The Plane

No, the literal sense. How did it make sense literally? How did you climb a tree? She couldn't. Her body wasn't capable of climbing. Was that it? Did you have to be different... different than she was?

But that didn't consider the garden. There was no way a part of the riddle wouldn't mean anything. The solution had to make sense for every asset.

She needed a new approach. This wasn't working. A garden. A garden... a tree... climbing... and flowers. Did they have something in common? Was there a contradiction? They were all alive – aside from the act. Maybe...

No. This was another dead end. She needed something different. Something different...

How would she do it? If she were there... no. Bad. The souls. They had to mean something. What did a tree of souls mean? What... maybe the growth of suffering? The growth of wisdom? Was climbing the tree of souls equivalent to gaining wisdom? And the flowers... if they represented bloom, was it to become wise among a field of other souls? Wiser than others?

“Our safe time is running low.”

Cold bit her lip so hard that she could smell blood. But she had made her choice.

“Submit no answer. Unless you are close. I will not put our faith up to chance.”

“You sure?”

“Do it!”

This could be the end. She might die. Right now. Right now. Maybe she should have

“It's correct.”

The relief was overwhelming. Cold barely noticed herself collapsing at the spot.

“an name.”

“What?”

“The next riddle. What is the only thing you can name?”

“Right. Sorry.” Cold silently cursed herself for losing attention.

The only thing she could name. But... she? Or her? Was...

“Do you know what 'you' means here? Is it me, or you? Or both?”

“I... it's you. Sorry, I should have told you.”

“It's fine.”

The only thing she could name. This was fairly easy to understand – she didn't know the names of anything. She didn't know the name of the species she belonged to, nor the name her language. She knew the name of concepts... but there was no specific one that could be the answer. It needed to be a name that was breaking the pattern somehow – but she hadn't yet fully understood the pattern. She didn't know the name of... specific things? Was that it? Was a concept like courage a specific thing? No, that was the wrong line of thinking. She didn't need to define the pattern, it was enough if she could tell the difference, which she was confident that she could. She should search for a concrete thing which she could name...

“What's your name?”

“I don't have one. I don't know.”

“Okay. Then it's not you...”

Speaking of which, how did she know her own...

“That's it. It's me. I know my name. That's the only thing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, absolutely. There is nothing else even nearly as concrete of which I know the name. It's myself.”

“What is your name?”

“It's Cold.”

“Just 'Cold'?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Should I submit?”

“No.” Cold took a few deep breaths. It was going well. Three out of three.

“How many riddles will there be?”

“I