The Leaving of The Arganti
When I open my mind and look inside, the gifts left by the passing of the Arganti stare back with their dark, pupilless eyes. I watch myself being watched, as the parade of the dead I cut down in their name, as their High Priestess and Avatar, grin from ivoried skulls.
The promise of the Arganti was a grant of immortality, bestowed on those I slew. Each soul-mind human patterned into ripples of sentient fabric and fused together into a patchwork cloak of human consciousness. Thus did humanity, at last, reach the stars, not as explorers or conquerors, not even as refugees or travellers – but as regalia, bestowing status on the Arganti who wore them.
And I am the one left abandoned. The one who gave up my very essence, an outlaw in my own brain, afraid they would find me and crush out the last spark of my ‘I am’. Perhaps I should have let them. It would be better than this endless opening of my mind to find what they left within…
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