In a world where life neither begins nor ends, people move through a heavy silence that hangs like a thick fog over everything. The air is tinged with a strange stillness, carrying the faint scent of decay and forgotten dreams. Streets bustle with motion, yet faces are drawn and hollow, eyes shadowed by a creeping despair. Pregnant women clutch their bellies in quiet anguish, knowing no child will come. The elderly linger in endless twilight, caught between vitality and decay, their breaths shallow and unending.
The veil between worlds has torn, and the supernatural is no longer hidden. Wandering souls drift openly among the living—translucent figures whose mournful eyes meet those who dare to look. Fear and fascination ripple through the crowd; some recoil in terror, others reach out in desperate hope. Ghosts and spirits, once whispered legends, have become an unavoidable reality.
The environment reflects the cosmic fracture: rivers hang frozen mid-flow, leaves tremble in a wind that never blows, and the sky remains a dull, unchanging gray. Chaos unfolds as natural cycles collapse—crops fail, animals wander confused, and society teeters on the brink of collapse. People cling to each other, searching for meaning and connection in a world where beginnings and endings have vanished, trapped in a limbo of suspended existence and fractured hope.
Cecilia and Chris finally arrive at her old home. The ancient streets of Intramuros unfolded like a faded photograph brought to life. As they approached the old family home, a wave of nostalgia washed over Cecilia, tightening her chest. The house stood, but not as it always had—weathered stone walls cracked and crumbling. Glass panes shattered, the wooden shutters slightly ajar. The ceiling, once the highest point in her life, lay rotting at her feet, and the familiar brick-laid steps were worn and sinking. Cecilia covered her lips with her hands. The dilapidated condition of their old house broke her heart.
Cecilia paused, her fingers brushing against the rough plaster. "It's the same," she murmured, voice thick with emotion. "But… not." She glanced up at the rotting doors, hanging by a thread, memories flickering behind her eyes. "Like a ghost of who we were, trapped between what was and what can never be again."
Chris watched her quietly, sensing the weight in her words. "What do you mean?"
She sighed, stepping inside. The scent of old wood and forgotten afternoons clung to the air, stirring long-buried feelings. "Everything's familiar—the creak of the floorboards, the way light falls through the windows—but it feels empty. Like the heart of the house is missing."
Chris reached out, gently touching her arm. "Maybe it's not the house that's changed, but you."
Cecilia then glances at the backyard where the old mango tree stood. "What is it?" Chris asked with a gentle tone; he did not want her to be overwhelmed by the memories that lingered within the house.
Cecilia pointed to the broken glass doors that led to the backyard. "I must have spent more time in our backyard than in any part of this home." With a deep breath, Cecilia braved the few steps towards the place that holds the most loving memories of her parents and the place that holds the most pain.
When they got out, Cecilia could not believe her eyes. Her father stood there looking at the tree that always provided shade for her family. "Dad?" John turned around to his daughter.
With a peaceful expression and a gentle tone, he greeted his child, "Cee, my precious little girl." From his point of view, Cecilia was still the five-year-old girl that he always carried around in his arms.
"Dad, I know how you think this world is the answer to pain, but without pain, we learn nothing; without it, we as a people will not evolve." She explained to her father, hoping her words would reach his heart.
John slowly walked towards Cecilia. Chris immediately came between father and daughter, "I don't care if you are her father, but I will never allow her to be hurt, even by you!" He boldly declared as he stared at John.
John smirked and scoffed, "I'm not here to hurt my child, I'm here to ask her a question." Chris looked over his shoulder at Cecilia, who only nodded.
Chris stepped aside to allow John to get near his child. For a while, his voice hitched and refused to come out. He took a deep breath and steadied himself, and finally, he was able to speak, "Isn't this the world we need? Free from death and pain?" He softly asked her, his gaze not leaving her eyes, as he wanted to see the truth through her eyes.
"I know you meant well, Dad. I know you do not wish anyone else to suffer the pain and sorrow that our family endured." She started to explain, "But…this is something that is not for us to grant; Life? Death? We must allow other people to live as they see fit. What we think is good may not be the same as what other people think. Dad, please, help us correct things, restore them to what they were!"
Cecilia's voice trembled with urgency as she faced her father, the weight of a broken world pressing heavily between them. "Dad, you have to understand—without death, life itself is unraveling. People suffer endlessly, trapped in pain that never ends. The balance is shattered, and everything we know is falling apart."
John leaned back slightly, eyes calm yet searching. "You speak so fiercely, Cee. It's what I wanted—to hear your voice, your conviction. I've met many who tell me I'm wrong, but I needed to hear it from you. To see if you had the strength to stand against me."
Cecilia's breath caught, a mixture of frustration and determination flooding her. "I do have strength. But strength isn't just defiance—it's understanding the cost of your actions. The souls trapped between worlds, the living who can neither be born nor die… this isn't salvation, it's a prison."
John's lips pressed into a thin line, a flicker of protest in his eyes. "But what choice did I have? To watch you grow up alone, to lose your mother and grandfather forever? I sought to protect you from pain, from loss."
"I know," Cecilia said softly, stepping closer. "But protecting someone doesn't mean breaking the world for it. You've created suffering on a scale no one should bear."
John's gaze softened, but his voice remained steady. "Then...Let's go fix this mistake."
Cecilia nodded, hope mingling with the weight of their shared burden. "Thank you, Dad, thank you so much." Cecilia embraces her father tightly.
Chris steps in after observing the exchange and the heartwarming reconciliation between father and daughter. "Sir, Pink…I think it's time we go back to the Twilight." He then walked to an open space.
John looks at Cecilia with a confused expression, "Pink?" Cecilia only tugged on her shirt, which was the color of bright pink.
Chris held out his hands for Cecila and John to hold on to. A bright light enveloped the three of them, and when the light disappeared, they were already in the Twilight. When Cecilia took a step, she almost went through the deck. She was able to regain a solid footing after finding a tangible deck floor. She looked around her. "Captain? It's happening again!"
When she turned to Chris, he was on his knees, his fingers trying to claw at the hardwood floor of the gold deck. "I'm having trouble giving substance to the Twilight!" Chris grunted, struggling to solidify the fading form of the barge of the dead. "Find Bustamante and Murillo! I will need to borrow their energies to stabilize the ship! HURRY!"