A Question of Identity

The walk away from the shattered cathedral of memory was silent.

Not the tense silence of a fight unfinished, nor the hollow silence of people with nothing left to say. It was full. The kind of quiet that follows a realization you haven't yet spoken aloud. Every footfall across the fragmented dreamscape of the Liminal rang louder than it should have, as though even the world itself was waiting for Aouli to speak.

Kaero didn't press him.

The former scavenger, vagabond, cynic-turned-guide walked slightly ahead, his shoulders relaxed, his steps unhurried. He'd seen transformations before, though likely none quite like this. The terrain around them was shifting again—less chaotic, more cohesive. Buildings were still fractured, but the fragments floated closer to the ground. The colors stabilized. Even time had begun to settle.

Aouli walked slowly, clutching both seeds—one light, one dark—each nested in separate palms like twin hearts.

Each felt different.

The first, Sera's gift, was warm and gentle, like fertile soil before planting. The second, the Echo's, burned cold, as if packed with the memory of fire—useful only if understood. Together, they formed a balance that unsettled him.

Aouli broke the silence.

"Am I even real?"

Kaero paused, turned slightly. "That a trick question?"

"No," Aouli said. "It's just… I thought I knew. I thought I was someone—new, unique. But now…"

He looked at his hands.

"They say I'm a vessel. That I'm made of Gaia's memory. Her last breath. Her grief. Her hope. Her rage. They say I'm not a person—I'm a symbol. Something the planet made."

Kaero nodded slowly, then scratched the side of his beard. "Ah. You've reached the 'What am I, really?' phase. Took longer than I expected."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," Kaero said. He resumed walking, gesturing for Aouli to follow. "You ever read a book where the main character doesn't know who they are?"

"I… no. I was never—"

"Right, forgot. You were born glowing," Kaero said dryly. "Well, in those stories, the protagonist usually spends the first half chasing their 'true origin.' Parents, destiny, prophecy, blah blah. And eventually, they realize that none of it matters. Because they're still them. Not the sum of the clues. Just… who they are now."

He glanced over his shoulder. "Why would it be different for you?"

Aouli frowned. "Because I'm not made of normal stuff."

"You think I am?" Kaero scoffed. "You think anyone who's still standing in a place like this is 'normal'? No one is. Not anymore."

Aouli slowed.

"But I feel her all the time. Gaia. She's in my thoughts. My emotions. Every time I react, every time I feel, I wonder—was that me or her?"

Kaero stopped again.

He turned, fully this time. His expression was serious, not mocking.

"Alright," he said. "You want an answer? You want to know what you are?"

Aouli nodded, tense.

"You're a compost pile," Kaero said.

Aouli blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. A compost pile. A living heap of decayed things—memories, hopes, grief, maybe a few seeds. And if you let yourself just be that, sure, maybe you'll stink and rot and go nowhere."

Kaero stepped closer.

"But if you grow something out of it—if you use it to make something new—then you're not a symbol. You're a gardener."

Aouli stared at him.

Kaero shrugged. "We're all made of what came before. You just remember yours more clearly."

For a moment, Aouli didn't know what to say.

Then, softly: "That's not comforting."

"Not supposed to be."

They walked again. This time, slower. More thoughtful.

As they passed through a corridor of collapsed arches—half stone, half metal—Aouli looked to the sky. It was full of static light, like starlight seen through a dream.

"I didn't ask to be this," he said.

Kaero grunted. "Nobody asks to be anything. You just wake up one day and realize you are. And then the only real choice you've got is—what now?"

"I don't know."

"Then start there."

Aouli felt the seeds in his hands again. Not just gifts. Not burdens. Components. Like ingredients he didn't yet know how to use.

"Do you ever wonder," he said quietly, "what we could've been, if none of this happened?"

Kaero stopped walking.

He looked out over the Liminal—at the fragments of dead worlds and broken memories, now glowing gently in the strange, muted twilight.

"No," he said. "Because wondering about that won't grow anything."

Aouli nodded slowly.

But he did wonder. Just once more.

What would it have been like… to walk under trees that didn't scream?