The moment Kyon released the rope, reality exploded around him. He felt his consciousness expand beyond the boundaries of his physical form, felt himself becoming part of the twisted landscape of the Forgotten Zones. But instead of losing himself, he found something unexpected—connection.
The children embedded in the crystallized terror weren't just trapped. They were networked, their minds linked together in a vast web of shared experience and accumulated knowledge. And now, Kyon was part of that network.
Welcome, a voice whispered in his mind. It was a girl, maybe his age, her face frozen in the crystal but her thoughts free to roam. We've been waiting for someone like you.
Someone like me?
Someone who could choose to join us willingly, instead of being forced. Someone who could maintain their identity while accessing the collective.
Through the network, Kyon could see the true layout of the Forgotten Zones. It was far more complex than he had imagined—a vast underground city built from the dreams and nightmares of countless children, with the Heart at its center like a massive, beating tumor.
But the Heart isn't what you think it is, the girl continued. It's not the source of the OtherSide's power. It's a prison.
A prison for what?
For us. For all of us. The Architects didn't create the OtherSide—they discovered it. And they've been trapped here ever since, trying to find a way out.
The revelation hit Kyon like a physical blow. Through the network, he could access the memories of children who had been here for decades, who had witnessed the true history of the OtherSide. The Architects had once been imaginary friends, just like Mr. Patches. But they had found something in the space between worlds—something that had been waiting for them.
The OtherSide is alive, another voice joined the conversation. It's a predator that feeds on the gap between imagination and reality. It uses the Architects, uses the Shepherds, uses all of us to grow stronger.
Then how do we stop it?
We don't, the first girl replied. But we can starve it. If we can break the connection between the OtherSide and the real world, if we can stop the flow of children into this place, it will eventually consume itself.
But that would mean...
That all of us trapped here would die, yes. But it would also mean that no more children would ever be taken. The question is: are you willing to make that choice?
Meanwhile, in the physical world, Sarah and the other children were fighting for their lives against the Architects. The crystalline landscape had come alive, reaching for them with grasping tendrils of solidified fear. But they couldn't see what Kyon could see—that the Architects were just as trapped as they were.
I need to get to the Heart, Kyon thought to the network. I need to see it for myself.
We'll guide you, the voices replied. But be warned—the closer you get to the Heart, the more the OtherSide will try to absorb you completely. And once you're there, there's no going back.
Through the network, Kyon began to move through the Forgotten Zones in ways that defied physical law. He passed through walls of crystallized screams, walked across bridges made from the bones of dead dreams, descended staircases that led both up and down simultaneously.
And with each step, he felt the OtherSide's attention turning toward him. It was vast beyond comprehension, a consciousness that existed in the spaces between thoughts. And it was hungry.
You are more interesting than the usual fare, it whispered to him, its voice like the sound of reality tearing apart. Most children who reach this level are broken, consumed by their own fear. But you... you have chosen to be here. That makes you valuable.
What do you want from me?
To make you an offer. Join with me willingly, and I will give you the power to reshape the OtherSide according to your will. You could free the children, could create a paradise instead of a prison. All you have to do is accept what you are.
And what am I?
My child. My creation. Did you think your arrival here was coincidence? Did you think your sister's transformation was random? I have been preparing you for this moment since the day you were born.
The revelation was like ice water in Kyon's veins. Through the network, he could feel the other children's shock and horror. But he could also feel something else—a determination that burned brighter than fear.
You're lying, he said.
Am I? Look deeper. See the truth.
And Kyon did look deeper, accessing memories that he had buried so deep he had forgotten they existed. He saw Amy as a child, playing with imaginary friends that seemed too real, too solid. He saw his parents' worried conversations about Amy's "episodes," their decision to take her to doctors who couldn't find anything wrong. He saw the camping trip where Amy had disappeared, and the thing that had taken her place—something that looked like his sister but moved wrong, spoke wrong, felt wrong.
She was never your sister, the OtherSide continued. She was my first attempt at creating a perfect bridge between worlds. But she was flawed, unstable. You, however... you are my masterpiece.
No.
Yes. You are part of me, child. You always have been. That is why you can access the network, why you can move through the Forgotten Zones without losing yourself. You are not trapped here—you are home.
But even as the words hammered at his consciousness, Kyon felt something else. The warmth of the network, the connection to the other trapped children. They weren't just prisoners—they were family. And family protected each other.
I may be part of you, he said to the OtherSide. But I choose to be part of them.
And with that choice, everything changed.
The Heart of the OtherSide appeared before him—not the massive, beating tumor he had expected, but something far more terrible. It was a child, maybe six years old, connected to the crystalline landscape by thousands of threads of pure terror. The first child to ever be taken, so long ago that even the Architects had forgotten its name.
Help me, the child whispered, its voice echoing through the network. I'm so tired. I've been holding this place together for so long, and I'm so tired.
What do you need me to do?
Take my place. Let me rest. Let me finally go home.
And Kyon understood. The OtherSide wasn't a predator—it was a prison built around a single child's desperate need to never be forgotten. Every child who had been taken, every Shepherd who had been created, every Architect who had been transformed—they were all part of one terrified six-year-old's attempt to create a world where abandonment was impossible.
I'll take your place, Kyon said. But only if you let all the others go.
I can't. If I let them go, I'll be alone again. And I can't be alone. I can't.
You won't be alone, Kyon promised. I'll stay with you. We'll be together.
Forever?
Forever.
The child's grip on the OtherSide began to loosen. Around them, the crystalline landscape started to crack and crumble. The Architects screamed as their forms began to dissolve, their power draining away. The Shepherds above felt their connection to the OtherSide weakening.
But Kyon felt something else—the network of trapped children beginning to break apart as they were finally freed to move on. Their grateful voices echoed through his mind as they faded into whatever lay beyond the OtherSide.
Thank you, they whispered. Thank you for letting us go.
And then there was only Kyon, the original child, and the vast, empty space where the OtherSide had been.
What's your name? Kyon asked.
I don't remember, the child replied. I've been so many things for so long. But I think... I think I was—
The child's voice cut off as Kyon felt the familiar pull of a decision point approaching. The weight of his choice pressed down on him like a physical force. He could feel the network urging him forward, could feel the child's desperate need for companionship.
But as he opened his mouth to speak, to make his final choice, the world suddenly lurched sideways. The crystalline landscape shattered like glass, the voices of the network became distant screams, and Kyon felt himself falling through layers of reality.
The last thing he remembered was the child's terrified voice calling out: "Don't leave me! Please don't leave me alone!"
Then everything went black.