Dimensions Collide: Destiny Bond

Prota frowned. Hadn’t he asked this already? It was a long time ago, so her memory was a little bit fuzzy, but she vaguely remembered.

“Do you believe in fate, Prota?”

“I don’t, either. Not ‘fate,’ at least. There’s something else, but… that’s a talk for another time.”

“...fate?”

“Fate. It’s an interesting concept. The development of events beyond one’s control, often regarded as determined by a supernatural power, or a power of one beyond our existence. It’s a little scary, right? Thinking that our lives are predetermined? That nothing wee do matters?”

Prota held her head in her hands as if she had a headache. What was he getting at? Why was he sprouting all this gibberish?

“Don’t you find it strange? You’re eight, Prota. Seven. You’re basically a baby, no offence. And yet… somehow, you survived an entire year on the streets at the age of six. You understand a lot of what I say. You act like a child sometimes, but other times, you’re as mature as an adult, sometimes even more so. Isn’t it all kinda weird? How things just sometimes work out?

He looked out the window, his expression hidden as he continued.

“Prota. Do you know what a story is?”

The conversation had taken a sudden turn. What was up with this question? Of course she knew what a story was. She didn’t want to know about that. She wanted to know who he was. She wanted to know about his powers. Her powers. Everything.

“It’s an interesting thing, a story. A world, made of people called [Characters]. A world, written by a [Writer]. A world to be observed by [Readers]. A universe, brought to life by these three things. A world where everything is predetermined by a [Plot].”

He turned to look at her, his face blank. Empty. His soulless eyes were now matched with an equally soulless face. There wasn’t a single shred of emotion in him. He looked like a statue, left to sit for eternity.

“Prota. I told you I don’t believe in fate, right?”

Prota stared at him. She felt scared. As if she were hearing something she wasn’t meant to know.

“That’s because I know that it doesn’t exist. What exists instead… is [Plot].”

“...plot?”

Prota didn’t know what that meant. Plot? What did he mean? It was almost disappointing. Surely this wasn’t finished.

“Oh. It’s a bit late. Come on, Prota, we have to go before we get killed. I want us to be out of the city before dinner.”

“But… John can just beat them, right?” She didn’t get it. Why were they running from someone they could win against?

Zero, who’d been observing silently the whole time, shook his head. “No, not really. We need to leave, Prota. He’s right. Well, I mean, you could just die again. That’s always an option. But do you really want to do that?”

“Come on. Get all your clothes out. I have some things to get ready.”

~~~

Within an hour, the room was almost cleaned out. All the kitchenware had been put into a box, Prota’s clothes into a bag. Pillows, sheets, and everything else, it was all packaged in one way or another. Only large pieces of furniture remained.

“...” Prota stared at it all. Were they going to carry all this with them?

“Come on,” John said. He started picking things up and throwing them, but the things he threw didn’t fall to the floor. Instead, they vanished into thin air, leaving behind a thin ripple as if he’d thrown them into a pond. Prota stared as if trying to see where the items had gone.

“I’ll explain later. Come on, let’s go” he said, beckoning for her to follow. Aside from his usual attire, he was carrying a light bag on his back. His revolver hung in a pocket in his hoodie, and a knife was tucked up his sleeve.

Prota was similarly wearing everything that she felt she needed. She was wearing her cloak, as usual, and her staff was hanging on her back, ready to be used if necessary. John had taken it out of the wrapping and was surprised to see how well Prota handled it.

“You can use magic?” John said, raising an eyebrow. “I wasn’t expecting that, but… well, we take what we can get, right?”

“...?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. It makes sense that you picked up something. I’m not sure how long I was dead for, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you picked up a skill or two. I just hope you didn’t grow physically or anything. You’d have to retrain if you increased your physical strength in any way.”

He patted her head, but with the empty look on his face, it wasn’t as comforting. It felt a bit off. John gave the room one last look. It’d been his home for several years, but…

“Yeah. It was about time I left. I wasn’t getting anything done here anyway.”

Stagnant water. That was all this home was.

It was time to leave.

The two went down the stairs, ready to head out. John looked around one last time. The familiar smell of snacks and drinks. Rich wood, whiffs of smoke, the pungent smell of alcohol, the remains of perfume… well, it hadn’t been all that bad. The bell gave them one last friendly jingle as they went out the door.

“...it was a long ride,” John muttered as he looked at the bar one last time. “Thanks.”

~~~

Prota followed John with no idea where they were going. However, now that she had a map in her vision, it became clear where they were headed.

“Jinae…” Prota muttered as they approached the old lady’s stall.

“Oh? Is that her name?” John said curiously. “Was she the one who taught you to use magic? She was a pretty good fighter.

“John!” Jinae called out as they approached, surprised. “What’re you doing here?”

“We’re leaving,” John said. “There’s a bounty on our heads, I think, so it’s best to just get the hell outta here. I’d still like to take the gift before we leave.”

“Really? You’re leaving? Why don’t you just fight them?”

“I don’t know. Is that an issue… Jinae?”

The old lady didn’t react, but John saw her eyes light up in surprise momentarily.

“You knew that, too?”

John didn’t say anything.

Jinae just scoffed and brought the box of food out, handing it over to John. He nodded and took it silently, turning around to leave. Jinae looked at him sadly. The look on his face was the same as when he’d fought her. Empty, lifeless and cold. Regarding everything around him as a tool. An object. Something to be used, a statistic in a spreadsheet of a world.

But… there was a fire. A small fire, to be sure, like a candle, but it was there. Not within him.

But beside him.

Prota tugged on John’s sleeve, asking him to turn around. John stopped, confused, but then shook his head, took his hands off the box and stopped. The moment he did so, Prota turned around and sprinted to Jinae, bowing in respect.

“Um… T-thank you,” Prota muttered. “For…”

Prota froze. Right. Jinae didn’t know about her. Didn’t know about her abilities, didn’t know about her time with John. The stories Jinae had told her were secret once more. The Jinae she’d once known was no longer the Jinae that stood in front of her. What was she supposed to say? Thank you for training me in a past life? One where you died?

A month of memories flew through her head. None of that had happened. All of it might as well have been a dream. Jinae… didn’t really know who she was. She didn’t know that Prota was aware of her identity.

Jinae frowned, confused, but the frown shifted into a smile. “Bah, just get out of here. You can thank me by staying alive. Just don’t die out there, you hear? A child like you shouldn’t be fighting for her life like this.”

There was irony in her words. It was just that Jinae herself would never understand it.

John looked back and nodded at Jinae, and the old lady nodded back. No words needed to be said. They both knew. If they met again, they would meet again. With that, John took Prota’s hand in his, and they walked away.

“How long did she train you for?”

“Mm… one month.”

John whistled. “I was dead for a month? Sheesh.”

“No words for her?” Zero said, looking back. “Come on, you’ve known her for a while.”

“There’s nothing to be said. If she’s important to the [Plot], then she’ll show up. If not… well, it is what it is.”

They continued down the path silently, the city getting further and further away.

“Prota. Do you understand?” John spoke without turning his head, staring down the road they were taking. “This is [Reset]. Jinae… she doesn’t remember training you. She doesn’t remember spending that time with you. It’s- this was a light lesson. It might get worse. It can for sure get worse. Are you ok with this?”

Prota nodded, but John’s words didn’t reach her. To her, Jinae would be her teacher. It didn’t matter if Jinae didn’t remember her…

Because she would always remember Jinae. And that was all that mattered.

~~~

“Tired,” Prota wheezed.

They’d been walking for a while without stopping. The sun was setting in the distance, and they were deep into the woods. John appeared to be fine, although he looked mildly annoyed. Prota was still small enough that she was having trouble keeping up, and they hadn’t made as much progress as John had hoped they would.

“Yeah, let’s take a break.”

John thrust his hand forward, creating a ripple in the air as it vanished. It came back with camp supplies: wood, matches, a tent, and food. The scene was rather comical, what with larger and larger objects appearing out of nowhere. Two folding chairs came out and fell onto the ground.

Prota, however, was too busy looking at all this strange stuff. It was weird enough that John had pulled all of this stuff out of nowhere, but on top of that, she’d never seen any of these things before. John was busy starting a fire, but as soon as he threw the matches in, he looked back to see Prota staring in amazement.

“It’s stuff from my old world,” John explained. “That’s a chair, if you couldn’t tell. You should sit while you can.”

Prota nodded, climbed into the chair, and then sank into it, letting her tired feet rest. John was busy getting things ready for dinner, but he remained unusually silent as he watched the blazing fire crackle merrily.

“You’re going to have to tell her eventually,” Zero said quietly. “You already started.”

“...man, she’s just a kid. Even I don’t like knowing about this. I get that it was necessary, but I don’t like it. Do I have to tell her? Hell, will she even understand?”

“It’s a [Story], John. Of course she’s going to understand.”

John sighed and turned to Prota.

“Hey. You still have questions, right? Come on.”

He took out a burger and gave it to Prota, who began devouring the meal immediately. She slowed down as she noticed that John wasn’t eating. Soon, she stopped entirely. The John in front of her seemed so different. His face looked tired. So tired.

Somehow, the food didn’t taste the same as before.

What is this all about? Right. [Plot]. [Reader]. [Writer]. [Character].

What exactly was John?

“Prota. Do you like stories?”

Prota nodded. What did that have to do with anything?

“What kind of stories do you like?”

“Um…” Prota paused to think. As a child, she’d been told some old fairy tales, but it wasn’t as if she’d spent a lot of time reading.

“Heroes,” she said. “Knights, princesses. Dragons and monsters.”

John chuckled. “Fairy tales, huh… Prota. Do you know what a plot is?”

Prota cocked her head to the side. Plot? He’d mentioned that word before.

“A plot… well, it’s a story. It’s how a story goes, without telling the story with itself.”

Prota was visibly frustrated.

“Um… well, think of it this way. Your fairy tales, right? The princess is taken by the demon. The knight goes to rescue the princess. The knight fights the demon. The knights saves the princess. That’s the plot of your stories.”

Prota nodded. She understood vaguely.

“There is no such thing as fate, Prota. What exists… is [Plot].”

“...?”

“Prota. I… goddamn,” John sighed, taking in a deep breath. No. Prota was going to stay with him. If she was going to be by his side, he needed to tell her. She needed to know. He knew what happened when the truth wasn’t revealed on time. Things got messy. It was better to get it out of the way while he still could.

“Prota. We’re not real.”

“...?” Prota didn’t understand. What did he mean?

“Prota, this world. It’s just made by some random person. Maybe it’s a book, maybe some kinda comic? It might be a TV show, but there’s no way they’d turn something of this quality into a show. Regardless, they’re just making a story. And we’re living in it.”

“Story...”

“You, me, everyone. We’re all [Characters]. None of this is real. We’re fake, Prota. We’re figments of someone’s imagination. Our existence… we exist for the entertainment of others. Do you understand? This is a [Story], Prota.”

Prota remained silent. The words were being processed. She understood what the words meant.

She just didn’t understand.

She was a [Character]? She wasn’t real? It didn’t make sense. She looked at her own hands, wiggling her fingers as if to ensure they were there. She felt real. Was she not real? If she wasn’t real, then what was she?

“Don’t worry, you’re not going to disappear or anything. You’re very real. In this world, at least,” John sighed, seeing what she was doing. “It’s just that, well, this entire world is a story. How do it… The stories you’ve heard. You know that the characters in those stories, they’re not real, right? Will you ever meet them?”

Prota shook her head.

“But think about this. Those characters. Let’s pretend that they exist for a second. Would they ever thing that they’re fake? That they’re just in a story?”

Prota froze. She understood. She didn’t like that she understood, but it was making sense. Right. Why would a character ever believe that they were just that? A character?

But then again, who cared about something like that? At the end of the day, a story was a story. If it wasn’t a real story, then the characters were just that: characters. They couldn’t think anything else. So why bring up a point like that in the first place?

“Do you understand, Prota? That’s us. We’re those characters. Those characters that are just ‘fakes’ to the real world.”

John sighed and stood up. He didn’t feel hungry. At this point, neither did Prota. She watched as he walked around the fire, muttering to himself.

“Then… who is John?” Prota said quietly. Her questions still hadn’t been answered. After thinking for a while, she realized that she didn’t really care whether she was real or not. Why did something like that matter to her? She was hearing the words that were coming out of John’s mouth, but they meant nothing to her. It didn’t matter to her. As long as she did her own thing, wasn’t she real enough?

What mattered was who John was.

It seemed that he hadn’t heard her, so she tried again.

“What is… [Reader]? And [Writer]? And [Character]?”

“...who are you?”

She saw John stop and sigh. He hung his head, then looked back at Prota, a strange look on his face. It was a chilling feeling; a weary, haggard expression, the look of someone who’d done too much, lived through too much and had nothing left. He didn’t look like a young man anymore.

Prota was starting to understand where that look was coming from.

“Me?” John snorted. “I’m a [Character], just like you.” He paused, thinking about what he’d just said. “A [Character]... and something else, I guess.”

Prota waited. After a bit, John continued.

“Remember what I told you earlier, Prota? It’s an interesting thing, a story. A world made of people called [Characters]. A world, written by a [Writer]. A world to be observed by [Readers]. A universe, brought to life by these three things. A world where everything is predetermined by a [Plot].”

He started pacing back and forth.

“A story needs all three. A story needs someone to make the world, to shape it and give it form. It needs readers to see it, to observe it and know it, to bring the creation to life. Stories exist for readers, even if there’s only one. And it needs characters, people for the readers to follow on a journey. Even if that character is the narrator, there is someone, something to observe.”

John stopped and looked at Prota.

“Prota. I come from a world called “Earth.” It’s a pretty boring place, I guess, compared to here. There’s no magic. There’s lots of guns, though. People live normal lives. There’s no monsters or demons or heroes. We have soldiers. That’s probably the closest thing we’ll get to heroes. Most people live their lives in peace, a large number live in poverty, but of all those people, millions of of them have stories in their heads, some unseen, others loved by the masses. Each story is a world. A world just like this one.”

He paused, taking a sip of water. There was no other sound other than the crackling of the fire.

“Do you see where this is going? A [Writer], Prota. Someone who makes these worlds. I am- no. I was one at some point. I think,” John muttered under his breath.

“...god?” Prota cocked her head to the side. Should she bow down and worship him? If he was god, then what was Celeste?

John laughed. “God? Something like that. At some point, maybe. Not anymore, that’s for sure.”

“Prota, you see, a [Writer] shouldn’t be able to interact with this world. They made it. They shaped it. But they can’t become a [Character]. That’s not how things work. If you told someone a story, could you suddenly appear in your own tale and fight alongside your hero?”

Prota shook her head. That was ridiculous. It was called fiction for a reason.

“Exactly. I’m a special case. You saw my traits, right? I’m part [Writer], part [Reader] and part [Character].”

“...[Reader]?”

John snorted. “I don’t know. Personally, I think the whole [Reader] thing is stupid. You know what a reader does with a story? They read. A reader knows everything. Sees everything. They know the story. Nothing they can do about it, though. Zero is almost all [Reader],” he added.

Zero appeared and waved as if to prove his point. That was, apparently, all he planned on doing, because he disappeared shortly after.

“He knows a lot. But he can’t interact with us. It’s limited to talking, and even then, it’s not the most helpful. You’ve heard the censoring yourself. He probably knows what’s gonna happen. He just can’t tell us.”

John sat down and sighed.

“So that’s me. A half baked [Writer] who can barely write in a written world. A [Reader] who doesn’t know what’s coming next. And a [Character] that no one wants to read about.”

He looked at Prota and offered a weak smile. “It’s a lot to take in. You’re a kid. You don’t have to understand, ok? But I had to tell you. What you do with that… well, that’s up to you.”

Prota nodded slowly.

“Well, I don’t expect you to take this all in right away. It’s something you shouldn’t need to worry about anyway. Just focus on you, ok?”

Prota nodded and continued eating her burger, but she no longer had the energy that she had earlier. There was so much she’d just learned. It couldn’t even be compared to anything. How was anyone supposed to react to something like this?

Your world was nothing but a fiction. A story made by someone you would never meet, your life and everything around it controlled by someone that didn’t even consider you to be real.

This was what John had been living with all this time?

“John,” Prota called out. ”Are you… ok?”

John turned around and frowned. “Huh? What kind of question is that?”

“John seems… sad?” Prota said hesitantly. She didn’t know how to describe the expression on his face. “Um… John looks like a statue. No face. Just… nothing.”

Then she remembered a conversation they’d had a long time ago.

“No emotion. John… is not human?”

“...” John just looked away. “Don’t worry about me, Prota. Just worry about yourself.”

John said that, but that just convinced Prota further.

She’d told herself that she needed to protect those around her. The only issue was… how was she supposed to protect someone who couldn’t die?

There was something else Prota could protect, though.

She could protect him from himself.

If she was forced to live with the knowledge that everything around her was the work of some unknown being, she too would probably just give up on everything. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend what it was like for John, who apparently came from a world full of these [Writers].

But she wasn’t John. She wasn’t forced to live with this knowledge, and as such, she would never know what being him was like. She didn’t care whether or not everything was real or fake because all that mattered to her was those around her.

So if John’s life couldn’t be lost, then she would protect something else.

“Look. I’ve done a lot. I’ve been through a lot. What one might call ‘humanity’ or ‘soul’... I lost it a long time ago. Nothing matters. I just… I can’t feel anything. Maybe I can’t feel pain, but I also can’t feel joy. I might not be able to feel anger, but I can never find peace, either. You’re close to getting like that. I… I can’t let you become like that.”

John wanted to protect Prota from becoming like him. So she would do the same. She’d stop him from becoming like her.

~~~

“You good?”

The fire crackled quietly. John stared into the flames with empty eyes.

“What do you think?”

“Tired?”

“Always.”

John’s voice was as monotone as Prota’s, but he wasn’t nearly as cute. With him, it was just depressing.

“You need a goal, John. It might be fake, but as long as you’re a [Character], you live here and now. Come on, there has to be something you want. Right?”

John suddenly whirled around, clenching his fists.

“What am I supposed to want, Zero? What am I supposed to do? First, it was the fake Earth I lived in for, what, hundreds of years? Then I found out that wasn’t real, then you taught me all of this [Story] bullshit, and now I’m being forced to travel between dimensions to what, look for my memories? Why do I want these? What’s my end goal? What the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m a concept! An idea! I don’t exist! If I die or live, it doesn’t fucking matter because, ultimately, nothing I do matters anyways!”

“I-”

“You tell me, Zero. What do I have to live for? What could I possibly want when what I get doesn’t matter anyway? I can’t live. I can’t die. I can’t enjoy anything but you tell me to do so anyway. Goals? What goals? My goals are determined by someone I’ll never meet! Everything I want isn’t even mine to have!”

John hung his head, suddenly ending his outburst. His voice reduced to nothing more than a whisper, one full of despair.

“What’s the point? Why do I exist, Zero?”

“You have Prota now.” Zero looked at the sleeping girl. Her hair spilled all over the ground, some of it in her mouth as she slept quietly. The two of them stared at her as her chest gently rose and fell, oblivious to the argument going on.

“...I’ll have to leave her behind, too. She belongs to this world. Not with me. ”

Zero just looked at John. “Really? Are you sure about that?”

John didn’t respond. He didn’t want to listen to Zero, but deep down, he knew. Despite all the arguments they had, Zero was really trying to help. And he’d just given John a clue.

Anomaly. A fraction of his power. Something was strange about that. The fact that she could reset with him. Her name. So many things lined up. So many things were too convenient to be a coincidence.

But he didn’t want to believe. He looked up into the night sky, a cosmic painting swirling around with twinkling stars on the black canvas above.

“John. What’s done is done. You can’t change it anymore. You can only push forward and do what you need to do. How does this help you?”

Zero stared at John, hoping, praying. He knew what the [Story] was supposed to be, but John wasn’t part of the original [Story].

He was an [Anomaly]. He still had a chance to live.

“Fine. A chance. I’ll give it a chance. Just one more time.”