Self-Actualization
In.
Out.
It was like any other time that she had a moment to herself. Right now, a scarred mul'neissa woman was sitting in the gardens on a fair weather yet chilly night, the full moon vibrant and high in the darkened sky, intermingled with the twinkling lights above.
In.
Out.
It was still. Silent. Peaceful. Without, and within.
Aryia was lost in that quiet place. A place of introspection that was taught to her by a half-mul that turned a new leaf. Deaf she was to the world around her, all inward flow was stilled.
And she held the stilled pools within her. Floating within the waters once more. Inky depths below, brilliant light above. She mingles in the penumbra of both, despite their distance, she knew and felt that a single tug would yank either towards her. She need not swim towards either. It was her, wholly her, and her desires.
She felt a memory bubble forth, but rather than let it play out, she let it go, fingers trailing through the wake of the bubble. This has happened so many times as of late. Sometimes the bubbles would stream past, sometimes it would be a rushing river. But she had to let it float on by, to let herself sort it out in the unconscious parts of her mind.
But then, an insight.
A bubble meant disturbance. This should be her still place.
Where did that bubble come from? Everything was so far away, yet so close. Wouldn't she be aware of something of the sort? Wasn't this as deep as she could go?
She gently tugs at the light, the waters brightening to try and see, yet there was nothing. The dark as well, and no odd shadows cast.
Both were relinquished. Then... what was it?
...
What would Aya do? Strike?
Aya would seek it out in that determined manner she has.
Strike would try to still the disturbance, achieve a more perfect tranquility.
But Aryia wasn't either of them. She was her own person.
So she follows that wake.
In.
And pulls it towards her.
Out.
The waters were far wider than she thought. The pool rushes past, that outward flow burning. Was that what it was this entire time? She had to let that inquiry go as she slowly yanked through the lateral depths. Searching... searching... searching...
Another bubble of a memory. It slow moving, dredged. Floating freely. Directionless. Another tug. Two more. Four. Sixteen. A field of free floating memories.
In.
...
O-Out.
The waters wavered from that hiccup.
Was this... Was this what she thought it was? All those missing decades? She reaches out for them, elation welling forth. Though, her hand falls short. Not from the distance. No. She wasn’t ready to delve into all of that so suddenly. They were scattered for a reason. Her mind must have fielded them from her to keep her psyche intact.
Perhaps it’d be best to pull them towards her quiet place instead of all the way out here. To dwell in their company so they’d resurface at their own pace like they have been doing. And she does so.
Yet, still she did not grasp the full extent of such mysticism. And all the bubbles were pulled to a singular point. They morphed together, rippled. A tinge of fear grips at her. Was she about to do something she regretted?
Just as she was about to let in the inward flow to pull her far out from this introspection, the memories ceased their coalescing.
And another being was present in the vast pool.
Without blemish or marks, a younger, more fiery version of herself stares off into the depths, her robed in a black and crimson, elegant dress. Her hand is outstretched, gripping... something with intensity, face set in a snarl with a rapier cocked back, the tip tinged crimson and dripping..
“You cannot bury me forever,” her past self hisses.
Awareness slid to the other side. In it, finishing forming from the memories, was... herself again. In tattered, pitiful canvas clothes. Eyes wide and shaking with fear. Some marks and scars present, yet none as egregious as the open gash on the front of her throat that spilled freely. Her chin was in her younger mirror’s grasp, and in her shaking hands was a bloodied, rusty dirk, pointed towards the other’s chest. Despite the debilitating wound, she still spoke back. Fear laced in her quavering voice.
“B-But I’m not y-you anymore..!” her silenced self pleads.
One more, final figure. A heavily scarred mul’neissa. Hair cut rugged, simple clothes salt worn. A hand on the others’ wrist, holding both blades in place. Her visage locked in uncertainty, strained, exhausted, sweat dripping off her chin in droves. And this one spoke too.
“Neither of you... are... are...” she haggardly murmurs, her stance slipping some before redoubling and grounding itself.
Three pairs of milk colored eyes look over.
The fiery elf drops the silenced one. “Another one,” she snaps, yanking her hand free and striding up to the pugilist herself. She tries to swim back, yet is grabbed by the chin, a waft of the past echoing by. Ball music, cutting of fabric, chants of prayer.
Two hands reach out to yank her young self back. Clinking shackles, desperate scuffles, a shouting cry cut short to the left. Crashing waves, groaning wood, cracks of thunder to the right.
I-In.
Waver.
O-Out.
The amalgamations squabble once more. Her young self determined to be free, as fear kept it under control, while freedom strived with most of their might to keep the two from smothering the other.
Was... this disturbance the cause of her mental block? Her memories so mangled together that they strangled themselves trying to come to consciousness?
How should she go about this? Was she even ready to deal with the decades of the past that had been locked away for so long? All at once? How does one even solve this? This was an internal struggle. No language to crack, no brick to break, no distance to sprint.
What should she do?
What would her mentors do?
One, she felt, would wrestle them down and get them to cooperate, exude her will, not let the past control her. The other would attempt to quiet them, make peace with the past, turn over a new leaf.
The three break free, turn, and charge at her.
Fear to the light. Fury to the dark. Freedom to the shade.
Instinct was to fight back and subdue. And she tries. Yet she knew her own tricks, and was quickly wrestled down and strung up. Fear trembling with the knife poised to strike. Fury crushing a throat. Freedom pulling them all apart.
Then, perhaps, it was best to let it be? She releases her tension and tries to relax. The hypnotic breathing became strained and wheezing. And pain flared in her gut from a knife pressing against it. The mediator was waning. She felt herself slipping...
Slipping...
... this wasn’t it.
Both insights were correct. But not right. Not for her. She had to do this her own way.
She had to.
A strained In.
...
A wheezy Out.
She had to...
... accept it.
All of it.
All of what has happened to her. The shock of her true upbringing. The smearing of her past from the trauma caused by her identity being stripped away. The pain of being chattel. The torture of the fighting pits. The liberating feeling of the sea. The uselessness in a foreign land. Failure. Hopelessness. A spark. Loss. Rage. Passion. Love. Self-actualization.
They were all her. And she was all of them.
Her arms open.
And all three are swept into an embrace.
The trio burst into a cloud of memories. Rushing past in an overwhelming whirl of deep seated and rooted emotions suffused its way through her. She locks up.
Aryia falls forward, having nothing holding her up. Falling in these depths? But to where..?
The light above and the dark below rapidly meet together.
And the pugilist splashes out of a puddle, sitting upright. Drawing the deepest, filling breath-
In.
No longer was she in the pool. The ocean. Instead she sat atop it. Seeing the depths of the dark below. And above, was an open, white sky. And beyond was a singular strip of vastless gray horizon encircling her.
The inky waters were still, yet harboring no reflection of the stark alabaster above.
It’s quiet here.
Silent.
Peaceful.
Her eyes slide open, just as the sun begins to crest a new day. The dawn greets clammy skin, hair drenched in frozen sweat, and two wet trails on scarred cheeks.
Lips move voicelessly.
Out.
“I know... who I am..."