Clare was dead.

There was little question of that. She’d felt the wooden splinter pierce her heart, the white-hot pain as it ripped into her, forcing her body into unmistakable silence.

It was the silence that got to her. No heart beats. No air whispering in her lungs. Her body was just, still.

And then it was gone altogether.

That part wasn’t so bad. She’d been pulled into the light, soothed by its warmth. The background noise of other souls as they all flowed to a mutual destination.

Something yanked her into the darkness.

It was like being killed all over again, the sharp pain, the unstoppable force—only wrong. There was no other way to describe it but wrong. She’d been yanked off the proper path, squeezed through places that did not fit an unclothed soul. Without a body, she could not parse the exact sensations; something like being very cold, or like being suffocated, or like someone crushing you from the inside out.

She was almost relieved when the journey ended, even as she felt manacles snapping into place around her. A caged soul.

A long time passed. Or, perhaps, a short time. Maybe it was no time at all, she wasn’t sure time existed there.

Then, a sudden, sharp pain. Someone Something was injected into her. Seeping into her like new blood in her imaginary veins.

[Good evening, Miss Hatt.]

It spoke, yet, it wasn’t something she heard. More like something she saw.

Good evening. Clare replied, What are you?

[I am a `&*))~ERROR**#_-! ]]

Mind-pain. She went to grasp her head, but she didn’t have one.

[My apologies. I am young.]

Why?

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

[‘Why’ what?]

Clare tried to calm herself. Why what indeed, she had so many whys at that moment. Why had she died like that—there had been no forewarning, just a sudden earthquake, a structural failure in the building—it seemed so meaningless, so… empty.

And why was she there, wherever she was? It was not where she was supposed to be. She was supposed to have stayed in the light. What had snatched her so roughly from the path, had stolen her next destination?

She nearly spiraled out of control, caught in a whirlwind of questions. It was too much altogether. Small. Stick to the small things. Consider the big things later.

Why did it hurt?

[That was my fault. ‘What I am’ is not a concept that translates easily. As an analogy, let’s say I am a spaceship. For your soul. Also, a parasite—no, a symbiote. I am very helpful! Your survival is my prime directive.]

This message came with a… some kind of mental warmth. The equivalent of a cheerful puppy wagging its tail.

Clare tried to swallow nervously, only to be jarred by emptiness when she couldn’t.

That—I… Why do I need a soul-spaceship?

[Because we’ll be entering the rift.]

A chill went through her. What kind of rift?

The mental tail-wagging stopped.

[That is not a translatable concept. It is big. It is in the fabric of existence. It is between the sub-minds. It is full of energy. So much energy.]

I don’t like the sound of that.

If she’d had a body, she would have been in a cold sweat.

[Oh, good.] The tail wagging returned, with a sense of relief this time, [I would have been concerned for your survival instincts otherwise. Our chance of survival is less than 0.00021%.]

Clare quietly swore. She was no good with statistics, but even she knew what a number that small meant:

We’re screwed.

[What an interesting analogy!]

She squirmed mentally. Her symbiote’s light-hearted attitude was in no way comforting.

[I do apologize.] It seemed to pick up on her discomfort somehow, [I would attempt to keep us from entering the rift altogether, but our chances of survival would be even lower. My creator is very smart. I do not know any of his weaknesses.]

Yeah… She drifted off, unnerved by her imminent demise. Wait—demise? Aren’t I already dead? Can I die again?

[Dead? Ah, are you referring to your lack of body?]

Yes.

[Oh. I assumed you were simply made that way. But if you are referring to our destruction, yes, it is very much possible. In fact, according to my creator’s logs, every other test subject has been completely destroyed, reduced to nothing more than soul matter floating in the rift’s powerful tides.]

Soul matter? As in, crushed up soul-dust?

[Yes.]

We’re going to be soul-dust.

[If I fail, then certainly.]

Even swear words failed to capture her panic, but she let out a string of them anyways. Ignored her symbiote’s interest in the new vocabulary. She was—they were—

It was worse than death. They were going to cease existing. Everything that made up her self shattered, melted down for parts.

[It’s going to be exciting, right? I can’t wait!]