Chapter 257
Denial
It erupted from the earth beneath, a sudden burst of action breaking the still perfection of the field, the hand stretching upward as if desperate to touch the heavens.
At that same instant, in the vast, impossibly blue sky above, the world seemed to mirror itself—another hand tore through the fabric of the sky, reaching downward toward the earth.
For a fleeting moment, the two seemed to move in perfect symmetry: one bound by soil and gravity, the other by light and endless air. Their fingers stretched through the distance between worlds, reaching, yearning—neither quite touching, yet both refusing to let go of the idea that they could.
There was a moment where it looked like nothing else would happen—just two hands, one born of soil and the other of sky, suspended in eternal stillness. The world seemed to hold its breath. Then, almost imperceptibly, the hand in the sky began to move.
It trembled at first, the blue around it rippling like disturbed water, before it started to fall—slowly, gracefully, and then with growing speed. The blue distorted as it tore through them, dragging something with it, something faint and almost formless.
From the endless expanse above descended a figure—IAM.
Yet this IAM was not quite the same. He was stripped bare, his body glistening faintly under the light as if carved from the sky itself. He had no clothes nor his diamond earrings. His skin was pale, ghostly, almost translucent; light seemed to pass through him in thin, wavering ribbons, his body bending and blurring like a reflection disturbed by ripples on water.
Every part of him seemed fragile, almost temporary, as though the act of existing here defied some cosmic rule. His limbs drifted weightlessly, his hair flowed upward in defiance of gravity, and his eyes—empty yet deep—looked neither at the world below nor the heavens above. He simply fell, pulled down by an unseen force that refused to let him remain suspended any longer.
The sky around him cracked open in streaks of light as he descended, his body spinning with a slow, dreamlike grace. The air seemed to weep, trailing wisps of color that clung to him before vanishing into nothingness.
And all at once, the stillness was gone. The heavens that once held him began to shatter and IAM—the pale echo of himself—plunged down toward the waiting earth, drawn to meet the world that had always been just beyond his reach.
At that same moment, the hand buried in the earth began to move—trembling first, then pushing upward with unstoppable force. The soil cracked and shifted, roots tore free from their hold, and the once-peaceful field of flowers quivered in protest. Their soft petals clung desperately to the rising form, wrapping around his arm, his shoulders, his chest, as if pleading with him not to go.
But the ascent was relentless.
The ground split wider, chunks of soil falling away as something magnificent fought its way out. From the trembling earth emerged IAM—the real IAM. His form was alive and radiant beneath the golden light. His skin was smeared with soil, his breath sharp and fierce, but there was fire in his eyes. His diamond earrings caught the light as he lifted his head, and his familiar clothes clung to his body—proof that this was him.
The flowers' grip began to break, their stems snapping one by one as IAM's body rose higher, the earth beneath him rumbling in resistance. Yet he did not falter. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, his muscles trembled, but he refused to stop.
For a moment, he seemed to hang suspended between earth and sky, his gaze fixed upward as if drawn by an unseen force. His body moved as though defying the very pull of gravity itself, the last traces of soil falling from his fingers.
And then, IAM burst upward, soaring through the torn veil of flowers and dirt, his body arching toward the heavens.
The sky above—the very sky his other self was falling from—seemed to call out to him as he spun in midair.
IAM's eyes widened as he saw it—the ghostly figure, himself, plummeting from the heavens above. Its form wavered like smoke in sunlight, pale and translucent, yet unmistakably his.
At the same time, the ghostly figure of IAM, tumbling through the endless blue, noticed the solid, rising figure of himself drawing closer.
Its translucent eyes widened as it tracked the other IAM, the one with flesh.
For a fleeting instant, the world seemed to spin.
IAM realized, with mounting confusion, that he was seeing through both sets of eyes. He felt the rush of wind as he fell and as he rose. The sky and earth traded places in his vision again and again until it became just one vision.
Both of them were IAM. Both were true. Both were racing toward one another, pulled by some force beyond will or reason.
They felt each other—part of the same, yet undeniably separate—and almost instinctively, both reached out, hands stretching toward one another as if to anchor themselves in the void.
Inevitability loomed: they were destined to collide, two halves of the same existence hurtling toward the same point in the empty sky.
Yet…
As they drew closer, an unexpected resistance began to rise.
The nearer they came, the heavier the air seemed to press against them, as if some unseen force was slowing their descent and ascent.
With each passing moment, the distance between them continued to shrink, and details began to emerge—their features and expressions, the faint glimmer of life in the solid IAM, the hazy translucence of the ghostly one. They could finally make each other out as they began to slow down.
Now, with barely a meter separating them, their movements slowed to a crawl, each inch felt like an eternity. For a terrible moment, time itself seemed to hold its breath, stretching the space between them into something unbearable.
Their eyes met, one solid, one spectral, and in that suspended silence, the weight of inevitability pressed down—they were destined to collide, yet neither could move faster nor slower.