Book One – Chapter 13

There was a point where Midnight recognised the wizard’s shifting essence as something distinct from his existence, a point where it was neither fully his nor entirely consumed by the golem. It was not a break, not a severance, but rather a strand being drawn across a threshold. And within this transition, there was an in-between — where the essence no longer belonged to the wizard but was not yet claimed by the golem.

At this threshold, the essence had a unique presence. It seemed … accessible. But what was it, truly? It was unbound, neither tethered to the wizard nor the golem, yet also not free.

It is change, the voice within her whispered.

And with the words, impulsive intuition swept over Midnight; more of a feeling than any form of literal understanding. The essence at the threshold was not something material or ethereal. It was of itself, yet never  not  part of either the wizard or the golem. It traversed the strand from one existence to the other, where it was never part of both at the same time, never touched by both simultaneously, while also never free of touch.

That made it an impossible existence, something that defied being. It could not be. It was not. This in-between was not graspable. If time were frozen, there would be nothing that was not part of either the wizard or the golem.

That was the point — There was no point. There was, however, a moment. A moment that was shorter than a breath, shorter than a blink, and shorter still. It was an indefinitely small moment.

The essence at the threshold cannot be. It is becoming, said the voice that spoke for Midnight, like me.

There was nothing. It was Nothing, like Midnight. It was existence itself. It was the process of the shift. It existed only as time progressed.

This is change, said the voice. I am change.

The voice had said so before. Midnight was something unattached, ever-moving. She was nothingness that shifted as time progressed.