"I'm not here to teach you tricks or fancy moves," Dante said, arms crossed, the shadows of the shrine flickering behind him like old ghosts. "There's no glory in winning. No battles to triumph. No chosen-one prophecy waiting at the end of your struggle."
He stepped forward, grave as stone.
"This isn't about victory, Serah. It's about freeing two children. That's it."
I looked at him, unimpressed. "You don't need to tell me that. I'm not here to save the world."
He tilted his head.
I added, "I just want to undo what I did."
Dante gave a faint nod. No lectures. No moralizing. Just that weary, knowing look—the kind people give when they've seen too much to argue anymore.
He turned and gestured toward the open courtyard, where moonlight bathed the cracked stones like a blessing. "There are three types of souls in this realm," he said. "Wanderers—lost, confused, drifting between their memories. Then those who awaken… souls who unlock abilities. They're dangerous. Unstable. But it's the third kind you must fear the most."
He paused, eyes narrowed.
"Damned souls. They're not just awakened. They're broken. Twisted by desire, rage, obsession. They don't move on. They can't. Even if their final wish is fulfilled, Limbo swallows them whole."
I felt a coldness behind my ribs. "And you think I'm one of them?"
"I don't know yet," he said. "Only Judgment can decide that."
That was… oddly terrifying.
I folded my arms. "So you have a boss too, huh?"
He smirked, the weight of old regrets flashing behind his eyes. "Yes."
"I don't blame you anymore," I said, meaning it. "For trying to send me to Limbo, I mean. If you're just following orders…"
"That doesn't absolve me," he said softly. "But thank you."
Then he turned, dust trailing behind his robes. "I have to go. New souls crossing over need guidance. Try not to get into trouble while I'm gone."
I gave him a lazy salute. "No promises."
He paused at the edge of the courtyard.
"Wait."
A sudden ripple passed through the air like tension stretched thin.
"I want to show you something," he said. "If you can learn it now, it's yours. But if not… forget it."
Before I could question him, he raised his palm. A sharp pulse of light cracked in the air like thunder frozen in time. The space distorted—a shimmer—then folded inward as if gravity itself blinked.
I stared, wide-eyed. "That's the move."
He nodded. "The one I used to send you to Limbo."
I whistled. "Nice party trick."
I watched him twist the energy again, hands like a sculptor molding time itself. It looked effortless—like he was pulling the soul of reality inside out.
He stepped back. "Your turn."
I focused, feeling the spiritual current beneath my skin. My chest tightened, breath slow. Then I whispered the intention, mimicking the gesture. A flicker. A shimmer. Then—nothing.
I exhaled, smirking. "Huh. Not bad for a first go."
Dante blinked, clearly shaken. "That took me weeks to learn."
I shrugged. "Guess I'm just gifted."
Then, curiosity pushed through my pride.
"So," I asked, "if that move can send someone to Limbo… why can't you use it on yourself?"
He froze.
The look in his eyes wasn't anger. It was fear.
"…It doesn't work that way," he said. "Goodbye, Serah. Stay put."
Before I could press further, he vanished.
Naturally, I didn't listen.
The shrine was huge. A sanctum carved out of silence, something out of a myth—ancient pillars, moss-covered stones, and a wind that never changed direction.
I wandered through the outer edge, then stumbled upon it: a sealed stone chamber. No doors. No cracks. Just a solid square of ominous grey embedded into the heart of the shrine like a forgotten truth.
I stood there, hand grazing the cool surface.
And then—
"Limbo isn't a prison," said a voice, low and calm, from nowhere and everywhere. "It's a harvesting ground."
I spun around. "Who's there?!"
"The rulers need Limbo to stay in power. The rest of us? We're just fuel."
I backed up. "Show yourself."
"Can't. Won't. I'm just a shadow in the walls."
I stepped away from the sealed stone. "Nice bedtime story. Real comforting."
"I've been in Limbo. Escaped three times."
I stopped. "Dante said that's not possible."
"Dante is a lapdog. He broke into Limbo once to save a soul, and he never told you that, did he?"
I clenched my fists. "…Why should I believe you?"
"I'm not asking you to believe me," the voice said. "I'm asking you to trust yourself. No one else. Everyone has an angle—including me."
There was something chilling about that. Honest, even.
"You're a threat, Serah. Not just to them. To yourself. And this shrine?"
The voice chuckled.
"This is no training ground. It's a cage. A gilded prison for the ones they fear."
I stared at the stone wall. "I'm not staying here forever. I'll leave when I'm ready."
"Sure," the voice said. "You'll leave… in pieces."
"Go to hell," I muttered.
"Already have," it replied.
I stormed off, pulse racing, heart heavy. But its final words trailed after me like smoke.
"You want to save others? Save yourself first."
That night—if you could call it night in this unchanging place—I sat in the open courtyard, alone. No stars. No moon. Just the eternal hush of a world with no sunrise.
I took a deep breath. Reached inward. Recalled the technique.
Focus. Channel. Twist.
The energy surged through my fingers. This time, I pulled the threads of air tight. A shimmer. A spiral. A breach.
I had done it.
Just then, Dante returned. The moment he saw it, his eyes widened in disbelief.
"…That's not possible."
I wiped imaginary sweat from my brow. "Guess I'm a quick learner."
He stepped forward slowly, inspecting the leftover ripple in the air.
"This isn't how it's supposed to happen," he murmured. "You're not just… learning."
I looked away. Something inside me had shifted—something I wasn't sure I wanted.
"Now what?" I asked.
Dante looked haunted. "You're not ready."
"…Will I ever be?"
A silence. Long. Cold.
Finally, he said, "You'll know when you are."
But as I turned away, one thought echoed louder than all the rest.
The voice was right.
Far from the prison shrine Serah now wandered, the real world marched on under moonlight. Deep beneath a forgotten warehouse, behind rusted fences and flickering street lamps, the cult's hideout stirred with activity.
Inside, the air was damp and quiet—except for the steady breathing of a boy lying on a mattress, limbs twitching, skin clammy.
Ezra.
His eyes blinked open, unfocused at first… then widened.
Across the room sat three people.
Two he recognized—Kevin and Kathy. The third?
"…Rachel?" he croaked, pushing himself upright.
The girl turned, her eyes warm, familiar—but just a little too still.
"Ezra," she said softly. "You're awake."
He stared. "What… What's going on? Weren't we supposed to go for that dinner?"
Kevin raised an eyebrow. Kathy, tense, looked away.
Rachel tilted her head, smile unwavering. "Plans changed."
Ezra rubbed his face. "I—I was supposed to take you somewhere. Kathy said it was important. Something about…" He trailed off, eyes widening in slow horror. "You're already here."
Rachel nodded. "I came earlier. The faster we do this, the better."
Ezra's pulse quickened. "But…? I—I blacked out again. There was this voice… I saw…"
His hands trembled.
Kathy stepped forward, voice calm. "It's the possession. Your body's rejecting it. You were never meant to be a vessel, Ezra. We warned you."
"But I saw her," he snapped. "I saw Serah."
Rachel leaned in, feigning softness. "That's why we're doing this. So we can see her again. Speak to her. Help her cross over."
Ezra looked between them, searching their faces. "You really believe that?"
Rachel's smile didn't falter. "Don't you?"
He looked at her again, longer this time. Something wasn't right—the way she moved, spoke, stared.
But hope—that slim, golden thread that maybe, just maybe, he'd hear Serah's voice again was too strong.
"…Yeah," he whispered. "I do."
From behind them, Kevin gave Kathy a knowing glance. Everything was going according to plan.
Later that night, Kathy volunteered to stay with Ezra, claiming she'd watch over him while the others handled the next steps. Truthfully, she just needed the silence.
As she sat beside his pale, unconscious form, her eyes flickered with something she'd buried deep—jealousy.
Even now, even dead, Serah held Ezra's heart. Not through manipulation. Not through training. Just through being herself.
Kathy hated how much she wanted that. Hated herself for wanting anything at all.
She'd been trained to obey. To never desire. Desire was dangerous. Thought was punishable.
Inside her, two spirits stirred, always watching, always listening. She couldn't risk thinking too hard. Couldn't risk hoping. Even kindness had to be disguised as control.
So she played her part.
Held Ezra's hand. Tucked in the blanket. Smiled the way she was taught.
But when she whispered, "You idiot," to him—it wasn't the act talking.
It was her.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city, Rachel—or the spirit inside her—walked briskly alongside Kevin. The night air was cool, but her body moved like it wasn't hers.
Because it wasn't.
They weren't headed home.
They were headed to Mrs. Sandra and her husband—the kind-hearted spiritual mediums. The couple who'd seen past the veil. The only two humans who might still notice something was deeply wrong.
Earlier that day, Rachel had received a call.
"There's been a surge," the woman whispered over the phone. "The spiritual energy around… it's changing. Evolving. You're tied to something too strong. Rachel, are you alone?"
Rachel hadn't answered.
Mrs. Sandra continued, "I've seen this before. Once. Years ago. It didn't end well. Please… come see us. It's urgent."
Now, as they approached the modest little house—the one with lemon trees in the front and rows of sandalwood incense burned daily to ward off spirits—Kevin's eyes lingered too long on the clouds.
Rachel didn't knock.
She simply walked in.
Mrs. Sandra was already standing by the door. Her husband, silent as ever, stayed in the shadow of the hallway.
"Rachel," she said softly. But her eyes weren't on Rachel. They drifted behind her, to Kevin.
Her entire expression shifted.
Her husband stepped forward, and instantly, the air grew thick with dread.
Kevin, ever so slightly, narrowed his eyes.
Mrs. Sandra's lips trembled. Not from fear.
From recognition.
She'd seen this kind of aura only once. And the soul attached to it did not belong in this world.