lurina
patreon
Draft Update 28/02/25
🕑 Added 2025-02-28 14:14:15 +0000 UTC(Well, this one was a bit of a mess. Once again, I had something keeping me busy on my primary crunch day, and so tried to squeeze out the last portion of this chapter between doing other things. I managed it this time, but it took a lot longer than I intended for a pretty short one.
If you missed it, I gave a preliminary announcement regarding the visual novel adaption I've talked about a few times on tumblr, and I'd be lying if I said that hasn't been taking up some of my overflow time, which is probably why we've regressed to missing like one every 5 updates or so (on top of me just finding it harder and harder to focus as I get deeper into this project and the content becomes ever more self-referential). Unfortunately I don't have a great solution to that which isn't 'send me more money', so maybe it'll just have to be the way things are for the time being. Either way, thanks as ever for your support.)
I skimmed the next bit, since the conversation seemed to go essentially identically to how it had gone in the weekend I remembered: There was speculation about the purpose of the transpositioning chamber, speculation on the mural that eventually led into the realization that it depicted the Epic of Gilgamesh, and finally discussion on the myth itself, including Kam's commentary on it as a coping mechanism for the inescapability of death in the ancient past, and how that needed to be moved beyond in the present. The finer points were different, but the thrust of it was the same, with Kam's own narration becoming uncharacteristically straightforward.
However, after this point - perhaps on account of how the conversation in the backstage of the auditorium had gone differently - there was a shift.
Empyrean Bastion, Nadir Gateway | 5:07 PM | First Day
"Don't be shy, Su," I urged her, as her mouth literally hung open, ready to voice her disagreement. "Say your piece."
"Well..." She was reticent in the manner that I tended to associate with her being out of her depth; speaking, as it were, more from the heart than the head. "Isn't that sort of a false equivalence?"
"In what regard?" I asked. Naturally, I sounded a tad bit fired-up, considering my passion for the subject.
"I mean... obviously, in a vacuum, it's not wrong to say that romanticizing harmful events is bad, whether you're talking about disease or whatever else," she prefixed. "But those are just that-- Events. They're things that can be prevented, or at least fought." She knitted her brow. "But death - or, well, the failure of systems generally - isn't something that can be truly prevented."
I scoffed. "Not with that attitude."
"You know what I mean," she replied. "Maybe it's a little on the nose for me to say it like this considering my school... but it's a matter of entropic inevitability. That things break apart and don't spontaneously come back together is just a matter of physics. So even if we're talking about millions of years, it'll happen eventually."
Naturally, I'd already predicted this argument. "It's as I said to Alexandros of Myrh this morning, Su. Even if that may be true, one must understand man as an animal incapable, as a species, from separating logic from emotion. Even if there is always a demand on some level for stories that soften death - that offer comfort in regard to something that, in the long view, may inevitably come - giving people those stories leads only to an arrest of progress." I waved my hands towards the Mimikos below, which was a very convenient visual. It occurred to me that I ought to have more arguments in void ports. "The Order remained a taboo organization for so long because these cultural narratives, once innocent, were allowed to take deep root. In short, for the sake of all our lives, mankind must simply grow up."
Su considered this for a moment, then responded slightly differently than I anticipated. "Even considering that, there has to be a point of diminishing returns."
I raised an eyebrow. "In what regard?"
"Well, if we do accept death as inevitable, then isn't it the case that the longer we extend life, the more arbitrary the length of life becomes?"
"Wh-- Of course not," I countered, almost in disbelief she would say something so silly. "Longer life is never arbitrary. There are an infinite number of things one can experience in the world."
"Right, but there are only a finite number of experiences people can store in their brain - or any other medium, if we're getting into Imperial Era-esque stuff - at any one time," she continued. "And the other things that make prolonging life for reasons other than its own sake also fade eventually-- Like having family members who depend on you. Obviously we're talking very far in the future here, but at a certain point, you're going to end up spinning your wheels; In a state where the value of remaining alive has... well, not disappeared, but become static. Where there's nothing in particular you're 'waiting for'." She slid her glasses up her nose. "At that point, beyond the immediate fear of death, no time to die is really better than any other, right?
What twisted logic! I was almost at a loss for words. "You dismiss the 'immediate fear of death' as if it's practically an incidental concern, and not core to our very nature. As self-aware beings, there's never a point where it's not prudent to bump the cessation of our existence as far into the future as possible."
"You're missing the point," Su said. "What I mean is that eventually - inevitably - is that even if it's not decided for us, we'll have to decide a time to die. We can't keep existing forever, because 'forever' doesn't exist. We're finite beings." She frowned. "And whenever we decide that time is, for whatever reason we decide it, we'll need those narratives. So there has to be some point in the future, down the line of progress, where your reasoning fails to hold."
"I disagree!" I disagreed. (Look, I've never claimed to be a wordsmith.) "The very essence of living is the act of struggle against that impulse of resignation. Even if it will come eventually, there is no point where death should simply be accepted."
"You two are just talking past each other," Ran, who had already lost interest in the mural and resumed reading, stated off-handedly.
Perhaps she was right. Su was rubbing her eyes, appearing, if not exasperated, at least deflated.
"I think it's interesting!" Ptolema chimed in cheerfully. "It's always fun to hear you two go at it with this stuff."
"Thank you, Ptolema," I said with likely no small hint of sardonic edge.
"Kam," Su resumed. "Can I ask you something, I don't know, a little rude?"
"If you must," I told her. "I did tell you to say your piece, did I not?"
"Do you actually believe all this? Like, not from some weird philosophical perspective, but genuinely and generally."
"Of course I do!"
"You legitimately think the right way for people to cope with death as a concept is to be completely terrified of it all through their lives, irrespective of how unpleasant and traumatic that makes it when it eventually happens, all in the interests of finding more ways to escape it? Indefinitely, regardless of how long and full a life they've lived?"
"Two points," I said, holding up the corresponding number of fingers. "One, death can't be 'traumatic'. Trauma implies damage to the psyche, and something can't be damaged if it no longer exists at all."
She exhaled through her nose. "Kam--"
"Two," I continued, lowering a finger. "What I want is merely for people not to live in self-delusion. There is no logical reaction to the threat of death other than being terrified. I've heard you admit as much yourself: Death is annihilation, the cessation of everything. If people truly understood the stakes, everyone would feel the same way about it, no matter how long they'd lived."
Off on the other side of the seating, I noticed Ophelia frown uncomfortably. Oh, gods, I haven't offended her again, have I? Flaming heavens, Principists are so bloody delicate.
"Kam," Su said plainly, "that's deranged."
I scoffed. "How so?"
"You've taken an idea that's true at its premise, and centered it so absolutely that it distorts other things that are true," she argued. "It's the equivalent of taking a sentiment like 'you should look after your own needs first' and then using it to justify a campaign of world conquest."
"What a bizarre analogy--"
"Obviously dying is bad, but if we really refused to make peace with it on any level in the way you're talking about, our entire society wouldn't just become more motivated. It would go insane. Everyone who knew the end was coming would-- I don't even know what they'd do." Her eyes wandered, likely looking at the mural again. "At a certain point, avoiding suffering has to come first. And I don't think finding a way to accept it is as completely irrational as you're acting it is. It's like I said-- How we conceptualize the continuity of self is to a degree constructed in the first place." She flinched for some reason.
I clicked my tongue. "This is the problem with you, Su. Even though you tend to have a good grasp on reality, you're always too eager to abstract things away as having no inherent meaning. That might be true for some things, but not life itself."
She persisted. "If you were on your deathbed, Kam, would you still want to hold this attitude?"
"I don't intend to ever be on my deathbed."
"You're avoiding the question."
I rolled my eyes. I didn't want to even humor such an absurd scenario.
...well, of course, that's not completely honest.
Naturally, as I was back then, I had been avoiding thinking about the idea of truly being faced with an inescapable death outright. Because the very thought undermined the core of my conviction, to fight forward until everything could be made correct.
"I most certainly am not," I declared nonetheless. "Were I faced with an incurable illness, I would at the very least have myself placed in some manner of suspended animation. ...even if my fate was never to be revived from such an affair, I should think I would at the very least remain optimistic until the end."
Su peered back at me. "Kam, don't take this the wrong way... but whenever we talk about this, I feel like there's, I don't know. A membrane that I can't penetrate." She fiddled with one of her braids. "Like you're not saying quite what you really think, but just prepared lines."
I snorted. "You're one to bloody well talk. You become an enigma at any serious discussion of your feelings."
This seemed to shut her up, despite this not being quite the result I'd had in mind. However, someone else chimed in in her place.
"Kamrusepa... why are you so afraid of death?" Ophelia inquired, still appearing disquieted. Or, ah, rather... What led you to feel so strongly about the matter?"
"I hardly need a reason, Ophelia," I told her. "It's eminently natural to not want to die, if one isn't talked out of it by culture."
"Still, you must admit... that your point of view is, well, rather unordinary."
"It does kinda feel like you've got a bit of a complex about it from time to time, Kam," Ptolema offered. "Especially since you're, y'know, so young."
"What is this?" I said, glancing about. "I'm being attacked from all directions."
Well, not all directions. Lilith - despite normally being averse to attention - seemed now dejected that the conversation had shifted away from her area of expertise, and in a rare moment, was looking at her sketchbook instead of her logic engine. Mehit, meanwhile, simply looked ever more apprehensive as the transposition approached.
Ran, though, did join in. "It does seem obvious you have some kind of motivation," she stated conceitedly! "I mean, when you think of people obsessed with living forever, it's usually rich old men without any real problems. I have been kinda curious from time to time."
"There is an abundance of young people invested in longevity scholarship!" I huffed. "It's entirely normal."
Yet the crowd looked skeptical. Even Su had rallied somewhat, looking at me with hand against her mouth.
I threw my arms into the air. "What do you want me to say? That I had a bit of a miserable childhood filled with missed landmarks, such that I became conscious of the finite nature of life?" I dropped them back down. "Even were that true, it would not alter the essence of my convictions. The truth is the same regardless of the route one takes to get there."
"But did you, though," Utsushikome pressed.
"I mean, it wasn't exactly idyllic, if that's what you're fishing for. My father passed away when I was still rather young, among other things. And I certainly was surrounded by small-minded technophobes invested in matters of no consequence to distract themselves from their own mortality." I folded my arms. "But it would have mattered little where I grew up, because death is all around us. Anyone who is looking can see the tragedy of that, and the perverse lengths people go to avoid thinking about it. Children understand the irreconcilable anguish of loss from the moment they are born; it is only later that they are taught ways to blind themselves to it."
"What do you mean by 'matters of no consequence...?" Ophelia asked.
I twitched slightly. This was a very irksome line of questioning, especially since it was coming from Ophelia. I couldn't seem to get the subject back on what actually mattered.
"Oh, you know," I intoned dismissively. "It's Rhunbard. Historical grievance, mostly. Outmoded local traditions regarding vocation, health, gender, what-have-you." I shook my head. I didn't want to bloody get into this. "Really, if you're looking for some kind of silver bullet to explain my feelings on all this, you're going to be disappointed. It's just something that's always been obvious to me. Other individuals might respond to adversity or suffering with capitulation; finding an excuse to give up and resign to being a victim of the world, making their own weakness other people's problem. That's simply not something I've ever found acceptable."
Ophelia appeared disquieted. "Don't... you think that's perhaps a little conceited, Kamrusepa?" She frowned uneasily. "To judge everyone else as weak?"
"Oh for-- I wasn't talking about any of you, obviously," I clarified. "It should go without saying that everyone in our class has risen far above the herd, regardless of personal ideology."
"That's, ah... not quite what I meant..."
"We're just a couple minutes off time, now, just so you know," Ran cut in offhandedly.
"Look, Ophelia," I spoke, narrowing my eyes as I faced her. "You asked me why I feel so strongly about escaping death, and I'm giving you my honest answer. It's because I chose-- Choose to face reality rather than engaging in escapism, however painful or difficult it may be. To overcome the nature of this world and survive." I leaned forward. "But there's simply no sugarcoating the matter: Almost no one else is willing to do this. All cultures, practices; they're all just different forms of 'looking at the walls of Uruk', as it were. I'm sorry if that observation offends you."
"I don't think that's very fair, Kamrusepa," Ophelia spoke, a little bitter firmness creeping into her normally gentle tone. "You know, at home-- I saw people suffer in ways that feel too horrible to even talk about. Organ failure, disease, malnutrition... people whose whole communities were decimated in the years since the war." She swallowed. "And yet, some of those people were the kindest I've ever known. Who gave everything they had to helping others, even strangers. Would you... really declare people like that escapist, just because they weren't afraid of death?"
"Yes," I said, and then regretted it when I saw Ophelia squint.
"Oh gods," Su mumbled, rubbing her eyes.
"Look, don't get the wrong idea," I quickly added. "I'm not saying that being escapist about one's mortality makes you a bad person-- Everyone has failings." I clicked my tongue as I realized this was the wrong way to approach this, pivoting my argument. "This isn't a matter of passing judgement on individuals; we're talking about a cognitive malaise that operates on the level of all of society."
Ophelia didn't say anything, just gazing at me with a conflicted look.
This atmosphere of interrogation was making me act foolish. "I've suffered too, you know," I added.
"You just said your life experience didn't have anything to do with your outlook, though," Su commented.
"And it doesn't! It doesn't." I wrinkled my nose. "I'm merely saying that-- You know, that going through a lot doesn't justify turning away from reality."
I paused a moment as I realized the absurd conversational checkmate I'd somehow engineered myself into. On one hand, I had just argued, quite literally, that it was acceptable for me to describe a group of genocide survivors as deficient in their willpower on the basis that I had also 'gone through a lot.'
On the other, I was actively avoiding describing what, in specific, I'd 'gone through'.
In retrospect, I ought to have found a way to shut the entire conversation down the moment it had ventured into the personal. Now there was nothing I could say that wouldn't make me look like sort of a prick.
My mouth continued on autopilot even as I considered this. "One can't peer into the minds of others, either; I'm sure there are truly selfless people who harbor no illusions about their mortality, and yet still choose to put others first." I did not even believe this was true; rationality was based on the paramountcy of self-preservation.
"But... not you," Ophelia said slowly.
"W-Well, I've never claimed to be a saint."
"What happened to you, Kam? Really?" Su asked.
"Nothing happened!" I faced forward. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. The Order will explain this all better than me, anyway. You'll see."
This successfully killed the conversation until we were transported to the sanctuary.
But, dear reader, let me pose a riddle to you. If I was lying, perchance, and my feelings were not reflected in that room but rather the source material, I would surely strike at the root of my hatred with all my wrath. For I am vengeful to my core, and have no mercy for my enemies. I would not name them kindly, but as their foulest self, and would call upon the last of their four banes.
Tell me, then, wheresoever would I strike?
What do you think, Utsushikome?
𒀭
"Wait-- What?"
"Huh?" Ptolema called out, now washing a different, smaller pig that was much quieter and more demure about the affair. "What's up now?"
"It reads like Kamrusepa's talking directly to me in this part of the account," I explained.
"Uh, well I mean, she did always talk to you the most back in the day, right?" She massaged soap into the creature's scalp. "Sounds normal to me."
"I-- That's not what I mean," I corrected her, sitting up and tapping the side of the notebook with my finger. "I mean she's addressing me as the reader. In the narration."
"Oh. Is that weird?"
"Of course it's weird!" I exclaimed. "The Lady didn't say anything about this being written for me. Just that it was an account that she left with her a while ago."
Ptolema seemed indifferent to my confusion, rolling her shoulders as she continued working. "What's she saying?"
"She's giving me some kind of wordplay riddle."
"Oh." A pause. "Cool."
"Cool?"
Once again, she shrugged.
I shook my head. Rather than trying to interpret her intentions, it would be easier to just read ahead and see where this was all going. I flipped ahead.
...but there was nothing on the next page, or the one after that. Flipping forward a little confirmed the remainder of the notebook was completely blank.
"What the hell," I mumbled. "The rest of the account is missing!"
Ptolema stood up, grabbing a bucket and filling it with water. "Maybe that's just the end? You said you didn't get the whole thing, right?"
"No, she told me this went to the end of the first day," I explained. "But this stops right before she even gets to the sanctuary."
"Maybe that's all she wrote about it." She threw the bucket over the pig, washing away the soap suds. It let out a surprisingly purr-like noise.
"That can't be it," I said, frowning. "That's stupid."
"She probably wants you to solve the riddle."
"I'm terrible at riddles," I complained. "And what could that lead to, anyway? It's totally out of context. I don't even know when she wrote it." I shook my head. "This doesn't make any sense."
"If you say so," Ptolema replied, ushering the pig away and rotating in the next.
I was a little annoyed. The Lady has acted as though I'd been acting foolish for not having finished the account first thing, but there hadn't even been any new useful information beyond the point I'd read! Well, I guess the additional insight into her and Ophelia as people kind of counted, but it certainly didn't offer any fresh leads. I had a bit of an inclination to Spectate the entrance to the sanctuary and make sure I hadn't missed anything, but that was it.
Was I missing something obvious? Being stupid?
Sighing to myself, I looked back at my logic engine. Despite ignoring her, Neferuaten had continued to send me messages.
Neferuaten: You'll have to excuse me for contacting you unprompted like this. There's a public listing of any new registrations to the resonator network with some basic details, so I'm afraid it's not too difficult to find new arrivals.
Neferuaten: I wanted to apologize for how I behaved earlier. I was simply taken a little off-guard. I understand, of course, and can't blame you for feeling that way.
Neferuaten: Rather than linger on that, though, I wanted to finish the conversational thread that had been interrupted.
Neferuaten: You asked me why explaining the nature of how my colleagues planned to falsify their deaths was 'delicate', and I can only repeat that some of what happened back then touches on information that isn't only mine to discuss.
Neferuaten: It may be difficult for you to understand as a new arrival, but there is a great deal of hypocrisy here in 'Dilmun', as you put, regarding how people are associated with their original selves in the outside world.
Neferuaten: Despite all the business with 'reflections' and 'mirrors' that implies a sense of distance, the truth is one's past can still hold great sway over one's reputation. And in order to facilitate their plans, the others committed many rather gruesome acts they would prefer to stay buried. Frankly, between what I've told you and you experienced firsthand, you already know enough to ruffle some feathers.
Neferuaten: I don't expect you to trust me in saying that. It's clear that you've come to think of me as a manipulative person.
Neferuaten: However, if you'll hear me out, I think there's a way that you could get the answers you're looking for irrespective of my involvement.
My face contorted. Can't blame you for feeling that way. Fuck off. I knew what she was trying to do here. I knew exactly what she was trying to do.
It was a tactic everyone encountered at some point or another, one that at certain points I'd found myself using when I'd done something to horrifically alienate someone I still wanted attention or affection from. Concede defeat, but not in any detail. Take a pragmatic tack. Make yourself useful, necessary, and worm your way back into close proximity. It didn't even need to be a matter of forgiveness. People were creatures that naturally accepted anything that was around them regularly.
Again, she thought she was so clever, while being so transparent. It was outrageous.
Still, though, what I thought was my rational self said, you do still need information from her. And you regretted cutting things off so sharply earlier.
You ought to at least see what she was offering.
I kept reading.
Neferuaten: I'm going to make something of an inference, here - since you brought it up during our conversation - and assume that the reason you're interested in all this is to do with the Manse.
Neferuaten: I'm sure many people have already tried to convince you of much concerning that, so I won't waste words.
Neferuaten: What I will tell you is that, as in any field of scholarship, the worst thing you can do in trying to solve a problem is not to stand on the shoulders of those who have come before you.
Neferuaten: Even if it's become taboo at present, the residents of this realm have been cataloguing details concerning the Manse since time immemorial, and have many discoveries that might be of interest to you. Of course, many have also made connections with the events of the conclave.
I squinted. The Lady had just mentioned the possibility of 'tapping into the existing knowledge of this world', and now Neferuaten was making an offer as to that exact thing?
It seemed almost too good to be true. Or, no-- Specifically, it made me wonder again about their connection.
Neferuaten: By necessity, most of these groups are secretive, closed organizations in the modern era. But that doesn't mean they're impossible to join.
Neferuaten: In fact, the most prominent of them still regularly recruits from here in the Crossroads, albeit under a pretext that wouldn't be obvious to one not in the know. As a matter of fact, they're holding one of their trials just this weekend. For someone with your interests, I don't think passing it will be an obstacle, I happen to know there's a good chance another of your old classmates will be there, as well.
Neferuaten: That's all I had to say. Let me know if you're interested.
I wrinkled my nose, feeling extremely skeptical. Again, this was all incredibly convenient.
But unfortunately, she knew my weakness. By laying this out and omitting several key details - what kind of trial? which classmate? - I felt curious. And the voice still repeated: You should at least see what she's offering. There's no harm in just knowing.
On top of everything else, I guess I really am a born sucker.
