Despite the fact everything had gone according to plan, Martin decided not to be overconfident.

For starters, now that he could feel the boundary of his soul, he knew for a fact there was something outside. The tingling, static-like sensation of an uncountable number of microscopic collisions with it, constantly playing quietly at the edge of his mind wouldn’t let him forget it.

However, there was no guarantee whatever was out there was meant to belong in him.

‘If I could guarantee I’m not somewhere in the depths of space, and instead safely on my planet, I’d be slightly more confident in trying to breathe. As it is, though...’

Martin had learnt very quickly, and somewhat against his will, that, in his current state, he was more sensitive to thought than anything else.

If souls had been a product of intelligent design, surely the creator would have accounted for the fact someone, at some point, would try to breathe with their soul.

If souls had instead always existed, unless their number was constantly decreasing from various circumstances, leading the world to whatever crisis would result from the eventual complete disappearance of them, then they should still have been resistant to whatever might happen if they brought whatever matter or energy he was feeling into them.

Martin knew that was no more than wishful thinking, however. There were far too many factors that could change everything. His minimal knowledge about souls again limited his progress.

Despite that, he knew at some point he’d be forced to make a choice.

Either he’d spend days, weeks, months, possibly years peering through the window his soul’s equivalent of a sense of touch brought, eventually creating an entirely new sense that would let him somehow ‘see’, or he’d open himself up to the outside and... he wasn’t sure what would happen exactly, but he knew something would.

It was the uncertainty that made the decision so difficult.

One choice was slow but guaranteed a result. The other choice was fast, but risked death.

There was a chance he’d die instantly. There was a chance he’d die slowly, forced to watch his soul be torn into pieces by either cosmic forces beyond his understanding, or the equivalent of soul dust.

Thinking in a different direction, he could become part of some variety of cosmic consciousness. It wouldn’t result in him dissipating into nothingness, but to him, becoming part of a collective would mean ceasing to be oneself. Meaning, death.

The problem was, he had no method to confirm how likely any of these was to happen. And this was by far a comprehensive list of the possibilities.

Secretly, Martin hoped opening the soul to the outside was another part of a soul’s ‘evolution’, like fusing it with his mind had been –although assuming such a process existed based on extrapolation was wildly unreliable.

If true, he would still face risk, but at the same time, the promised reward was so much greater; his desire to live lusted for his growth.

Immediately, Martin paused.

‘Something’s wrong’

From the moment he’d been thrust into this situation, even as no more than a scrap of consciousness, he’d tried to think through things logically. He tried to approach the situation methodically, slowly learning about his surroundings, testing any hypotheses he had, and never discarding any possibility.

The fact he’d come so close to death wasn’t because he was careless, but perhaps because he was being too cautious, which then started a process he wasn’t ready for.

His current attitude was nothing like it was meant to be. He wasn’t against making hasty decisions at times, but not when his life was at stake.

Thinking back, his entire mindset had been wrong. He’d been too greedy. Too narrow-minded.

If he was aware that he could replicate gestures, motions, and bodily processes as a soul, why had he specifically focussed on breathing?

‘I latched onto the first hope –not even that, the first idea- I had and didn’t deign to look back. I don’t know if it’s some instinct pushing me forward, or if it’s something related to my current state, but whatever it is, I don’t want it’

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Martin felt something deep within him stir. Something familiar. The foundation holding his mind and soul together began to tremble.

Things were progressing according to plan.

It was only moments ago he’d had felt his desire to live entice him to grow. However, before coming to any conclusions, he’d wanted to reason through other possible causes of the inconsistencies in his mindset and behaviour.

The entire reason he’d been suspicious was because of his own hastiness, after all.

This reaction proved him right.

Was destabilising the link between his mind and soul dangerous? Of course it was.

‘But being affected by an external force, even one of my own creation, is far worse. I was almost led to charge blindly into a potential death within no more than a few hours of it coming into existence. Who knows what would happen tomorrow? Days, hours, minutes; how much longer before I’d willingly kill myself without a second thought?’

Was he overreacting? Perhaps. But how could he have known?

Martin wished to be himself. He could not accept foreign manipulation.

He felt his mind tear once more, slowly unchaining itself from his soul.

But he was still conscious. He was incomparable to the previous time this had occurred; it would take significantly longer before he began to dissipate.

The consciousness brought with it the excruciating pain he’d been shielded from the last time, but he didn’t care.

As he was dying yet again, he felt no regrets. It wasn’t that he had none; he Martin knew he’d lived.

And to do that, he did all he could, and what he couldn’t last time: thought.

‘I don’t want to die. Therefore, I want to live.’

He felt his mind and soul slightly stabilise, the agonising pain receding to a tolerable level.

‘But I don’t want to live like this. If the choice is between dying now, knowing I was myself, or living on, slowly corrupted until I can’t tell if I’m truly myself or not... I’d rather die’

The feeling of his mind and soul being torn apart returned, now stronger than ever. It awoke a memory that Martin had seemingly forgotten until now; he heard the sound of his own flesh being torn apart moments before he was separated from his body.

But he knew he hadn’t heard that sound. He was becoming delirious.

But that wouldn’t stop him.

He’d resolved to die if he couldn’t succeed, but from the beginning, he’d still had one thing he wanted to try.

He smiled.

‘If I’m going to die, I’ll die on my own terms’

Again, the chains began to reform. After experiencing them forming, falling apart, and reforming more than once over a short period of time, instead of their existence as something that passively nourished him, one thing became clear: they were conscious.

It seemed obvious. After all, they were what had spoken to him, enticed him to grow stronger. But that was something he’d -perhaps not exactly- wished upon himself.

This was different. The chains were separate from himself, both a representation of his wish and an entity that guided him to it. One that had finally begun to understand him.

Feeling himself growing colder, Martin finally spoke.

‘I want to live.

I want to feel the sun on my face, the grass below my feet. I want to go on a moonlit walk on a beach. I want to invent something that’ll change the lives of billions. I want to eat my favourite foods. I want to live.

I imagine a life without obstacles. I fear countless things. Yet I’ve overcome both insurmountable odds and paralysing fears. I’ve tried hard, and harder, and harder still. Just like anyone else, I’ve lived. Because I want to live.

But there’s something more important than that. I want to make my own decisions. I want to be given a choice to hear, and a choice to listen. I want to live my own life. I want to enjoy the things I enjoy, and hate the things I hate. I know change is a part of life. I’ll gladly change, but I’ll never be changed. If I were to live anyone else’s life, they would have lived twice, and I would have never existed.

I don’t care if it’s arrogant. I don’t care if it’s stupid.

I want to live.

And I will’

With every word spoken, something changed. The more Martin spoke, the closer his mind and soul were taken to their former state. By the time he’d finished restating what he’d already said before, the link between mind and soul had even surpassed its former state.

As his agony faded to nought but a memory, he began the most important part of his speech.

At first, there was a delay, as if the chains refused his will. But soon, it began.

Rather than holding his mind and soul in place, the chains binding them instead began to pull.

Martin was too concentrated to perceive anything outside of his own thoughts, but even if he had been conscious, the intricacies would have eluded him.

The mind and soul, first independent of each other, later bridged together by an unseen force –the metaphorical chains binding them, named so only due to a lack of better terms- were, at last, truly becoming one.

The moment he finished his declaration, Martin’s mind and soul fully came together. He could tell, in this state, there was no longer any risk of them coming apart.

It was so seamless, in fact, that he questioned how they had ever been separate. Somehow, his current state felt entirely natural, his days in his physical body seeming like dream.

He knew it wasn’t the case, and his memory of his life was, in fact, perfect, but the feeling wouldn’t quite go away.

Accepting that existing as... whatever form of existence he was now, would have side effects, Martin smiled again.

‘It’s time to see what I can do’