I let the prompt linger for a breathless instant.
The offer.
Two doors.
Two futures.
One: The True Source of Khaos.
To seize the very origin of Bob's power, to unravel it, remake it, perfect it.
Or—
Two: His memories.
His journey since he attained that power.
His decisions.
His regrets.
His Fable.
I chose immediately as my mind settled from viewing things in two different perspectives of existence simultaneously.
My own view and narration felt nice and simple. The narration of another hand was unique as it held its own charms.
Seeing both occur simultaneously opened my gaze.
My gaze, calm and unfaltering, still remained on Thauron. His imposing Null Form was still. His ancient, unspeakable will restrained for now.
And Bob…
Bob still stared.
Still wondered.
Still despondent as I remembered how he felt.
His anger. His hopelessness. His drive for nothing else but his daughter. But did that drive make it okay for him to do what he did?
I folded my hands behind my back, my fingers weaving together as easily as one might interlace strands of inevitability.
I smiled, not wide, not grand.
Just enough.
Enough for Bob to see.
Enough for Thauron, the Null Monarch, to understand.
The Null Monarch.
Looking at his figure, my mind was instantly drawn over to the prophecy my other self mentioned.
[…The Black Monarch will offer choice, but not freedom. The Sentinels of Reversal will ask for the Keys that should not exist.
One will walk away empty. One will walk away whole. One will not walk away…]
Time Sentinels already came and asked for a Key. Did this refer to the Time Sentinels he killed, or others since the Key was plural in the prophecy?
The Black Monarch…was it not the Null Monarch?
"…"
I disliked the haziness of the prophecy as I rather liked simplicity.
I shifted slightly, almost languidly, as if the weight of the last exchange had not even brushed against me.
"Now then," I said softly.
Thauron tilted his head, a slow, predatory motion.
Bob's tentacles twitched, the massive mass of his Null Form coiling tighter.
I could feel his tension.
His hesitation.
His confusion.
He did not yet understand.
How could he?
He had not walked the paths I had.
Not seen the Fables I had.
Not devoured what I had devoured.
The quiet hum of the Middle Wheel Platform persisted, but it felt thinner now.
Sharper.
As if the very Frequency of the platform strained to listen.
I looked at Thauron and Bob, hands folded neatly behind my back.