Emptiness swept through Arthur's consciousness as he struggled between his original personality and another emerging from deep within his mind.
In the process, Arthur lost consciousness—his eyes saw nothing but darkness for a few moments, until that bleak panorama became his constant reality.
It felt as though he had died. The sensation was exactly that, which struck the young man as strange since he barely remembered ever having died before for him to truly believe it.
His senses felt as if they were in a lucid dream—numb yet alert—like he were moving on his own in some other realm.
Arthur recalled everything that had happened before he ended up in this inactive void; everything that had led him to this state had occurred mere seconds ago.
He might have been writhing in anger and regret right then for what that wretched goddess had done to him, yet he felt nothing at all.
Fear, anger, boredom, happiness, sadness, uncertainty—none of it. It was as if his consciousness floated in a void, like a grain of wheat amid the dense darkness of a foggy malt.
Then, whistling began to sound. To Arthur, the sound was familiar. He searched in every direction, though he couldn't tell what was up or down, forward or elsewhere. He was guided solely by that melody—so familiar, nostalgic, and melancholic.
Until, finally, he saw it. At the edge of the darkness surrounding him, a luminous figure sat atop a stone.
Arthur knelt before it as he descended to the level of awareness where the figure resided. Noticing this, the figure stopped whistling.
"Well, well. What do we have here?"
Before Arthur's eyes stood a figure that appeared to be a young man, with disheveled, tousled blonde hair that looked unkempt and a bit dirty. His face was hard to discern; his form—magnanimous and almost divine in Arthur's eyes—shone so brightly that it obscured his features.
In the hands of the luminous figure lay a very worn and cracked sword, which he was sharpening.
"Who are you?" Arthur wondered silently.
"Me?" the figure replied. "I wish I could remember."
"Wait—can you hear my thoughts?!" Arthur exclaimed, surprised.
"This is your inner self..." the figure said in a sarcastic tone. "Your thoughts resonate here."
Arthur raised an eyebrow within his consciousness.
"If this is my inner self, then what are you doing here?" he asked disdainfully.
The luminous figure sighed wearily before fixing him with a direct look.
"I wish I knew for sure..." it murmured with a trace of melancholy. "All I know is that I'm here for you."
"So, you're some sort of inner voice?" Arthur asked, even more intrigued.
"What I am isn't important," the figure replied. "What matters is that you're in grave trouble," it added cheerfully.
"And that optimism about my predicament?" Arthur articulated. "Are you happy that I'm in a mess?"
"Not at all." The figure shook its head twice. "I only feel a bit of nostalgia, and that's a good thing."
A quick, almost instinctive idea sparked in Arthur. If he was here before this being living inside him, it was for a reason.
"Then can you give me something to get us out of this mess?!" he asked eagerly.
The figure extended the battered piece of metal it had been sharpening toward Arthur.
"A sword."
Arthur stared in disbelief at the enigmatic being.
"If I'm hypnotized or cursed, a sword will do me little good," the young man said.
"No," the figure replied, shaking its head twice. "I cannot give you this sword—it's mine." Then it cradled the sword against its chest.
Arthur looked at the being with indignation.
"Then why offer it at all?"
The luminous figure chuckled as it listened to him.
"I'm sorry, I misspoke," it corrected. "It's been a while since I last spoke to anyone."
Suddenly, the darkness was pierced by a blinding light coming from above. Both Arthur and the figure turned to look in the direction from which the light emanated.
"Something's happening..." the mysterious being said, alarmed. "You're regaining consciousness; we're running out of time."
Arthur felt his senses slowly returning, and panic seized his mind with each second as the light approached.
"Shit!" he cursed, then turned his gaze toward the figure. "What do I do? If I fully awaken, that crazy woman is going to change my mind completely."
The figure rose from the stone calmly and slowly.
"Don't worry," it said as it approached Arthur and lifted the worn sword. "The sword you need..." It touched Arthur's chest with the tip of the weapon. "Your heart will give you a sword."
Arthur looked once more at the luminous face, this time discerning something more—blue eyes as deep as the sea itself.
"Remember what drives you. Arthur P—"
Before the figure could finish speaking, Arthur's consciousness was propelled toward the light with the speed of a rocket; his eyes filled with scarlet beams as his awareness was utterly overwhelmed.
Arthur began to fade, his old self diminishing again as Cleopatra's curse started to take effect.
More and more, the young man became aware of himself while his new self clashed with his old. In those few seconds, with the little sanity that remained, Arthur remembered what the luminous figure had told him:
"Remember that it is what drives you."
Then, as he thought that, a fleeting memory flashed by at the edge of his consciousness. And then another, and another, and another.
Arthur already had an idea of what to do. Delving deep into his mind, he tried to capture and synchronize every image that shot before his eyes at an unimaginable speed. Piece by piece, he began stitching those fragments of memory together into a coherent whole.
At this pace, his brain was on the verge of exploding, but he could not give up. He exerted every ounce of pressure, forcing his mind to work despite his new self's reluctance and the struggle to orchestrate his actions.
Arthur wanted nothing more than to scream, to let it all end—to surrender to Cleopatra's curse—but in his mind he could see it, he could smell it. He was so close to achieving something.
Then his resolve formed: he was determined to succeed. His objective was within reach—even though his opponent was a goddess reincarnated into a human body, it was possible to resist her.
Arthur resumed gathering the scattered fragments of his memories. His nearly extinguished consciousness was being squeezed to its limits, his brain frying almost to convulsion.
But after what seemed like an eternity, everything went black once more, and the sensation of torture ceased.
Then...
Arthur began to remember.