Lucid ran. The cool night air of the blue forest whipped past his face, a stark contrast to the burning in his lungs. The rhythmic thud of his boots against the soft earth, the sharper, more graceful impacts of Ayame's steps just behind him, it was the sound of escape. But the loudest noise was the one inside his own head: the sickening, remembered *crack* of his fist connecting with Ayame's jaw.
He'd replayed it a hundred times in the seconds since they'd fled the cathedral. The cult leader's eyes, sharp and suspicious, watching his every move. The moment of decision, cold and ruthless. He'd had to sell the act. A hesitation would have meant death for the boy, for Ayame, for himself and the others. So he'd swung. He'd pulled the punch, he was sure of it. Calculated to stun, to sell the brutality, but not to break.
But the impact had felt… wrong. Heavier. More solid than he'd intended. He'd seen her head snap to the side, a spray of blood in the torchlight that wasn't just for show. The guilt was a lead weight in his stomach, dragging at him even as his legs pumped.
"Did you feel that?" he thought, the question a silent arrow aimed at the other presence sharing his shard consciousness. 'The punch. It felt… stronger.'
Alice's response was not immediate. There was only the sound of her simulated breath, synced oddly with the rhythm of their footfalls, as if she was avoiding the question.
"Why did you enhance my punch, Alice?" Lucid finally prodded, his mental voice cutting through the internal silence.
Alice's presence seemed to flinch. "I did no such thing," her voice came, smooth and unnaturally formal. "Any perceived increase in force was a necessary amplification to deepen the authenticity of your performance. The cult leader's scrutiny was intensifying. A weak blow would have been suspect."
Lucid skidded around a thick tree trunk, his hand brushing the bark. He nodded slightly, a physical gesture to a mental conversation. But his thoughts were skeptical. 'Yeah… you sure you don't have any ill feelings toward Ayame?'
This time, the reaction was instantaneous. Alice's mental voice lost all its practiced grace. "What made you say that?" she practically yelled, a burst of static-laced emotion in his mind. He felt a distinct fluster in her tone, a scrambling he'd never sensed before. "I am not envious of her! The very suggestion is a malfunction in your perception!"
"Envious…" Lucid thought, a slow, incredulous grin spreading beneath his mist. "Since when did I mention envy?"
He couldn't help it. A low, breathless chuckle escaped his lips as they burst from the tree line into an open field. The absurdity of it, running for their lives while having a domestic argument with the ancient, semi-divine consciousness in his head about her jealousy, was too much.
Ahead, the world ended. The star-dusted purple void yawned where solid ground should have been. The Sky-Dock was a distant silhouette, a promise on the other side of nothing.
Ayame, running beside him now, her tall form keeping pace effortlessly, glanced over. Her dark eyes held pure, unfiltered confusion. "What is so funny?" she asked, her voice steady despite the run.
Lucid's chuckle died in his throat. He looked back at her, and the guilt from the punch crashed into the awkwardness of the moment. He'd been laughing at Alice's outburst, but he couldn't explain that. Ayame wasn't aware of Alice. To her, he was just a man who sometimes talked to himself, lost in his own thoughts. The last thing he needed was for her to think he was genuinely unhinged, laughing maniacally while fleeing cultists.
"Nothing," he said quickly, the lie clumsy. Then he corrected, grasping for an explanation she might understand. "A friend of mine is saying something funny." He winced internally. *Present tense.* He hastily amended, "No, I mean… they *said* something funny." Shifting it to the present from the past to make it believable.
He saw her process the correction, the slight tilt of her head. It only made him feel more like a liar.
To cover it, he laughed again, the sound forced even to his own ears. He focused ahead.
The ledge was rushing toward them. Suicide, by any rational measure.
'Think, think, think!' The command was a hammer in his skull. The Chain of Heart trait quickly crossed his mind, a well of potential he was only beginning to understand. He'd used it to bind, to heal, to swing across short gaps in the mountains. He'd used it as a lifeline, a tool, a weapon.
A new, insane idea began to form, shaped by desperation and the memory of their wild swing in the cathedral. It wasn't a plan; it was a gamble scribbled on the back of a napkin as the building burned.
The chains weren't just links. They were extensions of will, solidified intent. They could anchor. They could pull.
What if… what if they didn't need a bridge?
What if the void itself could be their path?
The thought was terrifying, a dizzying leap of logic or madness that made his stomach clench. The Celestial Rails were
It was reckless. It was foolish. It was the kind of idea Alice would have scoffed at, a statistical impossibility.
It was also their only shot.
He risked a glance at Ayame. "We're not going to the bridge!" he yelled over the wind of their flight.
She didn't ask for clarification. She simply nodded, a sharp dip of her chin. That absolute, unthinking trust, earned through blood and shared warmth and now brutally tested by his own deception, hit him harder than any cultist's blow. She was placing her life in the hands of a plan he hadn't even explained.
The trees thinned, revealing the breathtaking, terrifying vista. The solid ground of the continent ended in a sharp, jagged line. Beyond it, the infinite purple void, speckled with the soft glow of distant realm-fragments and the dark silhouettes of floating rock islands. The Sky-Dock was a smudge of geometric light in the far distance, connected to nothing, hanging in the sea of stars.
The shouts grew closer. There was no more time.
With his other hand, he focused. Not on a single chain, but on the concept of the chain. The Chain of Heart was endless. It was a manifestation of connection, of binding, of a will that refused to be broken. He didn't need to conserve it. He needed to unleash it.
He turned suddenly, grabbing her other arm. He felt her flinch, saw the momentary alarm in her eyes as her larger form teetered on the edge. She started to fall toward him, and he acted on pure, desperate instinct. He pulled her arms around him, dragging her close until her body was against his. He looked up into her face, the cosmos reflecting in her dark eyes, and gave her the widest, most reckless grin he could muster beneath the obscuring mist. It was a smile meant to convey trust, to say *I know this is insane, but come with me anyway.*
"Buckle up!" he yelled, and jumped.
The void swallowed them.
In the terrifying, exhilarating silence of the fall, Alice's voice returned, a dry commentary in the theater of his mind. 'That was excessively theatrical. You are overcompensating. The probability of a successful grapple-chain deployment in freefall, while maintaining a secure grip on a being of her mass and potential volatility, was calculated at 34.7%. You are a show-off.'
"Oh, quiet," Lucid thought back, even as his will focused, and the first brilliant chain shot from his hand, anchoring them to a floating monolith. The swing was a gut-wrenching, glorious arc. "It worked, didn't it? And since when do you calculate my "volatility" percentages?"
"Since you began making decisions based on hormonal impulsivity rather than tactical necessity," Alice sniffed. "The embrace was superfluous. A simple maintained handhold would have been statistically sufficient."
They released, flew, shot another chain. The void became a playground of momentum and light. Lucid whooped, the pure joy of movement and survival momentarily overriding everything, the guilt, the deception, the strange tension with Alice.
Alice noted. *'Waste of breath. The Oni female appears… perplexed.'
Lucid glanced at Ayame's face as they swung. She wasn't screaming. She was watching, absorbing, those dark eyes wide with something that wasn't fear. It was intensity. Focus. Maybe even… wonder?
'She's fine,' Lucid thought, a peculiar warmth spreading in his chest that had nothing to do with exertion. 'Better than fine. Look at her.'
*'I am observing. Her physiological readings, extrapolated from proximity, indicate elevated cardiac rhythm and adrenal output consistent with thrill-seeking or profound terror. It is ambiguous.'*
'What?,' Lucid asked silently, launching them toward the final platform. 'Since when could you read other's emotions?'
They landed on the Sky-Dock in a heap of limbs and relieved laughter. Lucid lay on his back, gasping, the ancient stone solid and miraculous beneath him. The cult, the town, the desperate act, all felt a million miles away, separated by an ocean of stars.
Ayame sat up. She looked back at the receding cliff, then down at him. "It… was fun," she said, testing the word.
He turned his head, his mist swirling gently. "Yeah," he breathed, the smile genuine now. "It really was."
As they stood, helping each other up, Lucid's mind was a quieter place. The run was over. The immediate danger had passed, replaced by the orderly chaos of the Sky-Dock. People milled about, some casting curious glances at the two bedraggled figures who had just arrived via unauthorized void-swinging.
He looked at Ayame, really looked at her. The red mark on her jaw was already fading, thanks to her incredible constitution, but it was still there. A testament to his betrayal, even in service of a greater good. She met his gaze, her expression its usual unreadable mask, but the confusion from his earlier laughter was gone, replaced by that deep, observing calm.
The guilt hadn't left. Alice's strange jealousy, and her denial of it, was a puzzle for another time. For now, they were here. They were alive. And the path to Vex, for all its unknowns, lay straight ahead on rails of light.
He had lied to her, manipulated her, and hit her. And she had followed him into the void without a second thought. The complexity of it all was a weight he would have to carry. But as she stood beside him on the edge of the dock, her shoulder nearly touching his, silently watching the celestial trains come and go, the weight felt a little lighter. They had flown through the void together. Somehow, after that, everything else felt slightly more possible.