Reflective boundary

And his home was gone.

But with those feelings, a fake acceptance came washing over him. Such mundane emotions were meant for mortals, and to be worn on their ugly faces.

Yet they were not ugly at all—all were beautiful to him—but the expressions they had once worn were quite hideous.

His body continued to descend. But the deeper he fell, the less he saw—and the stronger the pull felt.

It must be the boundary — the final force, the end of all descent, the thing nothing can go beyond, the force nothing can pass.

And if it truly was the Boundary, he knew that it was the furthest he could reach.

If he met it—he did not know what would happen. Though divine, his basic knowledge was useless.

Only knowing beyond the boundary dwelled profane entities.

A rumor he had heard, spoken on the 3rd floor of Heaven. It was unlikely to be a lie, since if it was, that being would be a target of eternal judgment.

Even so, escape remained impossible. He could not rise through Nothingness, since he could not fly.

Thus, only time would tell his fate. There was no point in guessing or wishing.

It was a foolish desire—to think about the future was to forget uncertainty. Since when he had wanted something, it felt as if it was always delayed, time erasing its memory.

Oren, though, had already been forgotten. And if he died… he did not know what would happen.

He had committed sins—but he was divine. Neither seeking sins nor virtues.

Yet in his mind, neutrality dwelled. Though divine, it was as if his mind had been corrupted by the mortals that had once surrounded him.

But in this existence... nothing is truly faithful to the divine path.

His eyes crossed the expanse of the abyss, wonder lingering in his gaze—a silent question searching the endless void. Not a fear of death, but of what comes after.

Oren did not know what awaited him. Whether his past or his present, he knew nothing good ever happened.

Will the death I longed for come, or will perseverance bless my soul with new life?

A vibration spread through him, tensing his body.

A sudden cold weight pressed against him—watchful yet silent—but he dismissed the ominous feeling, refusing to let it bother him.

Looking down, he saw it—the reflective boundary—and it seemed he was closer than he thought.

It stretched out, extending across the blank expanse, unmoved. Frozen in place, filling the void.

On it, he saw many reflections—mostly grey whirlpools, with golden threads shining and filling the remainder.

These reflections filled the mirror-like boundary. Yet he... was nowhere to be found.

It was as if he were invisible. Some say having no reflection means you have no heart—and he liked to believe he did have one.

Estranged from the true self, lost from divinity.

But truthfully, he did not know. His body had felt empty for a long time.

He was not being a downer—it was just the truth.

In the mirage of thoughts, his mind retraced back to his previous questions.

Just how long had he been falling?

He had been falling for a while. How long exactly, he could only estimate.

It has been around 3 vorths since my descent.

He knew this since he knew the date of today, yesterday, and tomorrow.

How he knows, though, is due to the basic knowledge all divinity are born with.

Mortals, unlike divinity, forget the gifts once granted by their creators. Lost in endless evolution, their minds fail to truly grow—drifting further from the divine will and measuring time only by arbitrary units: years, months, minutes.

But I am no mortal.

How could a greater being such as a deity trust those arbitrary measures?

The only unit a being beyond the mundane realm could truly agree on was the day.

But honestly, his measures were just speculation, more than the honest truth.

Seconds felt like years. Years slipped past in an instant.

Here, time had a rhythm that defied all divine understanding.

Oren's eyes darkened slightly, his face representing true disgust, as he realized—a whispering thought repeated itself slowly:

3 vorths... 318 years...

He had been asleep for a very long time.

And he had woken up—so he had not achieved his wanted eternal rest.

He had committed a sin.

"How slothful."

Each word dripped with venom and disgust.

The thought of him unknowingly—yet willingly—committing a sin was quite difficult to digest.

But if he did not accept it, his face would continue to show this hideous expression, and his mind would refuse to relax.

So he accepted that he had sinned. And once he did, his body relaxed—his face becoming youthful again.

The weight of guilt loosened—but not entirely. A quiet yearning still echoed beneath the silence.

Still, his slumber—it was not a reason deserving of that sin of sloth.

After all, all he had ever wanted was eternal rest. It was his only wish.

He looked up, feeling like an ominous being was hiding—watching him.

Looking around the endless expanse, all was the same. His gaze raised, latching onto many of the realms, but nothing seemed off.

The higher his gaze reached, the more realms he saw. The grey whirlpools shifting, warping.

He even saw the birth of many realms. But with their birth... realms died.

From the unthinkable amount of realms to the many that were being born at this moment, they did not cause deaths willingly. Nor did they cause them at all.

It was just common sense.

And from those countless deaths, beings were born from its endless cycle—profane.

It made Oren think. He had been down there for a while—was he now a part of its cycle? Was he waiting for death?

But even if he was, he had wanted death, didn't he?

He looked around the expanse, Does Nothingness have a grudge against me?

It had refused to grant him his eternal rest.

Threads of creation danced onward in an unfamiliar motion. Oren looked down.

A sudden laugh released from the depths of his chest.

Just how long have I not been moving for, then?