Chapter 94: The List (14)
Lucien’s breath shuddered in and out of him, ragged, shallow, as he sat frozen on the bed that floated in the middle of nothing.
His fingers still clutched the thin sheets as if they were the only anchor left to prove his existence.
And then,
Movement.
His eyes snapped down to the side of the bed.
Something stirred there.
Not a body, not a shadow cast by light, but rather… a distortion.
A ripple in the dark.
As if the void itself had twisted into the vague suggestion of a figure sitting cross-legged on the floor.
It was nothing more than lines and folds of darkness bent in on themselves, but Lucien’s mind filled in the shape: shoulders, knees, the vague curve of a head.
A mouth.
It moved.
And with it came that voice again, the one that had filled the void with impossible weight only moments before.
But this time it was quieter.
Warmer.
“…Are you alright?”
Lucien blinked, lips parting in shock.
The question hung in the still air, absurd in its normalcy.
“I..”
His throat was dry, his voice hoarse.
He swallowed hard, forcing the word out.
“Yes.”
But there was hesitation, sharp and heavy, twisting the word into something fragile and uncertain.
He wasn’t sure if he was alright.
He wasn’t even sure if he was real right now.
And worse, he wasn’t sure what, or who, he was talking to.
His gaze stayed fixed on the hazy outline as his chest rose and fell too quickly.
Finally, gathering his scattered courage, Lucien spoke again, this time with forced politeness, his words careful, respectful.
“…Who… are you?”
The figure tilted its head.
For a moment there was silence, and then, soft laughter.
Not cruel, not mocking, but easy, almost friendly.
“Ah. That’s a little funny, isn’t it? We’ve already met.”
Lucien stiffened.
The entity leaned back casually, a ripple running through its silhouette as if it stretched phantom limbs.
When it spoke again, its tone was light, conversational, as if the two of them were discussing weather instead of existential mysteries.
“It was when your soul… wandered away from your body. During that little test of yours, with the stone guardian. Remember?”
Lucien’s eyes widened.
His pulse spiked.
His mind reeled back to that moment, to the aptitude test, to the crushing pressure of the guardian, to the way his soul had slipped loose.
That terrifying, surreal moment when he’d looked down on his own body from somewhere else.
He remembered the darkness then too, the sensation of falling away, of being unmoored.
And then, something had shoved him back.
Hard.
Jarringly.
Back into his own flesh.
His lips parted.
His voice trembled.
“…That was you.”
The shadow’s head bobbed in a vague nod.
Its mouth, little more than a slit of brightness carved into the darkness, curved upward.
A grin.
“Mmhm. Guilty.”
Lucien’s throat constricted.
He wanted to recoil, to demand answers, but the casualness of that grin, the ease in the voice, it disarmed him, if only a little.
“…Why?”
The word slipped out like a plea.
“Why are you here? And where is… here?”
The figure shifted, its hazy form shrugging in a peculiarly human way. Its head tilted from side to side, hands, if they were even hands, gesturing vaguely.
“Now that…”
A chuckle slipped out again, as if it were amused by its own helplessness.
“…that’s a good question. I’m not entirely sure myself.”
Lucien’s brow furrowed, confusion twisting into frustration.
“You don’t know?”
The shadowed figure shook its head, slow and easy, like a man humoring a child.
“Not everything. Not with the neat, tidy certainty you’d probably like.”
Its grin widened, teeth, or something like teeth, flashing faintly.
“But I do know a little. Enough to be useful, perhaps. Enough to explain some things. As much as I understand, at least.”
Lucien’s pulse pounded in his ears.
He couldn’t decide whether the thing sitting beside him was benevolent or dangerous.
Its posture was casual, its tone light, its movements eerily human, and yet, everything about it was wrong.
Like watching a painting pretend to breathe.
His fingers tightened around the sheets.
“Explain, then,” he said, voice taut.
“Please.”
The shadow grinned wider, leaning forward just slightly, as though it had been waiting for that very request.
“Of course,” it said.
“That’s why I came.”
***
The figure on the floor leaned back, resting what looked like elbows on phantom knees.
Its grin softened, less sharp now, more like the easy smile of a neighbor leaning on a fence.
“Well,” it began, voice casual, “I can’t tell you exactly where we are. Not with certainty. But if I had to guess…”
A hand rose, or something shaped like one, gesturing vaguely at the void around them.
“…we’re somewhere between your mind and your heart. A kind of… middle ground. Not thought, not feeling, but the place where your soul shines through.”
Lucien’s brow furrowed.
“The place where… my soul manifests?”
“Mm.”
The figure gave a half-nod, like a teacher confirming a student’s answer.
Then it chuckled.
“Or something like that. Hard to put into words you’d understand. And frankly…”
It waved a hand dismissively, “we don’t have the time for me to lecture you on the nature of souls. Not today.”
Lucien’s grip on the bedsheet tightened.
His mind was spinning, trying to put the puzzle together, but he forced the most pressing question out first.
“…Why am I here then? Did I..”
His throat tightened.
“…did I die again?”
For a beat there was silence.
Then, the entity laughed.
A warm, almost amused sound, echoing strangely in the emptiness.
“No, no, nothing like that.”
Its tone dropped, more serious, though not unkind.
“But it is serious, my boy.”
Lucien’s chest tightened at the words my boy.
The way the entity said it, gentle but weighted, felt like a verdict.
The silhouette leaned forward, resting phantom arms on its knees.
The grin was gone now, replaced by something calmer, heavier.
“You know you’re dead, right?”
Lucien froze.
The entity tilted its head, as though examining him.
“Or rather, you have died. At some point. And yet, here you are.”
A finger rose, sharp and deliberate, pointing directly at him.
“You, my boy… are the soul of the dead, housed in the body of the living. A contradiction. An anomaly in the natural order.”
Lucien swallowed hard, throat dry as sand.
The words clawed at him, raw and undeniable, echoing memories he had long tried to bury.
The fall.
The blood.
His sister’s terrified face.
But somehow, his voice came back, quieter, strained.
“…How do you know that?”
The entity’s grin returned, slow and toothy, though not cruel.
“Because,” it said lightly, almost as if it were telling a joke,
“I’m a god.”
Lucien blinked at it.
His heart skipped a beat.
He stared at the shadowy figure slouched carelessly on the void floor.
Its posture was loose, almost lazy, like a carefree delinquent sitting behind the school gym.
This thing was claiming to be a god?
“…Are you joking?”
Lucien’s voice was sharp, defensive.
“You’re saying you’re really God?”
The entity clicked its tongue.
A sound of mock reproach.
“Tut-tut. Not the God.”
It wagged its finger side to side like a scolding parent.
“A god. Important difference.”
Lucien frowned, confusion tightening every line of his face.
“What does that even mean? A god? Then… what are you the god of?”
The shadowed figure let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping in exaggerated exasperation.
“You’re focusing on the wrong thing.” Its grin returned, softer this time, almost wistful.
“But if you must know…”
It leaned back, eyes, or what felt like eyes, glinting faintly.
“…I am the god of lost souls.”
The words hung in the darkness, heavier than the casual tone that carried them.
Lucien’s chest tightened.
God of lost souls.
His mind whispered questions he didn’t dare speak.
Was that what he was?
Lost?
The figure’s grin faded again, replaced by a quiet seriousness.
Its voice lowered, the levity still there but subdued beneath something weightier.
“And you, Lucien,” it said, “you must be careful. Your very existence defies the fundamental logic of this world. An impossibility walking.”
Its head tilted, shadows bending with the motion.
Lucien drew a slow, shaky breath.
He forced himself to hold the figure’s gaze, or the place where its eyes ought to be.
His instincts screamed at him not to trust this being, no matter how casual it acted, no matter how friendly its words were.
So he tucked the thought away, making a mental note: Don’t reveal too much. Ask. Listen. Let it speak.
“…Then tell me,” Lucien said carefully, keeping his voice steady despite the storm inside him.
“If I’m an anomaly… what does that mean for me?”
The grin returned, slow, amused.
The entity leaned forward slightly, folding its hazy arms over its knees again.
“Now, my boy, you are asking the right questions. I will try to keep it as simple as I can.”
