What I am not

You remember how I said Blake simply disappeared in a puff of smoke after breaking free? Well, that wasn't exactly how things ended.

To be honest—I wanted his seal to break, hoping for something impressive in return. But Blake saw right through me.

"I know well what thou dost hope to gain from this act. And while I do not deny that some recompense might be due to thee, nothing in this world comes without a fair price—least of all what one such as I can offer."

"Nice. I mean… O wise one, what doth this humble girl need pay in exchange for a boon from thy miraculous power?"

"Thou must undergo a test."

"Alright. And if I pass, I get a reward?"

"It is enough that thou merely undergo it. This one does not expect thee to succeed. Few can face their own demons and prevail upon the first attempt."

"Oh… not again. I'm not sure I want that kind of test, even if it does come with a prize."

"Unfortunately, thou art past the point of no return."

"Now wait a second—"

"Thou callest thy wandering freedom, and thy kindness purpose. But tell me, little kit—if all paths lead thee away, whither dost thou truly go?"

With those final words echoing in my head, the chamber began to shift and blur.

Soon, I found myself standing in a vast hall veiled in mist—a reflection of the temple, colder and hollowed out by whispers.

It gave me goosebumps. No—it folded my stomach in on itself, every hair on my body stood on end like a needle. I wanted out that very second.

As if to prove my gut right, the mist began to part, gaining color and shape.

It coalesced into a glass-walled boardroom high above a glittering city.

At the center of which stood…

My parents.

Side by side at a table crowded with papers, blueprints and advisors. Their voices were calm and precise, movements perfectly in sync—unshaken, focused. Their eyes were sharp yet distant, and not once did they look at me.

"As usual, just working."

Running a massive worldwide corporation, keeping thousands employed, millions benefiting from the mere existence of the Bennett name. Stock projections this, client dinners that, every imaginable excuse to jet across the globe—landing anywhere but home.

They helped many, yes, but never me.

Blake's voice drifted through the mist, unraveling its form.

"They forged roots in earth and stone, yet forgot the warmth of home. Commitment and sacrifice walk hand in hand, little kit. Dost thou envy their steadfastness, or pity it?"

"I… I don't know. Why are you even showing me this? If this is another trick, it's not funny."

"This one would never dare jest with the feelings of a lost soul."

Once more, the mist gathered and reshaped itself into another scene.

A dim study materialized, cluttered with books, screens, and scattered notes.

My first brother—just a year younger than me.

He pored over documents: numbers, graphs, economy textbooks, all lit by the faint glow of a desk lamp. He muttered to himself, completely absorbed. The walls bore our parents' company logo—and, in one corner, a notebook I'd given him years ago, pinned in place.

We'd filled that notebook together. Whenever he struggled with a problem, I learned it quickly, then helped him work out the answer. But as he aimed higher and higher, it came to a point where I couldn't keep up without devoting the same relentless effort he did.

Blake's voice cut in through the stillness.

"He breaks himself upon his chosen stone. 'Tis hard, indeed—yet in that struggle lies meaning. What dost thou see, wanderer who flees the storm?"

"He… he may be fine like this, but I just can't. It would mean saying no to so many things…"

Before another word could leave my lips, the scene dissolved.

Another vision materialized without giving me a second to rest.

A cozy room, lined with towers of manuscripts, scattered coffee cups, and the steady tapping of a typewriter.

"No. Enough with the illusions, please."

"There is no mirage here. What thou seest is truer than thine own mind. These are the living reflections of those thou lovest. Avert not thy eyes, lest thou miss thy next insight."

With clenched fists, my gaze reluctantly turned to her.

My younger sister. Her hair was tied up in a messy knot as she typed at her desk, surrounded by printed drafts and scribbled notes. She finished the last line, exhaled, and smiled softly—then bound the pages and set them neatly on a shelf beside half a dozen finished novels.

She was twenty years old, and had already accomplished more than I ever would.

Her eyes turned, as if noticing me—but her gaze passed through mine, gentle and content.

"Closure—the art thou fearest as a threat. She walks from one tale to another, yet always turns to face the end. Why canst thou not?"

My own unfinished attempts flashed through—abandoned careers, lost friendships, broken relationships…

Five countries I had visited in my twenty-three years, yet I couldn't claim mastery of even one of their languages—not even my own. I'd barely begun learning high school kanji before impatience carried me to Japan. The servants had to help me read the scrolls you'd lent me.

One last time, the scene before me warped.

No…

Knowing what the final vision would show made me tremble on the spot. I wanted to close my eyes, cover my ears—but my body refused to move.

Warmth spread through the mist as golden dust began swirling around. The hum of insects, a river's gentle flow and the sound of laughter filled the air.

He was standing in a sun-baked African village. My youngest brother. Lean and tanned, he knelt beside a child, tending a wound with careful patience.

A smile adorned his face—not for show, not for reward—just quiet, genuine care. Around him, villagers moved with calm purpose: some carried supplies, others tended their own tasks, and all stole glances at him, their faces lighting up with weary yet lively smiles.

I watched, stunned. This—this—is what I always claimed to do: help others. Yet standing so close to him, it was like a candle trying to match the sun.

"Thou sayest thy joy lies in helping others. Behold one who helps, not for joy, but for necessity. Canst thou see the line that parts thee from him?"

"He… he helps people… because they need it." My throat tightened. "I just… like the feeling it gives me."

Blake's tone softened.

"So thou hast spoken truth. To help without binding thyself to the pain of others is but to chase thine own reflection."

And then the mist vanished, leaving me in a white, silent space.

Hollow like a porcelain doll, worthless like fool's gold—empty as my own self.

My knees broke down, and I couldn't tell if I wanted to cry or scream. In the end I did neither. Just sat there, breath shallow, hands slack in my lap, lost as I'd always been—no, more than ever before.

My guilt left me. And so did fear. What remained was a shallow stillness, like something essential had quietly slipped away while I wasn't looking.

I shut my eyes, letting the pointlessness of it all spread through me, a dull attempt to discard what little ache still bothered my mind.

"Close not thine eyes, lest darkness be all thou shalt ever see."

There was no point. I knew that the moment I left this place, I would abandon every lesson Blake had tried to teach me, and go back to drifting through a life that felt merry only on the surface—bright, but void.

But knowing I was wrong, and knowing someone wiser than me was trying to help, I forced myself to listen.

My eyelids lifted. Nothing had changed. Blankness stretched in every direction—an emptiness I should've expected. Disappointment stung anyways.

I lowered my gaze.

There, upon the white floor, a tiny puddle had appeared—no larger than a bottlecap.

It didn't reflect my face.

Instead, it showed someone else.

The image was distant, indistinct, features blurred. Unlike the others, I didn't recognize this person—and instead of curiosity, a cold worry settled over me.

Light seemed to gather around the figure, not harsh or blinding but steady—earned. They stood with quiet certainty, and though undeniably otherworldly, it felt as if the world itself welcomed their presence.

They smiled.

It was a smile like my own, yet entirely unlike it. Where mine wavered, theirs endured. Where mine sought warmth, theirs gave it.

My chest tightened, more than it had for any other vision.

Why?

"Who is this?" Asking left me breathless for a moment. "... And… why does seeing them make me feel so…"

Miserable.

They looked kind. Like someone easy to be around. Like they'd offer a hug without asking questions, sit with me, and listen to every worry without getting tired of them.

So why did I hate looking at them?

Why did it feel like…

Like they were better than me at everything?

"Who is this?" A sob threatened to break through as I asked again.

"Thou seest now what thou art not—and what thou might yet be, if ever thou choosest to stay."

The words left me speechless.

Had I misheard, or was my mind desperately grasping at impossible meanings? The thought felt too large, too absurd—an idea only an idiot would entertain.

Not asking wasn't an option. I had to know if the presumptuous hope in my mind could truly be real.

"D-do you… do you mean to say this could be—"

"Seek guidance," Blake interrupted gently, "Find that which thou wouldst not flee, and bind thyself to it. There shalt thou learn what freedom truly is—else thou shalt wander evermore in the void of thine own heart."

Even though Blake had not answered my question, it felt like it had. Whether what I saw was a premonition or a naive dream now seemed to rest entirely on me.

Thanks to that small hope, a fragile satisfaction settled over me—enough to make me stand on my feet, at least for the moment.

When I did, Blake gave me its last words.

"I wish thee luck, Avery Bennett. The path ahead for one such as thou will be riddled with thorns. The pain thou hast endured today is but a drop in the ocean of what is yet to come. Yet as long as thy heart truly desires change for the better, thou shalt find a way through."

The place began to crack like glass. Thin, fiery veins of darkness seeped through the fractures, casting flickering shadows across the warped ground. Startled under all the breaking noise and uncertainty, I screamed for it to stop—but the shards of reality kept falling, and I was swallowed back into the temple, on my knees, trembling.

For a long moment, I stayed there, letting the echo of everything I had seen press against me, weighing down my head and limbs. Faint smells of incense and dust anchored me to my pitch-black surroundings, to what was real.

Strength returned slowly, enough to rise and place one shaky foot forward, then another. Wandering aimlessly, eventually I found you. And before speaking, I did my absolute best to push every memory of the visions out of my mind, as though they'd never happened.

Exactly the opposite of what the spirit had advised me to.