Three Weeks Before the Planned Transfer
The decision had been made, yet not announced. The secret settled within our collective like a stone sinking in water—slowly, inevitably, changing everything around it even if not visible from the surface.
Yan knew. Of course he knew. A scientist like him never missed even the smallest change in data, and our consciousnesses—however integrated—still emitted patterns readable by his increasingly sophisticated diagnostic formations.
He approached us in the spiritual workshop on a quiet night, when the artisans had returned to their quarters. The Buried One's vessel stood in the center of the room—now almost complete, a three-meter-tall crystal network shimmering with pale blue light, carved with formations so complex it took three senior cultivators just to understand one of its seven layers.
"You've decided," Yan said without preamble. Not a question. A statement.
I—the original Wa Lang body—nodded slowly. "How long have you known?"
"Since three days after Kelam successfully entered the prototype." Yan walked around the giant vessel, his hand touching the crystal surface with a gentleness strange for a once-empathyless scientist. "Your spiritual stress patterns changed. Not because they were worsening, but because of... acceptance. A body accepting its death has very distinct biochemical and spiritual signatures."
"You didn't try to stop me." No accusation in my tone, just observation.
"Because mathematically, your choice is the most optimal." Yan stopped before me, and for the first time since I'd known him, I saw something resembling sadness in his eyes. "But optimal isn't the same as easy. And not the same as right."
"Right according to whom?" asked Mei Ling, who had just entered with the other three. We had agreed this conversation must happen with all five bodies present—not just as a collective, but as individuals who could still stand apart.
"According to the ethics we're trying to build," Yan answered. "A new system that doesn't exploit individuals for collective good. And here we are, considering sacrificing one of its founders."
"This is different," Feng retorted defensively. "Wa Lang is choosing this. No one is forcing him."
"Is there true choice when the alternative is failure of the mission that has become your reason for living?" Yan challenged with a philosophical question that had no easy answer. "When you've completely defined your identity by the goal, choosing not to sacrifice yourself for that goal isn't a real choice. It's a betrayal of self."
His words pierced something I didn't want to acknowledge. I had become so intertwined with the mission of freeing The Buried One and building a new system that separating "me" from "mission" was no longer possible. In creating a new identity from the ashes of my old life, I had made the perfect trap for myself.
"Then what do you suggest?" Hong asked, his voice challenging but not hostile. "We cancel the transfer? Let The Buried One remain trapped in a decaying organic vessel?"
"Or," Yan raised a finger, "we find a third solution. Something I hadn't considered before because it was too radical. Too uncertain. But given the alternative is losing Wa Lang..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Perhaps extreme risk becomes acceptable."
A silence filled with tense anticipation filled the room.
"Explain," I finally said.
Yan moved his hand, and a spiritual projection appeared in the air—a diagram more complex than anything he had shown before. It showed The Buried One's vessel, but with a strange addition: five extra nodes connected to the main structure via energy bridges twisting like DNA helices.
"Right now, our plan is for Wa Lang to be a temporary bridge for the transfer—his consciousness would be burned up in the process, like a candle wick delivering fire. But what if..." Yan zoomed in on one node, "what if we don't make a temporary bridge, but a permanent one? What if all five of your consciousnesses become part of the vessel's architecture itself?"
"You mean... we live inside the vessel with The Buried One?" Jiao sounded both shocked and horrified.
"Not 'inside' in the sense of being trapped," Yan corrected quickly. "But connected. These five nodes will be 'spiritual homes' for your core consciousnesses. Your physical bodies will remain alive, functional, but your deepest consciousness—the essence of what makes you 'you'—will have two residences: the organic body and the crystal node."
"That's insane," Feng murmured, but his eyes were already analyzing the diagram with an intensity showing he was seriously considering it.
"It's never been done before," Yan admitted. "Duality of consciousness on this scale surpasses every recorded spiritual experiment. The risks... are significant. You could lose yourselves between two states. Could go mad. Could die in a far more suffering way than simple combustion as a bridge."
"But if it works?" Mei Ling asked in a voice almost too soft to hear.
"If it works, you will become something truly new. Consciousness existing in two places simultaneously. You'll be able to interact with The Buried One on a level impossible if he were isolated in a vessel. You would become... guardians. Friends. Family, in the most literal sense."
The Buried One—who had been silent during the conversation—suddenly emitted a wave of emotion so strong it made the crystals in the room vibrate. Not words, but pure feeling: hope so intense it was painful, mixed with fear of disappointment.
'You truly want this?' I asked the primordial entity that had become part of our strange family. 'Not just freedom from hunger, but us—five noisy consciousnesses—as permanent neighbors?'
'I have lived in absolute solitude for eons,' The Buried One answered, his voice trembling. 'Compared to that, even the most beautiful noise of five consciousnesses arguing about small details sounds like heaven.'
Kelam appeared in a projection, his form more stable than before—the result of weeks of practice entering and exiting the prototype. "I can help," he offered with childlike enthusiasm. "I've learned what it feels like to be in two places. I can teach you the tricks."
"Tricks for not losing your mind," Hong summarized with sarcasm covering tension, "taught by a primordial god fragment. Perfect. What could go wrong?"
But beneath the sarcasm, I felt through our connection: he was considering it. They all were.
"How long do we have to decide?" I asked Yan.
"Three days," he answered. "I need three days to modify the vessel design if you choose this option. After that, we must begin the transfer process or delay the entire project for months."
Three days to decide between certain combustion and uncertain transformation. Between a known end and an unimaginable beginning.
I looked at the four faces that had become mirrors of my own soul—Jiao with his rough yet loyal strength, Mei Ling with her gentleness covering steel resilience, Hong with his honest brutality, Feng with his cold analysis yet hidden care.
'Let's vote,' I said through our internal connection. 'As always. Five votes, one decision.'
And as we stood in a circle—five separate bodies yet five intertwined consciousnesses—I realized that whatever we chose, there was no going back.
The point of no return had been crossed the moment I accepted the first integration. Now, we were only choosing how we would step forward into uncertainty.
Together. As always.