The Chase

Wes floated through the void. He stretched, the motion more instinct than necessity, and it felt… good. He was sore, and somehow, that was a comfort. Feeling anything at all in this nothingness was a win. He'd learned to feel feelings—a strange accomplishment when he couldn't control anything outside his own soul.

He was very bored.

Floating in the nothingness was, well, nothing. The kind of nothing that made you question if you even existed. It was strange. The void wasn't cold or warm. It wasn't dark or light. It was just… there. And so was he.

Over what felt like an eternity—or maybe just a blink—he had learned to control his soul. His own essence moved at his will, but beyond that? Not a damn thing. He was a boat adrift with no oars, no wind, no current.

Until he saw it.

A light.

Just a speck, barely a pinprick, way off in the distance. So far away it could've been a trick of his imagination—except imagination required a backdrop, and there was nothing here for his mind to work with.

The light remained, persistent.

He waited.

And waited.

Time had no meaning, but the speck grew. The change was so slow that he almost thought it was just his mind playing games again. But no—definitely bigger now. From a distant star to a bead of light. Still impossibly far, but coming closer.

"What the hell?" Wes thought.

You didn't really move in the void. At least, not as far as he knew. All he had ever done was spin, and even that took effort.

The light grew, a sphere now, maybe the size of his head. Still so far off that it seemed more a promise than a reality.

Wes narrowed his focus. "Is it moving… toward me?"

He tried to move, but all that happened was the familiar slow tumble, end over end. The void had no up or down, no sense of direction. Just him and this stubborn ball of light slowly approaching.

He clenched his metaphorical fists. "Okay. Think."

He had been physically trying to move. But here, in this strange in-between, physicality was just a suggestion. A memory, not a reality.

What if… the same way he had learned to feel, to stretch, to enjoy that little relief from the soreness… he could move?

Wes closed his eyes—or at least, he thought he did. He willed his soul to shift, not with muscles or limbs but with intent.

And then—

He moved.

Wes floated, surrounded by the endless void. He willed himself forward, and his soul moved—slowly at first, a gentle drift. The glowing sphere, still a distant dot, seemed to inch closer, but only just. It was like watching the moon rise, slow and deliberate, until you blinked and suddenly it was there.

He pushed harder, and his movement became more defined. His soul stretched forward, the sensation like leaning into a strong wind. He didn't know how long he'd been moving—time meant nothing here—but the sphere was larger now, the size of a fist, and it was still coming straight for him.

"Okay, time to speed up," Wes thought.

He tried to swim, his soul mimicking the motions of his long-forgotten body, but all he managed was a slow spin, his essence tumbling end over end. The sphere grew, now as large as his head, and it was picking up speed.

"Shit."

He twisted, willing himself to move, to really move. His soul responded, jerking forward, a sudden lurch that nearly threw him off balance—not that balance existed here. He kept at it, his will pulling his soul forward, faster with every push. The void around him remained unchanged, a constant, formless black, but the sphere was no longer a speck. It was a small sun, white and bright, burning through the darkness.

Then, it lunged.

The sphere shot forward, a straight line of light aimed directly at him. Wes threw himself sideways, his soul bending in a sharp arc, and the sphere whipped past him, trailing a thread of light.

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be?"

It spun, a quick turn, and rushed at him again. Wes pulled back, his soul folding into itself, and he dropped beneath it. The sphere missed him by inches—if inches were a thing here—and flared with a sudden, hot light.

Wes didn't wait. He willed his soul forward, and this time he moved fast. His essence stretched, a streak of pale silver against the black, and the sphere gave chase.

It was a game now—a deadly, silent game of tag in the void.

The sphere lunged, Wes dodged. It spiraled, and he twisted away, his movements becoming more fluid, more instinctive. He darted left, then shot up, his soul bending into a tight loop, and the sphere mirrored him, always just a step behind.

He learned quickly.

Instead of trying to move like he had a body, he leaned into the strange rules of the void. He thought of being fast, and he was. He willed himself to turn, and he spun in a sharp, perfect roll. He didn't need momentum—just intention.

The sphere came at him again, its light burning brighter, and Wes shot forward, his soul a silver bullet. He wove through the darkness, his path a zigzag of quick turns and sharp dives. The sphere followed, relentless, a comet chasing its own tail.

He sped up.

Faster.

Faster still.

The void seemed to stretch around him, the blackness blurring into a tunnel of nothingness. The sphere was right on him, close enough that he could feel its heat, an invisible brush against his essence. He shot upward, then ducked into a hard right, his soul bending into the turn, and the sphere overshot, its light splintering into thin rays.

Wes grinned—well, he thought he did. It was hard to tell when you didn't have a face.

He pulled a sharp turn, doubling back, and the sphere swung around, the chase renewing. It was fast, faster than anything he'd ever seen, but Wes was learning. He dipped, dodged, weaved through the dark, his soul a blur of motion.

The sphere adapted, its path curving, but Wes had found his rhythm. He wasn't just running—he was playing. He let it get close, then veered off, twisting into tight spirals, the sphere a second too slow. He shot upward, then dropped, pulling into a tight loop, and the sphere whipped around, struggling to keep up.

And then, with a final push, Wes willed himself to move—really move.

His soul exploded forward, speed like a rocket, and the void screamed past him, the sphere left behind. He felt the rush, the thrill of the chase reversed, and when he finally slowed, he turned to see the sphere still trying to catch up, a star lost in the night.

Wes laughed—a soundless, weightless joy.

"Not so fast now, are you?"

The sphere pulsed, a light that seemed to narrow, and then it shot forward, faster than before.

"Uh-oh."

And the chase began anew.

Wes continued to move away.

Dodge, duck, dip, dive, dodge.

The mantra popped into his mind, a line from a funny dodgeball movie he'd watched at his grandmother's house. She hadn't been nearly as strict about movies as his parents had been.

He chuckled.

"If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a… whatever the hell that is."

He spun, his soul bending around the incoming sphere. It shot past him, a comet of light, and Wes twisted away, the motion smooth and quick.

The sphere looped back, and he dipped down, pulling himself into a tight roll. It came at him again, and he slipped to the side, his soul curling around the nothingness, his essence a streak of pale light in the void.

The chase continued, and as he moved, Wes found himself grinning. He could almost hear the laughing man's voice, that eccentric, good-natured chuckle that had haunted him since he got here.

"Stupid old man," Wes muttered. "You really should have explained more."

But the funny thing was…

Sometimes, when he dodged the sphere, he swore he could actually hear that laugh.

Not in his mind.

In the void.

The sound echoed, soft and distant, like a memory of a memory.

"No way," he thought. "It's just my imagination."

And yet—

As the sphere chased him, as he spun and twisted, ducked and dodged, the laughter came back. Faint. Intermittent. As if the man were watching, finding some cosmic amusement in Wes's struggles.

"Great," Wes thought. "I'm being haunted by a comedian."

He sighed, his soul slowing for a moment.

And then—

A sharp, piercing pain tore through his chest.

He couldn't move.

His soul, which had just moments before been darting and dancing, now felt anchored, pinned in place by an invisible force.

"What the—?"

He looked inward, his awareness sinking into himself.

The seed.

It had been shoved into his chest, a tiny, dark thing. He had seen it before, but it had been dormant then. Now, roots spread from it, thin tendrils snaking through his soul, threading into every part of him.

The roots pulled, and he felt himself being sucked inward, drawn into the seed's dark core.

And then, a tear in the void.

A crack of pink light split the darkness, spilling mana into the nothingness. The light was soft, almost warm, but its presence in the void felt wrong, like a splash of color on a blank canvas.

"Wait… is that… the halfling's mana?"

The woman who had been with the laughing man?

The mana seeped through, but this wasn't just any mana—this was a mana law, its depth immeasurable. Wes tried to understand it, but the weight of it pressed down on him, too much for his soul to grasp.

Two masses of mana floated before him, distinct and powerful.

One touched the sphere.

The other hit Wes.

His soul trembled, the force of the mana sinking deep, a warmth that turned to fire as it reached his core. His very essence strained, his soul stretching, cracking under the pressure.

The ideal was too much.

He felt himself slipping, his awareness dimming, but he held on, clinging to consciousness with every shred of will he had left.

Then the sphere moved.

It drifted to him, slow and deliberate, and when it touched him, it didn't stop. It pressed into his chest, sinking through his essence, merging with the seed at his core.

The roots of the seed, already infesting his soul, went wild.

They surged, wrapping tighter, pulling him inward. The void around him seemed to twist, the blackness bending as the seed began to consume him.

"Shit," Wes thought. "This is it."

He considered resisting.

He could fight. Maybe he could hold on, keep himself from being swallowed by the seed.

But then he remembered.

This was supposed to be another life.

A new start.

"Fuck it."

He let go.

The roots pulled him under, his soul unraveling, drawn into the seed's dark embrace. His awareness shrank, the void folding in on itself, and then—

The seed shot forward.

It moved faster than light, a bolt of dark energy cutting through the void, slipping through the cracks of reality.

Wes felt it, the speed, the rush.

And then—

The seed vanished, tearing into another realm, disappearing from sight.

The void was empty once more.