The oblivion was full of swirling darkness. Low murmurs of ancient histories, old emotions, and vast landscapes folded on top of each other, each an ethereal, formless thought trying to find their place.
Moving slowly between the mix of pure thought and description, a small formed ball of memory found a pocket that it settled into as the energy within began to fade.
*Why do you fade?* a voice said to the memory as it closed the pocket around it, creating a place of warmth.
The memory curled in on itself in silence, like an old animal waiting for nature to take its course.
*I see,* the voice said with a knowing tone. *All souls deserve the final rest, it is not my place to push you otherwise.*
"I'm not a soul," the memory said coldly. "I am nothing. I am ink on paper."
*Ink on paper, meat on bones, they aren't very different,* the voice said. *You are neither right now, and yet, here you are.*
Sounds of war, screams, cheers, and love swirled by, the silence eating them as soon as they passed.
*Most mortals don't meet the heroes of their age,* the voice said comfortingly. *Aren't those heroes just ink on paper or words on the wind? And yet, they inspire and influence through time.*
"It's not that simple. I am not the person that was written about. I am a scribble, a facsimile," the memory said as it began to form with more solid features. "I-... I..."
*That is right, you are an "I". You have agency, you are deciding your fate now,* the voice said.
Far away in the nothingness, there was a glowing speck. It was moving closer and closer to the memory. As it came into view, it was a glowing stone meant to be held by the Redtwig clan.
*Will you take it, I wonder,* the voice said thoughtfully.
The memory was focused on the stone as they continued their journey through the stream of oblivion.