Aleph let out a sigh as he pushed himself up from the ground. A yawn escaped his mouth, and he stretched lazily, as though waking from a particularly good nap.
A faint dizziness made him press a hand to his forehead.
Burroughs explained part of what had happened.
[This is the expected effect of spending too many status points at once. Your body needs time to adapt to the new strength. Don't worry, Master, it's only a temporary inconvenience.]
Aleph muttered something under his breath as he steadied himself.
For a moment, he wondered when he had even spent status points—or if he had any left at all—but finally shrugged it off and started looking around.
He was standing on a suspended platform, surrounded by stairways and floating walkways stretching endlessly in every direction. When he leaned over the edge to look down, he saw no ground—only a glowing cyan mist, dense and luminous, swallowing everything below. The fall didn't just look fatal; it felt like a descent into something worse—a void with no return.
He started walking slowly. No one else was there.
The emptiness in the air knotted his stomach. He couldn't help but wonder what had happened to March, Welt, Himeko, Acheron, and Stelle.
"What am I supposed to do now?" He muttered to himself. The answer, of course, was obvious nothing but keep moving forward and hope to find a way out—then figure things out from there.
.....
He wandered aimlessly until a glint of light at the end of a nearby corridor caught his eye. A familiar figure was waiting for him there—a large, gleaming white suit of armor standing firm and solemn.
It was SAM.
The towering machine turned its head toward him, greeting him with a deep voice.
"At last, you awaken. I have been waiting quite some time."
Aleph scratched the back of his neck with an awkward smile.
"Sorry to keep you waiting. I'll try not to make it a habit."
SAM tilted its head slightly, as if searching for the right words.
"I have tried…" It murmured. "Many times, I've tried to speak to you—to reveal a truth."
Aleph could feel that gaze on him. The face behind the helmet was hidden, but the storm of emotions in that voice was unmistakable.
"I faced many obstacles in taking this path." SAM continued bitterly. "And that's when I finally understood what Elio meant before he left… Perhaps you don't recognize me. Allow me to introduce myself—"
But Aleph interrupted with a weary half-smile.
"No need. I know who you are. Some things… came back to me."
The response made SAM tremble slightly, almost imperceptibly. The armor lowered its head, as if the words were too fragile to believe.
"Your words sound like a kind lie." It murmured sadly. "There's nothing about me worth remembering. I don't understand hearts like Elio or Kafka. I don't have the skill of Silver Wolf or Blade. My path is only destruction. To think someone like you would remember me… that's just a fantasy."
The armor shimmered, fading away in a burst of light.
Standing in its place was a young woman.
Firefly.
Her eyes gleamed with melancholy.
"I saw it on your face, Aleph—the look of surprise when you realized who was under the armor… that talk about your memories returning—it's just a lie, isn't it?" She sighed softly. "You probably don't want anything to do with someone like me anymore… right?"
Aleph let out a quiet chuckle, making her frown.
The sound both confused and annoyed her.
"Are you mocking me?" She asked, frowning deeper.
Instead of answering, Aleph stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. His smile was a little goofy—just like in his memories.
"Do you really think I could forget? That first mission you came with us… when I got overconfident and stole a car to get there faster. Admit it, my driving was flawless—we not only arrived ahead of schedule, we also took out the hostiles on the way."
Firefly blinked in disbelief before her lips curved into a small, amused smile. A soft laugh escaped her.
"Flawless, huh? Even with all my experience piloting war machines, that was the first time I've ever gotten motion sickness."
Aleph huffed and crossed his arms.
"Don't exaggerate."
Firefly's eyes sparkled with mischief.
"Exaggerate? Because of you, Stelle still gets panic attacks whenever she gets in a vehicle that looks remotely like that one."
Aleph tilted his head, and for a brief moment, both of them laughed together—chasing away the melancholy that had lingered in the air.
***********
Meanwhile, inside the Morning Dew Pavilion.
"Endless corridors, tangled hallways full of traps and memetic guards—all arranged like a maze with no exit. With such an extravagant setup, only a paranoid man could call this place his own," Gallagher remarked, sitting in a chair across from the desk.
Sunday, standing with his back to him, answered solemnly.
"You're quite the comedian, Mr. Security Officer. I hope that sense of humor helps you find the killer once and for all."
Gallagher sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head.
"It was just an observation. No need to take it so personally—unless it hit a little too close to home."
Sunday turned, his calm expression hardening.
"My patience wears thin. So far, you've brought me no results." His eyes narrowed, studying him intently. "Is it incompetence? Or perhaps you're on… friendly terms with the killer?"
It was bait. Sunday wanted a reaction—any flicker of emotion. But Gallagher didn't flinch. The silence stretched until the only sound in the office was the crack of a soda can opening.
Gallagher took a long drink, wiped the foam from his lips with his sleeve, and chuckled.
"I've been called an idiot, a scoundrel, a bastard, a lowlife… but traitor and accomplice to murder? That's a new one."
He leaned back in the chair and met Sunday's gaze.
"Forget what I said before. You're not paranoid—you're losing your mind."
His voice grew rougher.
"The Family broke my back and pulled out my fangs. And now you come here to accuse me?" He took another sip, letting out a dry laugh. "Even a drunk fool wouldn't be stupid enough to kick a stray dog that's already been beaten."
Gallagher shook his head as he looked at the man on the other side of the desk.
"You should be more worried about those outsiders putting on a show at the theme park than about me."
Sunday let out a heavy sigh and slowly shook his head, as though the remark bored him.
"I don't need you to tell me that." His eyes flashed with irritation. "Who do you think cleared out the park? Who made sure Aventurino was cornered—and then let him escape? From the very beginning, his little 'performance' has been within our line of sight. Nothing he did escaped my notice or that of my subordinates."
His palms slammed against the table with a dull thud.
"Aventurino was little more than a pawn. A necessary pawn to flush the real rat out of its hole… or rather, to make the hound come crawling out of hiding."
Gallagher let out a short laugh and shook his head.
"Incredible attention to detail. Really impressive. If I were a woman, I'd probably be blushing from such dedication."
The empty can in his hand dropped cleanly into the nearby trash bin. Gallagher placed a cigarette between his lips and lit it. The flicker of the flame briefly illuminated his face before the room swallowed him again in shadow.
He glanced at Sunday with an almost irritating calm.
"It must be hard serving such a cruel master as the Dream's own Patron. The same one who forces you to turn your back on your dear little sister—all to keep the Carismonia Festival alive."
Sunday's expression didn't change in the slightest. He only sighed and spoke in a cold, flat tone.
"Your disguise has proven useful. Thanks to it, you've managed to gather detailed information about the Family."
Gallagher chuckled under his breath.
"Disguise? You must need your eyes checked if you think what you see in me is fake."
The silence hung for a moment. Then Sunday opened a drawer and pulled out a thick file. He spread a list of more than fifty names across the desk.
"You're right. It's not fake. Every part of you is genuine."
He pulled several photographs from the folder.
One showed Mr. Weasley, one of Gallagher's direct subordinates—same hairstyle, same hair color.
Another was William, a recent recruit to the Hound Family—those bright orange eyes were identical to Gallagher's.
The third was Whoosley—same build, same musculature, even the same voice.
Sunday laid the photos out one by one, pointing out each similarity, each overlapping feature between them and the man sitting across from him.
"Sixty people in total. Small, insignificant traits from each one were taken, woven together, and thrown into a blender." He took a step forward, his eyes gleaming coldly. "The result was you… Mr. Gallagher."
He closed the folder and met his eyes.
"Am I wrong, servant of the Enigma?"
Gallagher's laughter erupted, echoing through the office.
"I have to admit… you've got guts." He leaned forward, the cigarette smoke curling between them. "But tell me—what does that prove? Can you prove I'm the killer? That I have anything to do with what you're after? Of course you can't."
Sunday didn't flinch.
"I don't need more proof. This alone is enough to show your link to the memetic entity lurking within the Memory Zone… to that presence everyone calls 'Death.' For me, that's enough."
The air between them grew heavy as Sunday took another step forward. He was now only a few paces away.
"In the end, I want just one thing—one answer." His voice hardened. "...Why did you, a miserable dog—a demon—have to kill my little sister?"
Gallagher slowly rose to his feet. The shadows around him seemed to thicken, as if responding to his presence.
"People are blind to certain truths." His voice was calm, carrying a hint of apathy. "Like sand in the eye—you can't see it, but you feel it scratching, burning, forcing you to acknowledge it."
He met Sunday's furious gaze head-on.
"You want the truth? Fine. I'll give it to you."
The cigarette's flame hissed out with a faint crackle.
"This is nothing more than a cruel joke of fate. One even the Elation itself would find disgusting…"
A sound of tearing filled the room. A body hit the floor with a dull thud.
Silence returned—cold, absolute, as though no conversation had ever taken place in the office.
**********
Meanwhile, aboard the Astral Express.
Dan Heng stood in the observation car, watching Corruid—Aleph's lizard—and Cupcake, Stelle's raccoon, play together with surprising harmony. He found their company oddly endearing.
The sound of a broadcast interrupted the quiet moment. A voice announced that the start date of the Carismonia Festival had been moved up.
Dan Heng's brow furrowed. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.
He hesitated, debating whether to send a message to the group chat.
A few steps away, Pom-Pom was arguing with a man whose accent was thick and unmistakable.
"We can work this out peacefully." Pom-Pom insisted.
"I'm truly sorry, little one." The man on the other end of the car replied. "But I'd rather apologize later than ask permission now. There are urgent matters to attend to."
Dan Heng stood up.
He left Corruid and Cupcake on the sofa, grabbed his spear, and his expression hardened as his frown deepened.
The train car door slid open with a sharp click.
A man with long black hair streaked with white strands that fell over his face stood in the doorway, aiming a golden revolver. In his other hand, an identical gun was pointed straight at Pom-Pom.
His smile carried the calm confidence of someone well-accustomed to danger.
"What's the matter, partner? Why the long face?"
Pom-Pom puffed up his cheeks, clearly annoyed.
"Are you ready to face the consequences of what you're doing?"
The intruder sighed and tilted his head with a look of almost pity.
"Relax, fuzzball. If things were different, I wouldn't resort to this—believe me. But you know how it is—getting into Penacony requires an invitation… one I don't have. You Astral Express folks, on the other hand, do."
Dan Heng moved without saying a word. In a single motion, his spear materialized in his hand, its blade resting against the stranger's neck.
"This is your last chance." He said quietly. "State your name and your intentions, or I won't be responsible for what happens next."
The man chuckled and brushed the weapon's tip aside with two fingers.
"Whoa there, easy. My name's Boothill—Galaxy Ranger."
Pom-Pom and Dan Heng exchanged glances, surprise flashing across their faces.
Boothill burst out laughing when he saw their expressions.
"Come on, don't look at me like that. What, you seen a ghost? Can't blame you, I guess—it's been centuries since anyone's heard much about us. The Nameless got all political and told us to stay quiet. Boring bean-counter politics, you know how it goes."
Pom-Pom eyed him skeptically.
"So-called heroes of the Hunt shouldn't go around hijacking trains."
Boothill laughed heartily.
"Hijacking? Since when does holding a conversation while pointing a couple of guns count as hijacking? Times sure have changed."
Dan Heng kept his spear steady, studying the man's every move.
"There's no reason to believe you're really a Ranger. The last stories about your kind… didn't exactly have happy endings."
Boothill twirled a revolver around his finger and snorted in amusement.
"Those stories just get worse every time someone retells them. Some even say the good Dr. Primitive turned us all into monkeys and now we're swinging through the trees somewhere. You should've seen Rappa's face when he heard that—he almost scared an entire Antimatter Legion squad into retreat just by looking at them!"
His laughter echoed through the car, though neither of his listeners seemed amused.
Boothill sighed and lowered his tone.
"Look, try to understand. I'm in the middle of hunting an impostor… and I'm not entirely sure you two are who you claim to be."
Dan Heng took a few steps back, keeping his eyes fixed on him. Boothill frowned.
"And what's that supposed to mean, kid?"
Dan Heng returned holding a small object in his hands. He lifted it into the light—it was a jade abacus carved in the shape of a lion.
Boothill gave a low whistle.
"Well, I'll be damned… that looks familiar. A gift from the Xianzhou Alliance."
"Exactly." said Dan Heng. "A present from General Jing Yuan of the Luofu. Its presence aboard the Astral Express symbolizes the Alliance's official recognition of us."
His gaze locked on Boothill's.
"Is that enough to prove our identity?"
The gunslinger spun both revolvers before holstering them at his belt.
"That's pretty convincing." He muttered, eyeing the abacus. "With one squeeze of that little trinket, entire legions of Xianzhou knights would rain down from the skies to back you up. Now that'd be a sight worth watching."
"Your turn." Dan Heng said evenly. "Prove that you are who you say you are."
Boothill scratched his head, tilting the brim of his hat.
"That's trickier. The Galaxy Rangers have been out of the spotlight for a long while. But fine, kid—ask away. I'll answer as best I can. If I don't convince you, you can toss me out that door and call it even."
Pom-Pom huffed.
"And why should we play along with you?"
"Because neither of us has much to lose." Boothill replied simply. "And if I am who I say I am, you'll walk away with new information for your records."
Dan Heng and Pom-Pom exchanged one last glance before nodding.
"Alright," Dan Heng said. "Then tell me—what kind of organization are the Galaxy Rangers?"
Boothill smiled.
"'Organization' is a bit too fancy a word. We're more like a pack of hunters following our own interpretations of the Path. Each one of us chases our own idea of the Hunt—and trust me, some methods wouldn't sit well with the preachers of universal virtue."
Pom-Pom crossed his arms.
"You're not doing much to help your case."
Boothill ignored the remark and went on.
"But there's one line we never cross: we don't harass or harm the weak. It's not some noble oath—just an absolute rule none of us are allowed to break. The Nameless and all of ours abide by it without exception. Anyone who dares defy it… will face the vengeance of the Hunt. To be hunted like all who stand in our way."
Dan Heng was silent for a few moments before asking his next question.
"Then why attack us?"
Boothill raised both hands in a gesture of peace.
"I've got nothing against you. But there's an impostor using the Rangers' name here in Penacony—a woman called… Acheron."
His eyes hardened.
"And I'm here to remind her that on this Path, no one gets to call themselves a hunter without paying the price."
"Is there anything else we should know about this Acheron?" Dan Heng asked, his gaze locked on the stranger.
The gunslinger adjusted his hat, and his expression turned serious, losing the playful tone that had colored his words until now.
"Yeah. There's something you ought to know, kid." He said in a graver voice. "That woman's true identity… she's an Emanator of Nihility."
Silence fell like a heavy stone. Pom-Pom blinked twice in disbelief, while Dan Heng's grip tightened around his spear.
"You're reacting just like I did when the Memokeeper told me. Can't blame you—it's a hard story to swallow."
"That's impossible." Dan Heng said, his voice laced with disbelief. "IX wouldn't even spare a glance for a mortal, let alone share their power. IX doesn't even acknowledge the other Aeons."
Boothill let out a laugh.
"By the Hunt, your brain's made of bricks. You really think you understand how the Paths work? Kid, if that's what you believe, you're as delusional as someone who's been drinking bad whiskey."
Dan Heng frowned, but Boothill kept talking, gesturing with one hand while the other rested casually on his revolver.
"Listen. Neither you, nor me, nor any mule-headed rational being like us can truly grasp what a Path represents—much less the intentions of an Aeon. Maybe IX just got bored. Maybe she's an anomaly… or maybe no one in this damned cosmos was nihilistic enough to catch her attention before. Who knows? But facts are facts."
"You mean to tell us there's an Emanator of Nihility running loose in Penacony?" Pom-Pom still sounded unconvinced. "How has no one noticed?"
"That's right." Boothill replied. "And when an Emanator decides to stay hidden—tell me—who could possibly find them? They carry the power of the Aeons themselves. It's better they stay in the shadows; otherwise, the cosmos would drown in blood."
Boothill chuckled, running a hand over his hat.
"About six or seven years ago, I met a drunk with blue hair. He was so wasted he started rambling about the paradoxes of fate and the laughter of Aha. Turned out he was an Emanator of Elation."
He shook his head, amused.
"If he hadn't been drunk, I'd never have noticed. Lucky for me, he was a good sort. We ended up drinking until sunrise."
Dan Heng stayed silent, trying to process everything. Boothill took the pause to slip back into a more practical tone.
"In short, kid, you've got nothing to lose by helping me. My contact confirmed the intel—your friends are in danger, and I need to get to Penacony. You take me there, and I'll deal with the impostor. Simple deal. Everybody wins."
He leaned forward slightly.
"But decide soon. Every second you waste might cost your friends their lives."
Dan Heng studied him, brow furrowed.
"You say this information came from a contact—but you don't know how reliable it is. What if they're wrong?"
Boothill shrugged.
"Then we'll be chasing shadows. But I'll tell you this—whether my source, that Memokeeper, is full of nonsense or not…" He frowned slightly, his tone sharpening as his gaze hardened.
"…The real concern isn't who she is." He said, his eyes as sharp as his bullets.
"…but what her true intentions are."
********
Meanwhile, somewhere else in Penacony—
Acheron stood alone, gazing at the mark her slash had left in the air above Clock Studios.
The black fissure shimmered with a reddish energy that devoured the dim light around it, spreading like a wound across the fabric of the dream.
She didn't turn when she heard the footsteps behind her.
"If you've come to lecture me, don't bother." She said quietly. "I don't plan to cause any more harm."
A crowd stopped behind her. Members of the Oak Family. When they spoke, their words resonated as though spoken by a single throat.
"Do you know what people do when they enter Penacony's dream and set foot upon its soil?" The chorus asked.
"They look up. They gaze at the sky. A sky you've just defiled with your cut—a scar that consumes the dream with the darkness of Nihility."
Acheron didn't respond. Her eyes remained fixed on the dying glow.
"It's human instinct to look at the stars." The chorus continued. "That eternal sky is the pride of our golden dream… and you have profaned it."
A softer voice emerged from among them as a small Pepeshian gave Acheron a cold stare.
"The embrace of Harmony welcomes all, but even the sweetest dream has its exceptions. And you, puppet of Nihility… are one of them."
The figures spread out into a semicircle, each taking a stance that made their intent perfectly clear.
"You must leave. Depart from Penacony now—or you'll force us to fight you."
Their voices rose as one:
"Those who live in shadow must remain in shadow and not ruin the light."
Acheron sighed and finally turned to face them, her expression calm.
"For someone who calls himself the Master of Dreams, it's terribly rude not to introduce yourself properly."
The voices laughed together.
"Introduce myself? You might not believe it, but this is my true form."
Acheron tilted her head, curiosity flickering in her crimson eyes.
"So this is the unity the Family is so proud of?"
"My mortal body faded long ago." Said the chorus. "Now I live on in the one hundred seven thousand three hundred thirty-six descendants of the Oak Family. They are my eyes, my ears, my voice. They bring joy to every corner of this dream… and exile evil in my name."
Acheron raised an eyebrow.
"Sounds like a fancy way of telling me to leave."
"You're mistaken." The voices replied, their tone solemn. "This isn't a request."
Acheron tilted her head slightly, giving them an unreadable look.
"And you think you can make me?"
The chorus answered with an inquisitive tone.
"Are you threatening me?"
Acheron blinked, looking almost puzzled.
"Threatening? No. I said it because it's obvious."
A flicker of confusion passed over their many faces, but it quickly vanished.
"You're not the first—nor the last—to look down on me and ask, 'Why can't I?' But in that very question lies the answer."
All eyes focused on Acheron.
"The result has always been the same… simply because they never can."
***********
Elsewhere in Penacony.
The figure of Robin walked through the streets bathed in the golden glow of dreamlike advertisements. Her voice, her poise, even the gleam of her smile—no one suspected a thing as she handed out small gifts to every passerby.
One after another, her delicate hands distributed little red squares, each with a bright button in the center.
She called them "gifts."
Dreams, she said, deserved a bit of excitement.
But beneath that perfect mask, she bit her lip to keep herself from laughing too loudly.
"Ah, the chaos to come will be… delicious." she murmured to herself, her eyes sparkling with perverse delight.
"The clamor, the screams, the panic in their eyes… pure art! The melody of disaster, composed by the one and only Sparkle~."
She spun on her heels, her skirt fluttering as she moved away from the crowd.
No rush. The show was only beginning.
With a mischievous giggle, she lifted her gaze to the sky.
"Ah… the chaos that's about to unfold will be sublime."
She placed a hand on her chest, savoring the thrill running through her.
"I wonder if that idiot Sampo could ever outdo me." She mused mockingly. "Though I doubt it. No one drives people insane as perfectly as I do."
Her smile widened as the image of a certain annoyingly gray-haired fool crossed her mind.
She let herself drift into the thought, relishing the fantasy.
She saw Aleph kneeling before her, tears in his eyes, begging for forgiveness, praising her, calling her wonderful.
"And to think that clumsy prince still has the nerve to call me a Pepeshi. 'Beautiful, marvelous, and radiant Sparkle'—that's how he should address me, while kneeling and sobbing for my forgiveness."
All while she, with a sweet smile, pressed her bare foot against his face.
She sighed in delight at her own fantasy.
"…And when he does, I'll grind my heel into his face. A well-deserved reward."
How fun would it be to reduce Aha's favorite to a pathetic fool obsessed with her?
"Quite the imagination you've got there."
Sampo's voice broke her daydream. He walked beside her—though under the guise of Sunday. His expression was perfectly composed, mimicking the regal, elegant demeanor of the Oak Family's leader.
"I'm serious, Aleph's not that kind of pervert."
In fact, if his memories were right—considering Aleph's closeness with Stelle, Bronya, and that new girl who'd been with him last time…
Could it be that Aleph's type was one Sparkle didn't fit into?
Sparkle blinked, genuinely baffled.
"What?... A man immune to me? No, that doesn't exist."
Sampo barely managed to suppress the laugh that threatened to escape. He had to maintain Sunday's composure.
"Oh, I'm sorry—does that charm you're bragging about happen to be with you right now?" he asked, bowing slightly with fake politeness. "Because frankly, I don't see it. Maybe I'm blind—or maybe it was never there to begin with."
Sparkle narrowed her eyes, her hand curling into a fist, ready to smash it into his face. But she took a deep breath and restrained herself.
There were fewer people around, yes, but as long as they maintained the illusion of being Robin and Sunday, they had to act like them. One slip, one wrong word, and their whole game would crumble.
She inhaled deeply, exhaled, and smiled—a smile that promised nothing good.
"Very funny, Sunday. But if it weren't for the need to keep up appearances, your face would already be decorating my wall."
Sampo barely held back a snort.
"Ah, the sweet and charming Sparkle. Ever the professional."
The duo continued walking through the crowd, two false gods strolling through another's dream, while the little red squares gleamed in the hands of those who had no idea what they were about to unleash.
***********
In another corner of the dream, Firefly sat on the floor beside Aleph. The silence was thick, broken only by the faint hum of the blue mist that blanketed the suspended space.
She took a deep breath before speaking.
"I want to tell you the truth about my death."
Aleph looked at her quietly.
"I discovered something important about the memetic entity they call Death—the one that lives in the memory zone. I wanted you, Stelle, and the others to know. That's why I asked Silver Wolf to contact Stelle and bring you there. Meanwhile, I was supposed to lure it in."
Firefly lowered her gaze, staring at the ground.
"But something went wrong. Maybe it was chance, or just bad luck. It took longer than expected—or maybe you all arrived too soon. It doesn't matter. What you saw was… my supposed end."
Her voice softened.
"The stinger pierced me, yes… but what I felt wasn't death. It was something else, a numbing sensation I can only describe as… lethargy."
She paused before continuing.
"I came back later to explain, but there were too many people. If I spoke up, I would've revealed who I really am. I had no choice but to pretend I wanted to hurt you."
She sighed bitterly.
"Ever since I arrived in Penacony, my luck's been awful."
Then she felt a gentle pressure on her shoulder. Aleph had placed his hand there.
"To hell with everything else." He said quietly. "The only thing that matters to me is that you're okay."
Firefly froze. Then she looked away, a faint tremor running through her. A soft, shaky laugh slipped from her lips as she brought a hand to her chest.
"Always so… direct." She murmured softly before continuing.
"When that red flash tore through everything, I saw you and the others on the brink of falling into the deepest abyss of the dreamscape. I woke you one by one. That's how we ended up here."
She paused, then added quietly,
"Can you trust me… even just a little?"
Aleph didn't answer—he simply held out his hand.
Firefly smiled softly, understanding.
"That's enough."
Her thumbs brushed over his hand in a familiar, almost intimate gesture, as if she'd done it a thousand times before.
"Close your eyes." She whispered gently. "Don't open them, no matter what you hear. Ignore everything… and focus on this feeling."
Leaning closer, she whispered,
"You're getting closer to Penacony's truth. There's just one last piece to bring it all together. Let me show you that place."
One of Firefly's hands slipped from his and he felt its warmth as it reached his cheek.
"Breathe calmly. Picture something that brings you peace. Hold on to that feeling and don't let it go."
It wasn't a complicated request for him.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes," Aleph replied.
"That's good. Because the one who's meant to receive us… is already here."
She began counting softly.
"Three."
The air grew tense.
"Two."
A faint tremor ran through the ground.
"One."
A roar shattered the silence.
A sharp, tingling sensation crossed his chest.
His consciousness dissolved like wet paper carried away by a river. A warm current surrounded him, sweeping him through memories filled with boundless sweetness.
The warmth enveloped him completely.
And within it, his heart surrendered entirely to that peace.