his hand into the memory's remains. He picked it up again, ignoring the tension that was dripping from his hand onto the floor. It was elongated, and sharp; Yami was lucky that this particular piece had not been in the pile during his little act of frusteration. His fingers traced the uneven contours where it had broken off the main globe.
Greater than the sum of the whole... These shards, when put together in the right way, would once more play that golden image, that happy child. So if he and Yami Ni were a whole again, as he said, would that not unlock more of these memories? He would be complete. An unbroken Soul. He fingered the shard, thoughtfully.
Maybe if he did what Yami no Ni Koe wanted, he would keep the rest of his memories intact. After all, they were his memories too... Or so he says, Yami reminded himself. He still didn't understand why Yami Ni had been so vehement about destroying this particular memory; at first he had seemed as eager as Yami to view it, but then something had happened... Whatever it was, Yami wasn't ready to forgive his alter ego in a hurry.
He put the shard in his pocket, where it lay like an ungaurded piece of his soul.
I can have answers... Or I can have my past.
It was his choice.
At least, that's what he would have liked to believe.
In the void, there were no illusions. No mirages.
Only pure, unadultered experiance; images, actions, trapped within their black marble casing, responding to the touch of their owners. They played out, in linear time, crystal moments of the past hanging suspended in their pool of dark oil, until fingers brushed the surface and the drops began to chase eachother, living the moment, freeing the memory.
A small boy watched as the sunlight pooled onto the shining surface of an immense floor.
Specks of sand from footsteps taken outside glinted, golden.
Gold was everywhere.
There were no shadows here; they didn't dare intrude upon the honey- warm light that streamed through the pillars and splashed itself into a dazzling display of color upon the ground.
Shadows played only on the boy's face; he looked tired, but happy.
Yami couldn't see the boy's face.
The shadows kept getting in the way.
The golden scene, with its shining pillars and warmth and light pouring in from everywhere, seemed all at once to fold itself up and disappear silently into the darkness, like a piece of intricate origami gone horribly wrong. It went slowly, so as to prolong the sudden desperate fear that Yami would never see it again, and such was the feeling he had when the whole structure simply collapsed back into his own mind.
Yami held the globe, his fingertips lightly poised over the bladed markings. The whole thing had lasted less than three seconds.
"Will I ever see it again?" he asked, trembling, and he knew this was a stupid question, but the irrational feeling that he would never again be able to look upon that breathtakingly beautiful palace and the strangely familiar boy had overidden his extremes of logic.
There was no reply. Yami looked around, feeling the heaviness of the globe on his lap. Would his dark alter ego have had time to run off before the brief moment it had taken Yami to view the memory? No. That would have been impossible...
Yami no Ni Koe was on his knees, behind Yami. He was crouched over, and was clenching his head with both hands.
Yami watched him. Was this another trick?
Yami Ni looked up, saw that Yami was no longer reading the memory, and moved. Quick as lightning, the shadowy globe was in his hands. Yami Ni stood up, eyeing it, and breathing heavily.
Stunned at the sheer speed of Yami Ni's movements, and concluding that he must be more tired than he had thought, Yami got up abruptly. "I demand that you return that to me!!" he shouted, and made a grab for it. Yami Ni held it out of his reach. "You cannot have it back," he panted; Yami noticed that he really seemed to be in pain, and the hand holding the globe was far from steady. Yami was afraid he would drop it. "Give it back, Ni Koe!"
Yami Ni's agony didn't seem to have affected his facial skills; he smiled, viciously. "You don't need this. It is irrelevant to the task of re-combining our Souls." "Why?!" Yami cried, tortured by the thought of losing that golden memory. His hands were clenched at his sides, and his eyes were fixed, almost pleadingly, on the black sphere. Yami Ni steadied himself.
"I... I cannot give it to you-" Yami's eyes blazed. "But why?! I have every right to reclaim what is mine!" he shouted, his gaze dropping from Yami Ni's outstretched hand to Yami Ni's eyes. So identical to his own. Yami thought he saw the answer there, and he faltered, for perhaps that first time in his life.
Yami Ni slowly began backing away. Yami stepped forward, but Yami Ni's burdened hand shook and he fell back.
"...Why?" asked Yami again, like a heartbroken child. He looked, once more, at the globe.
Yami Ni dropped the memory. It fell and shattered onto the floor, a thousand pinpricks of obsidian shards spinning across the dusty stones of Yami's mind. The larger chunks lay, there, glittering.
"We do not need it," said Yami no Ni Koe, firmly. Yami would almost have preferred him to have said it in a more threatened tone of voice, which would have given the broken globe more value. For if it had really put Yami Ni in pain, wouldn't it have been worth at least a potential danger? But Yami Ni had said it was useless. Yami didn't want to believe him.
As his doppleganger abruptly left the room, Yami dropped to his knees in front of the shattered remains of the memory. He reached into the pile of what looked like broken marble and extracted a fair-sized chunk, which felt heavy and cool in his hand. It reflected his face just as clearly as the original had, when he tilted it at the right angle.
But its deep, black surface gave him no consolation, now that it lay in pieces on the floor. There was no trace of gold or light in between any of the cracked, marble-like shards, no matter how long or hard he searched for them.
Yami stared at the memory, the rubble strewn over his soul. It wasn't fair. It was his. It had been his, if only for those precious few seconds. And now the memory was fading from his mind, leaking from the broken sphere, and the most he could recall were the two objects that had been most prominent in the image; a boy, and a palace of light. Nothing more. He could not remember what either of them looked like, however hard he tried. Even the exact hue of the golden glow that he had percieved so much of while reading the memory was fast dimming.
Yami raised his hand and thrust it deep into the pile, pushing his palm against the sharpened edges of the black shards. Obsidian dust ground into his skin; smears of red anger marred the glassy, once-smooth surface of the broken memory.
He stayed that way for a few minutes, taking deep breaths, his head resting on his knees and his hand still forced in among the memory's remains.
Although his hand couldn't actually be injured in the Soul Room, the results of his actions would soon begin to affect the other parts of his body, and he would end up feeling sick or exhausted. He removed his hand from the pile, which glittered at him, coldly, and sat back on his heels.
Numb, he idly walked his fingers over to the fist-sized shard that he had discarded before plunging his hand into the memory's remains. He picked it up again, ignoring the tension that was dripping from his hand onto the floor. It was elongated, and sharp; Yami was lucky that this particular piece had not been in the pile during his little act of frusteration. His fingers traced the uneven contours where it had broken off the main globe.
Greater than the sum of the whole... These shards, when put together in the right way, would once more play that golden image, that happy child. So if he and Yami Ni were a whole again, as he said, would that not unlock more of these memories? He would be complete. An unbroken Soul. He fingered the shard, thoughtfully.
Maybe if he did what Yami no Ni Koe wanted, he would keep the rest of his memories intact. After all, they were his memories too... Or so he says, Yami reminded himself. He still didn't understand why Yami Ni had been so vehement about destroying this particular memory; at first he had seemed as eager as Yami to view it, but then something had happened... Whatever it was, Yami wasn't ready to forgive his alter ego in a hurry.
He put the shard in his pocket, where it lay like an ungaurded piece of his soul.
I can have answers... Or I can have my past.
It was his choice.
At least, that's what he would have liked to believe.