Day 0, "I" opened my eyes. An endless blue sky, a bright yellow ball of light, a bit of pink grass on the ground, and some murky yellow clouds meandering across the sky. Netherworld. The name popped into my head out of nowhere, like a candle getting lit to illuminate the dark. Where one candle was lit, many more quickly followed. One became thousands, a candle became an inferno, and "I" gained understanding.

Lan Yun, that was "I". An orphan, a prostitute, a puppet who should have no home down here. But someone cried. Someone desired. Someone wished. And thus, I was born.

I moved my… neck it should be called. The name popped into my head as I thought about it, as did the way to use it. Neck, vital part of the humanoid anatomy, connects brain to rest of body and houses throat, very weak to damage, easy to slice if approached from the correct angle.

Hmm, would I experience the concept of death should my neck get wounded? The answer to that question did not pop into my head as I pondered, it seems as if my creator does not have any knowledge about that subject. Thinking of my creator, the movements of my neck finally allow me to see him.

He’s sprawled on the ground in a somewhat peculiar position, if the memories serve correctly then this is the initial position used to make snow angels. But the emotions that stretch towards me through our bond suggest that he is not in the mood to play in non-existent snow. Peculiar.

The creator has long silver hair and dark black eyes, but they differ slightly from what I can recall from his memories. They should be clearer, cleaner, would vibrant be the correct word if he were to speak it? Whatever the word was, he appeared dimmer than normal. The most likely conclusion I can draw is that it is tied to the dark emotions I sense, I believe the word he would put to them is despair. That emotion is probably what drove him to create me.

He was just lying there, gazing at the endless blue above him. But he didn’t seem infatuated by it, it felt more like resentment, perhaps a touch of helplessness? He felt broken, like a fractured mirror that couldn’t put itself back together, or perhaps a broken sword without a purpose would be more fitting for him?

I watched him lay there. The bond of creation fed me information as I looked at him. Memories, little pieces of the soul, they flowed through the bond in an unending stream. They were of him, of family, of who "I" was. And then there were some who did not seem to belong to him. The "him" in those memories looked similar to the current him, but they weren’t the same. "He" was older, darker, and the world around him looked more like this Netherworld than it did the world that the current him came from. Was it perhaps a past life? An alternate future? I couldn’t tell, my creator didn’t have any concrete knowledge about it, and it didn’t seem included in the basic knowledge I was formed with.

Another thing to ponder over in the future should my creator ever stumble upon it. But for now, I needed to do what my creator desired of me. My legs moved, and my body followed.

Awkward steps, that was probably how he would describe it if he saw it. The way my feet moved and my knees bent was quite unlike what I had seen in his memories, it seems like a bit of experience is needed even with the memories of it. Luckily, with the memories I got from the bond it was quiet easy to quickly patch up the awkward spots and reach a more natural, elegant way of walking. Good, it’s just as he remembered.

My first instinct was to walk up to him, but the memories and instincts that came with them suggested that a different approach would be better. The sprawling man had been chased by "me" all the way up until he was caught, letting him do some chasing for once would be a good way to get him moving. I sat down on a small stone and drew upon the memories to form my posture, raising one knee to my chest while my other leg stretched out naturally.

Hmm, no, it wasn’t quite right yet. Being born was harder than I would have thought, things that should come "naturally" were harder to do than expected. I fiddled around a bit, but eventually came to a stop as I placed my arms on my raised knee and leaned the side of my head against it.

Yes, this was how Lan Yun should sit as she greeted him, this was a good posture to urge him on. Was it in a bathhouse where "I" had previously sat like this? Oh well, the past won’t matter much to something such as I, I won’t be around for long anyway. But until the time comes, I must fulfil my duty in the present, so it is time for me to test out words.

"It’s rare for you to rest for this long, Young Master. It’s refreshing, bit is that really what you should be doing now?"

Young Master. What a strange title. The memories and instincts suggest that "I" should be very intimate with the creator, so why use such a distant title? It’s strange, but the creator livened up instantly so perhaps it does hold some special meaning to them, strange that it’s not in his memories though.

"You… You… Dead…"

The creator stuttered. The words wouldn’t form in his mouth, the swirling emotions inside of him prevented him from speaking it. He knew the truth, or at least had an inkling of it. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud. Expected. He needed me, and thus I was born. If he admits the truth then I will no longer be what he needs and disappear, and it seems like he cannot bear even the possibility of that. Perhaps "I" am dearer to him than the initial observation of the memories and emotions suggests.

"Yes, I died, Young Master. I exploded, and as a result, everyone around you died, you died. And for that, how can I ever forgive myself? But Young Master, you're here, aren't you? You died, but you're here."

Sophistry. The word struck me as I spoke to the creator. Did he think of it at the same time, or is it because "I" would have thought of that word in a situation like this? Hmm, how strange it was to have thought, to be conscious. Was it like this for all living beings, constantly pondering?

"No... This can't be, it's impossible. You can't be here, it's impossible, you're all gone."

Ah, he’s desperate. Yes, I became keenly aware of that as he spoke. He denied me, rejected the possibility of my existence. But he couldn’t muster any faith in his words, he didn’t want to believe them. And indeed, he spoke them for but a single reason, to have them refuted. Allow me to oblige you then, creator, for that is my duty.

"Gone... You were also gone, Young Master. But here you are, just as I remember you. And here I am, just as you remember me. Lost, but found again. If something is lost, you just need to find it again, that's all there is to it. You found me, so you can find the others, won't everything be fine if you just do that?"

The creator was desperate, he was sinking into despair all on his own, he was weak like that. So he wanted someone to push him on, someone to give him a purpose and hope. And thus, I was born. Hope for the hopeless, purpose for those who lack it, an outlet for their desires, a fuel for it.

"It's not possible... Please... It's not possible..."

He was crumbling as he spoke, I could feel his insides twist, his emotions churning. I didn’t know when it started, but it seemed that I had started to approach him at some point. What a convenient body, I can even indulge in some of my own thoughts while it moves on its own. Good, this will provide me more time to go through the memories so that I can pick the appropriate words to urge on the creator.

I reached him as I pondered my next words and actions, luckily I found them quite easily, it seemed as if "I" was quite accustomed to comforting the creator, he certainly had a lot of memories about it. I stretched out my arms, I was a bit more accustomed to moving now so I managed to mimic the memories excellently.

My hands landed on his cheeks, which were colder than his memories would suggest, they were like ice. Then again, the bright ball of light above us should also be warm yet I couldn’t feel anything from it, perhaps this body was simply faulty. Whatever the case was, I pulled the creator close and placed my forehead against his. He closed his eyes out of fear, and I closed my eyes because it was what "I" would have done. And then I spoke, I fulfilled my duty.

"Sshh, Young Master. You've never been one to think about if things are possible or not, you move, and you make things possible. So it doesn't matter if it's possible or not, all that matters is what you believe, what you want to be real. Tell me, Young Master, what do you believe?"

He had to believe it. Or at the very least, he had to convince himself that he believed it. The words didn’t need to make sense, the situation didn’t need to be too logical, he needed to believe it. Because I was all he had left, he needed me right now so he had to believe me even if he knew he shouldn’t.

And so, he did just that. He believed the lie, he allowed himself to be fooled. And then the creator wept. He spilt tears in the same way he did when he lost his own creators, but this time he forced himself to spill them with a different emotion. He thanked me as he cried, so I put on a slightly sorrowful expression, just as he knew that "I" would have in this situation.

"No, Young Master, thank you for believing in me. It's fine now, cry all you want, empty your heart. And then let's go, let's find all the things you lost, let's hold them tight and climb higher than ever before."

Yes, creator, cry all you please. And once you’re done crying, let me give you more of the hope you need. Let me lead you to the punishment you desire, let me give you pain enough to drown out the suffering that you drown in.