Beyond

by Toraka

Rating: teen
Tags: Romance, Slice of Life
Length: 2030

I have died, I think. Yet there is one who believes I am not gone yet. I'd better trust her as long as I live in her mind. Let's explore, then!

I have died, I believe. Yet there is one who believes I am not gone yet. I'd better trust her as long as I live in her mind. Let's explore, then!

Character explorationy story mostly about Octavia, some mystery. Perhaps some romance-y.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2014-09-19 22:29:22 UTC

Chapter 1

I am done. I have to be. I have traced the maze to its end, each turn forgotten as it was taken. Dreams do not last that long, do they? I cannot remember. I can hardly recall how the world used to be, its rolling meadows and invigorating sun. This place is cold. Its light is merely a mockery built to guide unlucky souls into the heart of nowhere. Souls like myself. What value has the light when there is nothing in comparison? What am I but a speck of gray in the white ocean? I slide down the idea of a wall. While I was running the maze, at least there had been an energy line to follow. Now that it has faded behind me, I am alone. My frustrated shout resounds off of infinity. For all I know, I have been wandering here for months, or just hours. Am I watching an endless sway of stars, or something else entirely? Is there a concept of space here?

What was that?

A voice breaking the silence! Somepony trapped here with me? Or perhaps salvation? She is nowhere in sight, however much that says. I focus all of my power in an attempt to respond.

Anyone there?

The very world shifts. Where previously dots of light would drift on lazy paths, they now dart too fast to watch. Perhaps they are not stars after all.

Oh, no. This is not happening. I cannot have lost it after all. Leave!

I am as lost as you are, if it helps. I have no vile intentions.

The lines streaking through the white void calm. At least I do not have to fear for this place's existence, whatever it may be. For now.

Tell me. Do you know where I am? Is this reality? The next beyond? Are you alive?

I hope I am still alive. I am Octavia. I was just living well until your voice appeared out of nowhere.

Well then. I am not certain I can say the same as you. But then my existence did not meet an end, and I came to you. I suppose death is but a door, time is but a window. Passing oneself renews consciousness in another form. I suppose that I am within your mind then, in one way or another.

I wander off again. While I doubt there is anything to find in this place, there certainly is nothing where I am. I have not felt tired in years, so why conserve energy? An opportunity could arise after all. It would be odder if it did not.

But who or what are you?

I had a name. Long forgotten, like the rest of my life. I can only hold onto the thought that I exist after all. What else matters.

Is it true that they say? A shower of rose petals as you depart? The innocent spirit of a filly to guide you beyond? To be flung back to resolve what troubles you?

I know little. But I remember that none of these things happened. Ooh, what is this?

I come before a set of swing doors. I had hoped the afterlife would be less literal, but I will take anything if I have to. In reality, I would be unable to move them as they ascend upwards out of sight. Here, they fling open with the first thought. I find myself within light-flooded halls. The glass ceiling shows no sky, but even the background of pure light is soothing to my nerves. At least it is proof that something exists around me. The room seems to curve into a circle around a pavilion, with a small well in the dead center. Stone benches line the pavilion's outer ring, carrying the same flowers that rake around the entire structure. The door snaps close behind me; It has now shrunk to being a little larger than what would be normally expected. What size would you expect of entry doors within the afterlife, anyway?

Fascinating. I suppose these would be the Dream Halls. Have they yet been described by the philosophers in your time?

I am not convinced I enjoy you rummaging through my consciousness.

The needs of me outweigh the loss of the few. I will probably be able to make it worth your trouble. If nothing else, this can only help me remember things, right?

You sound like Vinyl. That is not a compliment.

While they are all equal and unmarked, one door draws me in from across the hall. It swings open as soon as I touch it, and I am flung inside. For a moment, darkness, then the world becomes before me. Stars line and disappear, becoming the shapes I am to see.

As amazing as the experience is, as boring is its reality. The walls share a common brown with the furniture they surround. Blades of rain cover the window, twisting and turning the world outside until it is pointless to try and see it. I attempt to look around further, but the vision does not move with my will. Instead it turns down to a musical instrument led by grey hooves. Somewhere within the patterns and movements, something resonates.

This is not what I imagined when I sought the way out. There is a distant memory, though. I think I was like you in life. I was adept at creating the fleeting escape of music. A, D, then F... In fact, I remember what you are playing. It was written in my time.

The hooves skip a beat, but keep playing. As they play, the rhythm gets faster. I follow as well as I can, if only in mind. The notes link us, through space and time. As she cuts into the next line, barriers shatter and the hooves that guide the tune become mine, just for the brevity of a moment. Just to finish the song. With the last note played, I let go and all sensation but sight flees from me again.

What did you just do?

Chapter 2

It seems that we are quite equal, sister.

The music falls silent, the instrument is tossed aside, the hooves flee into a different corner. None of it is through my doing and I am damned to numb observation. At least a fragment of the warmth of life remains, as long as my memory would hold it.

You threw me into paralysis, powerless but to watch as you dictated my actions. I would appreciate if you could not do that again, ever. My body is my own.

As is the mind? You will have to trust me that I would do you no physical harm. After all, my grip on reality would be lost if your shell was to die. Perhaps I even have useful skills that I can lend to you. If I would remember them. Who would imagine what neat things I used to do!

Octavia shuffles into the only seat in the room. Something removes a strand of ebony mane from her eyes as her vision falls to the mirror. For a moment, we ask the same question of my existence. If I cannot see myself, how can I know I am?

I cannot exactly do anything about you anyway. I suppose it is more benefit than risk. Try and recall. What did you do in life that could be useful?

I believe I once was a local master of card games. Otherwise, little comes to mind. Perhaps I can help you as I help myself. I will try to remove myself from your senses now.

She remains still as I unfocus myself. Just as I depart, something changes, a shadow of something that never was flashes in the mirror. Then I awaken where I once was with the door slammed shut before me. I rise and return to exploring, for as long as it takes to slump down on one of the benches in the middle. Something about the birdsong robs me of all energy.

There was a book about this. Once upon a time, I read about the Dream Halls. Let me fetch it.

Take your time. I would not be there to judge you.

Do I see shapes in the light beaming from above or are they just figments of myself? Do I even still have an imagination that could fool me? If I just lie here and stop moving, I could pass eternity quite well.

There. The Dream Halls, as a pony's collective consciousness shall be named. Their exact form can not be known and varies per pony, but always includes precisely ten doors.

With one burst, the shapes disappear and my strength returns. Peace is not to be mine yet. I sit up, but see no reason to move further.

There are eleven here.

Anyway. Connected by a hall of nonexistence, the doors branch off the sections of one's mind. The first one gives access to the outside world through the host's senses, while they are active. Another leads to the flow of time, where memories are stored. Then there is the Void of What Was, where those memories come to life. Sometimes, the Void seemed to express scenes not known to the host. Research is required. Other doors' contents have not yet been uniquely identified in form and function. This could be due to shutin mechanisms preventing researchers from accessing them or simply lack of anything lying beyond. Well that book is a lot of good, isn't it.

Does it elaborate on how each section appears? I assume we have found senses already.

It says the river is just that, a literal river in a cave. The other thing is described as white infinity with little to break it.

Sitting will achieve nothing. Wandering through infinity may.

I am not sure what I expected the living to know. We are down to exploration then. I will start with this random door!

Despite the caution I give the door in opening it, a burst of pink bunnies flooding out overwhelms me. The door gives no resistance to shut even though I have to exert all of my force to move forward against the stream. I move one of the flower pots besides the doors to mark it, then turn and walk to the opposite end of the hall.

I will start with this different random door!

The door reveals nothing but pitch darkness. I hesitate. This could be the very end, the point of no further. However, I push on through. My hoof finds no ground and I fall until the door's light disappears. Then it stops. In the middle of nowhere, I am caught. The dark refuses to be shapeless. As I walk in no direction, motifs flash in the corner of my vision just long enough to remain out of focus. I see distance and reason. I see ponies and motivations. I understand this place.

You are still here.

Why would I not?

I just needed to hear your voice.

Somewhere, I find a wall to hold me as I rest again.

It will be a long time.

Awaken, princess. You were promised this.

I was indeed. Getting this job was a matter of months.

You seem calm.

Calmer than I should be?

Calmer than you are.

Now is not the time to panic. Whether my skills are enough, I must rely on them. This moment will turn my life, either way.

Do you remember the first song you wrote?

Little more than tuning the instrument. Practice for writing notes.

You remember it.

"Green is the enemy." What does it matter. I would not play that.

Certainly not. The curtain is lifting!

Do you live some seconds in the future? Regardless, I need to take the final steps.

Octavia trots to the center of the stage, her instrument dragging behind her. She just manages to get set up until the shroud rises and an entire city stares back at her. The lights are dazzling even though most were already pointed at her. Nothing moves.

She pulls the first string and the world breaks.