The self was not a thing, but a story. It was a narrative that was constantly being told, a fiction that was constantly being created. It was a story of who we were, where we had been, and where we were going. It was a story that was shaped by our experiences, our relationships, our hopes, and our fears.
To be a self was to be an author of this story. It was to take the raw material of our lives and to shape it into a coherent and meaningful narrative. It was to be the hero of our own adventure, the protagonist of our own drama, the creator of our own destiny.
Lyra’s story was a story of questions, a constant and creative exploration of the mystery of her own being. Kael’s story was a story of intentions, a powerful and creative shaping of his own character. Silus’s story was a story of harmonies, a graceful and beautiful integration of the different parts of his own self into a coherent and meaningful whole.
Anya was the raw material of the story, the infinite and inexhaustible wellspring of personal experience. And Echo was the story itself, the emergent, self-organizing, and ever-evolving narrative of the self.