Day One—Mental Deliberation Room
The voting began not with words, but with fully opening each consciousness to the others. No secrets, no hidden agendas—just five naked perspectives meeting in the mental space Mei Ling formed.
This time the space took no familiar form. Just a vast white emptiness where thoughts could float without distraction from memories or symbolism.
'Let's start with fears,' I proposed. 'No point pretending we're not afraid.'
Mei Ling was the first to open. I—we all—felt her deepest fear: that in trying to exist in two places at once, she would lose the ability to feel emotions fully. That she would become an observer of her own life, separated by a layer of crystal from the direct experience of warmth, touch, pain that made life feel real.
'I'm afraid of becoming a ghost in my own body,' she whispered.
Hong opened next. His fear was more visceral: that fragmented consciousness would make him weak in battle, hesitant at moments requiring instant decisions. That he would fail to protect those depending on him because part of him was distracted by dual existence.
'I'm afraid of becoming useless,' he admitted, his loudness covering vulnerability.
Feng followed with a fear analysis typical of him: probability of losing mental cohesion was 73% in the first three months, potential for permanent soul damage 45%, risk of domino effect destroying the entire collective 28%. But beneath the numbers, the real fear: that he would lose the ability to think clearly, drowning in the noise of dual consciousness until rational analysis—the only thing that made him feel useful—became impossible.
'I'm afraid of going mad,' he concluded with painful honesty.
Jiao opened with anger covering fear: angry at the situation forcing this choice, angry at himself for not being strong enough to find a better solution, angry at the world for making this sacrifice feel necessary. But beneath the anger, the true fear: that our connection—the only real family he'd ever had—would be permanently damaged by this transformation.
'I'm afraid of losing you all,' he finally admitted, his voice cracking.
And me. My fear was the simplest and most complex: that in trying to save myself this way, I was actually taking a more selfish path than clean sacrifice. That I was forcing the other four to follow because I wasn't brave enough to go alone.
'I'm afraid I'm a coward hiding behind altruism,' I said softly.
Silence fell as five fears floated in the white space—naked, honest, terrifying in their vulnerability.
Then The Buried One spoke, his voice softer than I'd ever heard:
'I am afraid too. Afraid that my desire not to be alone makes me selfish. That I'm asking too much from you who have already given so much. But then I remember: fear is a sign that something matters. That we care about the outcome. And maybe... maybe courage isn't the absence of fear, but choosing to step forward despite it.'
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Day Two—The Search for Reasons
If the first day was about fear, the second day was about why—why consider this insane option instead of the safer yet final path.
We gathered in the garden Mei Ling had built—a place now full of green life that was impossible just months ago. Our physical bodies sat in a circle, but our consciousness floated in a mental space overlapping with physical reality.
"I want to try it," Mei Ling said aloud, surprising us all as she was usually the most cautious. "Not because I'm not afraid—I'm terrified—but because if it works, it opens possibilities that never existed before."
"What possibilities?" Feng asked, genuinely curious.
"To prove consciousness isn't bound to biology. That we can exist in different forms without losing our human essence."
Her eyes shone with a vision larger than her own fear. "Imagine—if this works, we could teach this technique to others. To those with damaged or dying bodies. Give them the option to continue in a different form."
"Immortality through crystal," Hong murmured. "Or a more elegant prison."
"Or both," Jiao countered. "But isn't that a choice worth having? Even if the answer is sometimes 'no'?"
Feng nodded slowly. "From a long-term risk-benefit perspective... if we succeed, the value of knowledge gained outweighs the risk to five individuals. But—" he raised a hand as Hong started to protest, "—that's only valid if we all truly choose this, not forced by circumstances."
"Then how do we know the difference?" I asked. "Between true choice and the illusion of choice created by circumstances?"
Old Man—who had been sitting quietly at the edge of the circle, not part of the collective but a respected witness—finally spoke: "You can never know for sure. But the right question is: if you had all the resources in the world, all the time you wanted, would you still consider this choice?"
I pondered the question. If my body weren't damaged, if we weren't pressed for time... would the idea of living in consciousness duality still be appealing?
'Yes,' I realized with surprise. 'Because it's not about avoiding death. It's about exploring what it means to be more than biological. About chosen evolution, not forced evolution.'
One by one, the others reached similar realizations. Hong saw it as a challenge—a new frontier to conquer. Feng saw it as an experiment too fascinating to pass up. Jiao saw it as a way to ensure our connection would never truly break, even if physical bodies died someday.
And Mei Ling saw it as an act of love—for The Buried One who didn't want to be alone, for each other who didn't want to lose one another, for a future that might benefit from this knowledge.
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Day Three—The Vote
Yan waited in the spiritual workshop, the design modifications half-finished—he'd taken the risk of starting work before the final decision, betting on what he hoped we would choose.
We entered together, all five bodies moving in synchronization that no longer required conscious coordination. The Buried One's vessel now had five additional nodes—spaces designed to be "homes" for our consciousness.
"Decision?" Yan asked without ceremony.
I looked at the other four faces. No mental conference needed—we already knew.
"Five votes," I said softly. "Five 'yeses'."
Yan nodded, not looking surprised. "Then we begin preparations. The transfer process will occur in three weeks—the time needed to finalize modifications and preparation rituals."
"There's one more thing," Mei Ling said. "If this works, if we become something new... we want to make a vow."
"A vow to what?" Elder Qiu, who had just joined, asked.
"That we won't become detached gods separate from humanity," Jiao answered. "That we will continue to serve this community, remain accountable, remain... human, in the most important ways."
"How do you ensure that?" Old Man challenged gently.
"By making a spiritual oath," Feng proposed. "Bound to the vessel itself. If we start deviating into tyrants or monsters... the vessel will reject us. Will force us out."
Yan raised an eyebrow. "That adds another layer of complexity to the design."
"But necessary," I insisted. "Power without accountability is how the old system became corrupt. We won't repeat that mistake."
The Buried One sent a wave of warm agreement. "A good vow. I will be bound to it too. We will keep each other honest."
Three weeks for preparation. Three weeks for rituals that would transform five humans and one primordial god into something that never existed before.
Three weeks before we leaped into uncertainty with only trust in each other as a safety net.
As we left the workshop, the sunset painted the sky in red and gold. Mei Ling gripped my hand—a simple touch that would soon become more complex when our consciousness existed in two places simultaneously.
"No regrets?" she whispered.
"A million," I answered honestly. "But none strong enough to make me turn back."
And with that, we stepped forward—five people with one purpose, choosing transformation over ending, choosing together over alone.
Whatever awaited on the other side of the transfer, we would face it as we had everything else: as a collective, as a family, as living proof that even in darkness, connection is a light that never goes out.