when the world turned itself inside out, there was no light, no darkness only awareness.
hendrick gasped but found no air. there was nothing to breathe, because breath itself had become optional. his body was both there and not there, reduced to the concept of "hendrick" suspended in a field of endless thought. lewis floated beside him, not as a man but as a vibration a flicker of intent that occasionally took form when the mind insisted on remembering what a body looked like.
daniel hovered effortlessly between them, his outline crystalline, his fur now appearing more like liquid night. his three eyes burned faintly, but not as light as orientation. in this dimension, direction itself obeyed him.
saumon drifted near, no longer in water. the salmon's form had expanded transparent bones, spectral fins, eyes like molten silver. when he spoke, it wasn't with sound. it was with recognition.
"you have entered the substratum," saumon said. "the layer where memory pretends to be matter."
hendrick's thought echoed outward: what does that mean?
"it means everything you ever touched, feared, or dreamed is stored here," said daniel softly. "towlin keeps archives. she remembers what even time forgets."
they drifted forward, though "forward" had no meaning. ahead of them stretched a landscape made of translucent shapes half-formed memories floating like jellyfish through a transparent ocean. one resembled a child's drawing of a house; another pulsed like a memory of pain. the colors were soft but infinite, each carrying a scent, a sound, a temperature.
lewis reached out to touch one. immediately, the memory bloomed around him.
he stood in a version of his hometown cobblestone streets, rain falling softly. but everything was transparent, faintly humming. the air vibrated with familiarity, but it wasn't real. it was a memory replayed by existence itself.
daniel appeared beside him without walking. "don't linger too long. this place feeds on nostalgia."
lewis turned to him. "feeds?"
"yes," daniel said, tail flicking lazily. "memory consumes itself to remain alive. it must forget in order to continue. just like you."
before lewis could respond, the ground beneath him dissolved again.
they were pulled into another memory hendrick's this time. a hospital room. a woman sleeping, machines beeping softly. hendrick's younger self sat by her side, holding her hand, whispering apologies.
lewis looked at him, startled. "this is—"
hendrick's voice trembled. "my mother. when she—"
but before he could finish, the machine's steady tone turned into something else a low vibration that filled the air. the woman's body shimmered, then stood up. her eyes opened, but they were completely black.
daniel's third eye flickered. "she isn't her. she's the echo. the residue that remains when grief refuses to let go."
hendrick stepped back, trembling. "why am i seeing this?"
saumon floated between them, his fins undulating slowly. "because towlin wants to measure your weight. not your body's, but your memory's. only those light enough to forget may ascend her peak."
the black-eyed echo turned its gaze toward hendrick, mouth moving without sound. her expression was calm, almost loving, but the silence around her screamed.
daniel sighed softly. "you'll need to release her."
hendrick's voice cracked. "i can't."
"then she will remain," said saumon. "and so will you."
the memory around them began to collapse, folding inward like wet paper. hendrick closed his eyes. "i'm sorry," he whispered, more to himself than to her. "i have to keep climbing."
as he spoke, the echo smiled and vanished.
the collapse stopped. the air solidified into geometry again.
daniel floated higher, his tail glowing faintly. "good. towlin heard that."
lewis frowned. "heard what?"
"the truth," daniel replied. "truth isn't spoken with words. it's spoken through surrender."
they drifted again now through what looked like a city built entirely of light. towers rose, but not from the ground; they sprouted from thought, flickering with patterns that resembled neural maps. each structure pulsed in rhythm with their own heartbeats.
hendrick whispered, "what is this place?"
"this," said saumon, "is the mind of towlin herself. her thoughts take shape when travelers pass through. every tower you see is a reflection of what she has learned from those who came before."
"there were others?" lewis asked.
"many," saumon said. "but few returned whole."
the path beneath them reshaped itself into an intricate bridge made of glass and faint golden filigree. beneath it flowed a river of living memories thousands of faces, hands, voices, all merging and dissolving.
daniel glanced downward. "don't look too long. those who look into the memory-stream forget which one is theirs."
hendrick looked anyway and immediately staggered. he saw flashes of himself at every age, from infant to old man, faces blending and splitting. one of them turned upward and looked back at him, whispering: you are not the original.
daniel's paw brushed his shoulder again. instantly, the illusion broke.
"she's testing identity now," daniel said quietly. "the mountain's next question is simple: can you remain you when everything tries to remember you differently?"
lewis clenched his fists. "how much longer does this test go on?"
daniel's third eye shimmered. "until you stop needing to ask."
as they crossed the final stretch of the bridge, the city around them began to distort towers bending, merging, dissolving into cascading equations of light. the air trembled as a new presence filled the space.
the wise man appeared.
not walking, not materializing but emerging, as though the world remembered him into existence. his fedora cast a perfect shadow despite the absence of light. the fabric of his suit rippled faintly, like liquid steel.
"you've come far," he said softly, voice echoing in every direction.
daniel's eyes narrowed slightly. "you again."
"always me," the wise man replied, smiling faintly. "you've kept your distance, daniel. as expected."
lewis looked between them. "you… know each other?"
daniel's tail stilled. "we've crossed paths."
the wise man turned his gaze toward hendrick and lewis. "towlin observes through many eyes. daniel through three, i through one. the difference is method, not purpose."
hendrick took a step forward. "what does she want from us?"
the wise man's smile deepened. "to see if humanity remembers what it means to be remembered."
before anyone could respond, the ground pulsed beneath them the entire structure shifting like a living lung.
"the final fold approaches," the wise man said, tipping his hat slightly. "if you wish to leave, you must answer her next question. and this one will not forgive deceit."
he turned to leave, but paused. his reflection lingered in the air, and for a brief instant, lewis saw something impossible the shadow of daniel standing beside the wise man, identical in height and outline, as if they were once the same being split apart.
then the image vanished.
the wise man was gone.
daniel floated in silence, eyes unfocused, expression unreadable.
saumon broke the quiet. "towlin moves again."
and indeed the entire sky began to tear open, revealing another layer beneath. it was not space, not void but memory itself unwrapping, revealing the mechanics of existence: threads of time, waves of consciousness, equations written in living light.
lewis whispered, "where are we going now?"
daniel's third eye pulsed once, slow and deliberate.
"we're going," he said softly, "to the origin."
the world bent, folded, and everything matter, memory, and meaning twisted into a spiral that pulled them inward.
as they vanished into the next dimension, only saumon's faint whisper lingered in the air:
the origin is not the beginning. it's the place where endings decide to start again.