Stardust glittered across the sky; underfoot, the lawn lay neatly trimmed. A clear brook ran gently along, a man-made rockery rose in careful layers, and a corridor of unknown timber stretched like a gallery while flowers all around bloomed in riotous, dazzling competition.
"Compared to last time, it's completely different."
Standing beneath the corridor's eaves, Haramura Makoto looked around in mild surprise.
"This place is only a small subspace," the White Night King replied. "As long as my strength suffices, I can alter it at will. Previously, I simply had no need to."
The entryway door slid open, and she stepped out at an unhurried pace.
"Well, kid—have you finished tying up your loose ends?"
Makoto pressed a palm to his brow, a black line practically etched across it. "It was a perfectly ordinary question. How did it sound so wrong coming from you?"
"Ha—what an imagination."
She didn't mind the jab; she stopped at his side and flicked open her folding fan. "In any case, that means you're ready."
"There wasn't much to prepare," he said, spreading his hands. "You already told me: even if I leave, not much time will pass here."
"That's only in theory," she said. "If something unexpected happens, your absence could stretch longer. Still, rest easy—if you return late, I'll blur this world's perception to a degree."
It was a bold promise. And the very fact she had leisure to beautify the scenery suggested her power truly was recovering.
"So then—tell me exactly what to do."
He wasn't overly concerned about what she'd said before. The foundation he held didn't amount to much in the eyes of the city's real powers; maintain a steady course, avoid aggressive expansion, and no one would bother them. Komaba Reid understood the balance well—besides, he'd asked Shokuhou Misaki for help.
"Mm. That look in your eyes—good," she said, nodding in approval. She lifted her chin and pointed toward the spangled firmament. "It's simple. What you must do is fill that sky again. Make it truly blaze with stars once more."
Was that longing? Nostalgia? Sorrow? From where Makoto stood, he saw a tangle of emotions crossing her face. He had to admit—even his own heartstrings were pulled by the atmosphere, by the scene.
But he said nothing. He knew she wasn't finished. He still lacked answers.
"I told you before—my aim is to rebuild Little Garden here, from the ground up."
"Do you remember how Little Garden was constituted?" she asked, like a teacher tossing out an exam prompt.
"Vaguely," he said. "If I recall, it's a higher-dimensional construct composed of multiverses?"
His gift was memory; once she'd appeared, he'd dredged up every scrap of Little Garden he could recall.
"Not bad," she said. "Strip away externals, and that's true enough. But it isn't the whole picture."
She folded her fan and wagged it once like a fingertip. "Strictly speaking, Little Garden is a deepening realm built to guide correct development in the outer cosmos—a third-observer universe. A world where the origin—the creator—and the terminus—the created—are, in essence, the same. Multiverses accrete like particles into a single edifice."
"And those stars above—what I mean by them—is Little Garden's former glory. What flickers now is only an illusion wrought by my power."
She spoke slowly, as if to ease him into the idea. Fortunately, this wasn't hard for him to grasp; Academy City offered coursework in spatial dimensions, and even a non-space esper learned enough to frame what she was saying.
"So my job is to gather new worlds and bring them under Little Garden's aegis, right? But how, exactly? It can't be as simple as 'conquer the world.'"
He spread his hands, frank about the dilemma.
To his surprise, she didn't deny it. She nodded. "If you can manage it, that is indeed one viable method."
She didn't leave him stewing in mystery. "Where we stand now is the former Little Garden Core."
"Hold on—what's the core?" he asked at once. He had a feeling that without this piece, everything else would be gibberish.
"Very well—seems you need this lesson too," she said, more amused than impatient. Perhaps it was the loneliness of dwelling so long in an empty space. Either way, the White Night King's mini-lecture began.
"As you understood, Little Garden is a nexus of worlds—a higher-dimensional hub. Now another point: whether low-dimensional or high, every world possesses a so-called world-consciousness. Little Garden admitted worlds beyond counting—did you think such an aggregate would never generate a consciousness of its own?"
"It did. Immature, incomplete—but born all the same."
"That is what I mean by the Little Garden Core."