I have died once.
It was brief. Violent. A misstep in a cavern where mana pooled too deep, thick with echoes of ancient spells.
Death was not a door, nor a wall. It was a mirror. In it, I saw every step I had taken, every spell shaped, every artifact touched. And then… I saw mana.
Not the force I felt around me in life. This was closer. Personal. Watching.
It reached for me — gently. Not to consume, but to invite.
And I felt my Codex open.
The storage spell worked. My memories flowed not outward, but inward, into the halls of the library I carry within.
Mana hesitated. It could not take what was not offered. But it watched.
It asked me — not in words, but in presence: Would I still give, even now?
I did. A single memory. The shape of fire I had learned in life one. I gave it willingly.
Mana whispered its approval. And I awoke.
Now I know: death is not a loss. It is a test.
And I will pass it, again and again, until the Codex becomes the world's last archive.