Until Dusk Protocol-Chapter 25: Echoes of the Unfinished Feast

Their movements were sickly slow yet deliberate, weaving through the air like ink dissolving in water.

Junyo gasped. "It's poison! Don't breathe it in!!!" his voice cut through the chaos from the far side of the cavern.

Tang-Ji, balancing atop a shifting tapestry of airborne paper talismans, twisted just slightly at the sound of his warning. But in battle, an instant was all it took.

Esmeray's eyes gleamed. He pressed his hands together, commanding the tome that hovered before him. Its pages flickered like a heartbeat in distress as it followed his instruction, stopping on the page he needed. His voice was a whisper, a lover's sigh laced with ruin.

"Level 8 deployment," he intoned again. "Rush technique: Second Course—The Hollow Bread."

The air trembled, and from the void burst forth hunger incarnate.

They coiled in the air like eels, yet their flesh bore the golden-brown crisp of an artisan loaf torn fresh from an oven. The crust cracked as they writhed, revealing porous cavities inside—a void that should have been soft but instead held a jagged, gnawing emptiness.

A hollow echo hummed within them, the resonance of an unsatisfied craving, a longing unfulfilled. The scent that accompanied them was deceiving—warm, rich, the nostalgic aroma of home-cooked meals, of comfort, of a mother's embrace. But beneath it lurked something rancid—the bitterness of loneliness left too long to ferment, the sharpness of hunger that no food could ever quell.

They descended in a storm.

"Ah crap," Ji-Soon winced. "Tang-Ji!" Ji-Soon's voice rang out, laced with urgency. From where he stood, the monstrous creatures had all but consumed Tang-Ji's escape routes. The air above was a writhing storm of bread-beasts, and the poisoned mist below pulsed like a venomous sea waiting to claim her.

But Tang-Ji did not flinch. She did not hesitate and did not stiffen with fear. Instead, something in her stirred—something buried deep beneath skin and bone, long shackled yet ever yearning. Her lips curled, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly.

Excitement.

She exhaled, a breath filled with an unfamiliar thrill. "Finally," she whispered, her voice carrying only to herself. "How long have I waited?"

For the first time in so long, the weight of silence inside her chest cracked. The chains rattled. There had always been a part of her, a sliver of herself unknown even to her closest friends. It was something that did not belong to her alone—a thing with jagged edges, with nails that clawed against her ribs.

Esmeray watched her warily. "That expression—"

That wasn't the face of prey.

Tang-Ji lifted her chin, laughing—a short, breathless thing, but real. "I was starting to think I'd never get the chance," she admitted, crimson eyes gleaming as she turned to face him. "To finally break free, even if just for a moment."

Then she moved.

One step. Two. Leaping from talisman to talisman—a rhythm only she understood, a waltz only she could dance. The creatures honed in, diving with gnashing, hollow maws, their crusted bodies splitting open like jagged wounds. But Tang-Ji was faster. In one fluid motion, she swung wide, her massive shears cleaving the air.

The first beast lunged. She twisted midair, the weight of her weapon pulling her momentum downward. But she had done this a thousand times before. The moment the beast's clawed crust came within reach, she snapped the shears shut, bisecting it.

A clean cut. The golden-brown corpse began to crumble into nothingness.

With both hands tight on glassy handles, she adjusted, her muscles burning with familiar strain. The weight was immense, but it was an extension of herself, something she had long since mastered. Tang-Ji continued forward, weaving through the sky on scattered paper talismans, striking down each creature that dared approach.

Then—without a moment's notice she felt something.

Pain. A sudden force clamped onto her shoulder.

The jaw of a sky-eel beast knocked her off her feet, dragging her with it towards the poisoned abyss below.

She twisted her neck, staring at the ocean of death awaiting her.

A sickly sea of decay, undulating like gelatinous custard gone rotten. It lapped hungrily at the cavern's walls, bubbling, popping, oozing. The fumes swirled, tendrils of sickly sweetness curling into the air, a parody of freshly baked desserts, of sugar caramelised just a breath too long—

Burnt. Bitter. Ruinous.

She was falling.

"Operation Crash Out," she yelled, her voice fighting to be heard over the beast's growl.

Above—

The cavern shook.

Esmeray's head snapped upward, instinct overriding all else. A figure clung to a stalactite above, his presence no longer obscured. Long, dread-braided hair framed his face, a black coat hanging from his frame like a shroud.

"The invisible rat," Esmeray grumbled. No—he was visible now. Which meant—

He had already done what needed to be done.

His gaze flickered across the ceiling. Dozens of red dots blinked across the stalactites, silent, waiting.

Tang-Ji's body nearly crashed into the abyss—

"Level 3, Guard Technique—Gravity Sphere."

A violet glow enveloped her form, a translucent barrier snapping into place just in time. She twisted within its embrace, her muscles screaming, the shears still clutched tightly in her grasp.

The creature's grip on her shoulder faltered just long enough. With a sharp intake of breath, she tightened her hold and snapped the blade closed—

A sickening crunch.

The beast's head flew off behind her. Tang-Ji's sphere rebounded off the poisonous surface, sending her soaring back into the air.

With no delay.

A chain reaction of detonations rippled through the cavern, sending shockwaves through the air. The ceiling groaned—stalactites, riddled with hidden charges, cracked and shattered, their jagged forms plummeting like the wrath of the gods themselves. Each crashing impact sent tremors through the cavern, fracturing the ground and casting an eerie glow as embedded crystal shards refracted the flickering light of destruction.

Tang-Ji chuckled under her breath. "Thanks, Uncle Creed."

Esmeray barely had time to react. Suspended midair, his book fluttering beside him, he twisted his body to retreat—but it was too late.

The first spear of rock struck, driving into his shoulder with brutal force, knocking him off balance. He gritted his teeth, eyes flashing with pain, but his struggles only made things worse. More debris followed as massive stone javelins hurtled through the air. One tore through his leg, another slammed against his virtual ribs, forcing the breath from his lungs. His hands clawed at the air, his fingers twitching toward the pages of his Leere—desperate, searching—

Just like that the final impact came.

The last stalactite, monstrous in size, sheared through the space above him like a judge's gavel. It struck with the weight of inevitability, driving him downward. The force sent him spiralling, his body wrenched from midair and hurtling towards the water below.

The cavern roared as everything collapsed, enveloping them in darkness. The once-calm surface of the underground lake shattered into chaos, waves surging outward as stone met water. The lake swallowed him whole, the abyss beneath yawning wide, pulling him into its suffocating embrace.

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A sharp reeling noise cut through the suffocating darkness—a metallic groan, tightening, winding, like a steel coil pulled to its limit. The sound rippled through the cavern's remains, threading itself into the distant echoes of shifting rubble and the low, heavy grunting of exhausted survivors.

Ukiyo's eyes fluttered open, the remnants of unconsciousness clinging to her like a veil. Everything around her was blurred, distorted—not by smoke, not by dust, but by the thick, undulating water that encased her. It was as if she were staring through a fractured mirror, a liquid lens twisting the world into something surreal and distant.

The flickering red light beyond the water's surface pulsed like a heartbeat, illuminating shifting figures—shadows that flickered in and out of form, as if fate itself was uncertain of their place. Ukiyo's reflection wavered against the dense water, her features warping, unfamiliar. Was she even herself anymore? Or was she simply another fleeting image caught in the reflection of another?

'Just like those digital profiles, I'm staring through those hollow sockets again.' She thought to herself. 'It's no different than staring into that device.'

A voice shattered the fog.

"Is everyone alright?" Ji-Soon's voice, frayed but steady, cut through the heavy stillness.

A strained groan answered him. "Barely... I swear, if I get soaked one more time, I might lose my shit."

Kompto's breath hitched as he shifted, the cold pressing in from all sides. His coat clung to him like dead weight, heavy with water, each movement dragging against him as if unseen hands were pulling him under. He felt it in his limbs, in the slow protest of his muscles—a heaviness that wasn't just exhaustion but something deeper, something that made the simple act of lifting his arm feel like dragging a corpse through the tide.

Beyond the wavering distortion of water, Ukiyo could just make out the silhouette of a man sprawled atop a jagged rock, breath-ragged. Even in the dim haze, the faint shimmer of dissipating mana curled around the edges of his outstretched hand, like the last embers of a fire struggling against the wind.

It was clear now—at the very last moment, Ji-Soon had woven a desperate net of barriers, catching them just before they could get buried alive.

The air thrummed with strain. Around them, towering metal pillars groaned under the crushing weight, their iron frames warping, bending—screaming. Steel buckled with tortured creaks, bolts snapped like gunfire, and the jagged tremor of metal grinding against rock sent vibrations through the cavern. Dust rained down in choking clouds as the pillars quivered, barely holding, their surfaces denting inward like ribs under a giant's heel.

Ji-Soon's fingers twitched. The flickering pulse of energy wavered around him as sweat dripped down from his chin like someone had poured a bucket of water over his head.

Ukiyo pressed a hand to her temple, the remnants of the explosion still ringing through her skull. Her surroundings sharpened slightly as her focus returned. Then she noticed it.

A thick, black rope wound itself tightly around the watery sphere that trapped her. The coil pressed against the surface, taut and unmoving yet undeniably present. Her gaze followed its length, eyes narrowing. Someone was pulling it as she could still feel her weight being dragged along the uneven surface.

Through the shifting distortions, a figure loomed closer.

Ji-Soon.

His breath was heavy, his grip firm as he hauled against the rope, dragging her towards solid ground. The lines of exhaustion were carved deep into his face, but his resolve did not falter. Even as the cavern groaned around them, even as darkness swallowed the last remnants of falling debris, he kept pulling.

A low, crackling voice broke through the heavy silence, rough and mechanical, barely holding together.

"Hah... I knew monkeys couldn't swim," Decker rasped, his words slurred, his voice sputtering like a dying engine. No one reacted. Not this time. Not even Kompto.

Decker let out a shaky breath, steam hissing from the cracks in his armour as he slumped further against the rubble. His red optics flickered weakly.

"Damn it," he muttered, barely above a whisper. "Can't believe I actually followed that crazy bitch's plan."

His fingers twitched, trying to form a fist, but his strength failed him. The metal plating on his gauntlet, scorched and dented, barely held together. No one answered. The silence pressed down on them like the cave walls threatening to collapse.

Steam continued to hiss waves of smoke from his back, billowing out in thick clouds like an engine that had run far past its limit. Sparks danced along the edges of his joints, the metal plating rattling with each movement. And in his iron grip, held aloft by the throat, was a monstrous beast—a massive, bear-like creature, its bones jutting out grotesquely at unnatural angles. It convulsed once, then stilled.

Ukiyo's gaze drifted downward. The ground around Decker was littered with bones. Some cracked, some splintered, others half-buried beneath the wreckage of the cave.

With a heavy exhale, Decker let go. The beast's limp body slumped to the ground, its weight sending a dull tremor through the rocky floor. Just like that, as if the last ounce of strength had been drained from him, Decker himself collapsed.

His armour—once an impenetrable fortress of steel—finally gave out. Metal groaned, fractured plates crumbling away as he hit the ground. Sparks flickered, the inner mechanisms failing one by one. Smoke and dust curled around him, swirling in the dim light. His mask, now split, dragged across the rock as it slowly slid from his face.

Beneath it—exhaustion. Sweat-matted hair, dirt-streaked skin, a face lined with cuts and bruises. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling unevenly. The mechanical giant was reduced to a man lying broken on the cavern floor.

Ukiyo sat motionless in the bubble, observing.

Everything around her was quiet, save for the distant shifting of water and rattling of metals—until a sudden, sharp noise snapped her attention behind her.

A violent splash.

Ukiyo turned.

Emiko.

The silhouette of her back was barely visible against the chaotic backdrop, but the violet glow surrounding her hand burned through the darkness. She stood waist-deep in the water, talismans swirling wildly around her as she flung them forward. Each one landed with a rippling splash, sinking beneath the surface before pulsing with a strange, eerie light.

Ji-Soon, still catching his breath, watched with weary eyes. "Is that really necessary?" His voice was hoarse.

Emiko didn't stop.

"Shut up," she shot back, her voice edged with frustration. Another talisman flared to life in her grip before she slammed it into the water. The lake was already littered with floating paper and shattered stone, churned violently at her command. "You can never be too sure. I'm not making the same mistake twice—this time, I'm making damn sure that bastard is completely disintegrated."

The cavern, still dark and trembling, bore witness to her relentless hatred. The water, once a symbol of reflection, now became an altar for obliteration.

After some time had passed. Ji-Soon took a step forward, the water lapping around his ankles, his gaze locked onto the motionless figure within the prison.

"Ukiyo... right?" His voice was sharp and deliberate. His eyes bore into her, searching for something—confirmation, denial, anything. But Ukiyo did not move.

His hands clenched into fists at his sides, nails pressing into his palms.

Since the beginning, something about her hadn't sat right with him. The way Kazami spoke about her, the nervous edge to his voice—Kazami was always a bad liar; Ji-Soon had known long enough to know that much. He could hear it in his tone. Kazami was hiding something, and now he knew why.

His teeth ground together. "What does that man want with you?" He took another step, his voice rising. "Are you part of the developers' team?"

Silence. Ukiyo remained still, her face unreadable.

Ji-Soon exhaled sharply. "Is it true then? That you lured us into this. Trapped us in your mess. And you dragged Kazami into it—"

His fist slammed against the watery barrier with a dull, rippling thud. "You lied to him."

Still, she said nothing.

"Tell me, damn it!" He struck again, this time with both fists, his body trembling, breath ragged. His voice cracked as he shouted. "Why won't you say anything?!"

Ji-Soon was always calm and composed. He played the odds, and measured the risks. But now, his hands shook, and his chest heaved. This wasn't just anger—it was fear, frustration, and the crushing weight of betrayal. His mind was unravelling, lost in the spiral of possibilities, of how much had been planned, how much they had been deceived.

Behind him, Kompto was still trying to regain his composure. He turned his head slightly, watching Ji-Soon's outburst through half-lidded eyes. Junyo was still crouched behind the boulder, Kazami's unconscious body beside him. His fingers twitched against the stone as if debating whether to intervene, but he stayed put, his lips pressed into a thin line.

Ji-Soon's voice tore through the cavern. "From the beginning, nothing made sense! You showed up out of nowhere, conveniently knowing exactly where to go! Kazami trusted you, but he doesn't trust anyone! Not unless—" He choked on his own words. "Not unless he had no choice!"

His breaths were ragged, his throat stinging. He pressed his forehead against the barrier, hands splayed against the surface, his knuckles white. "You used him. Didn't you? You used us all."

A bitter laugh escaped him, shaky and hollow. "You were always one step ahead. Every single time. But why? What the hell do you want from us?" His voice cracked, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him.

Not far behind, Tang-Ji stirred. She lay on the damp ground, her breaths slow, her body heavy. A strange numbness crept into her legs. "This body... I'm reaching my limit," she whispered to herself as she stared down her shaky limbs. She was surprised she was still alive.

Suddenly the sound of a bell could be heard. Her gaze flicked to the upper-left corner of her vision, where her health bar pulsed faintly. Below it sat a small bubble icon. "Poison damage?"

Her stomach twisted.

Lifting her trembling hand, she saw it—the black liquid clinging to her fingertips, its scent sharp and vinegary. Her breath hitched.

A skill deployment should deactivate when the caster dies.

And yet—the ground beneath her was still damp.

Her eyes widened as they flicked back to the skull icon. A timer. Constantly resetting. Which meant—

Her blood ran cold.

The words tore from her throat, sharp and desperate, cutting through the cavern.

Everyone's heads snapped towards her.

"HE'S STILL ALIVE!!!" she screamed.

Emiko's hands moved in an instant towards the hill of crumbling rock. "Level 8 deployment, Rush Tech—".

Before anyone could react, a searing orange light erupted from the lake, a column of molten brilliance bursting skyward. The cavern ceiling split open, revealing the violet moon once again.

The heat hit like a tidal wave. It wasn't just fire—it was something crude, something alive. It smelled thick and acrid, like overcooked sugar burning in an iron pan. The lake itself became a boiling cauldron, spitting molten water in violent bursts.

Blinded by the sudden brilliance, everyone recoiled. Eyes squeezed shut, arms raised instinctively, but the light had already burned itself into their vision, leaving ghostly afterimages.

The moment after came–

A sound.

A wet, sickening squelch.

A black spear shot out of the molten chaos, twisting through the air like a serpent, seeking a target.

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It moved too fast. Too sudden.

Emiko barely had time to register the shape hurtling towards her. Her heart pounded, her legs frozen, and her breath caught in her throat. She tried to move, but—

Tang-Ji struggled to rise as the posion status locked her mobility. Kompto rolled off the rock, but exhaustion dragged him down.

No one could reach her in time.

The black limb twisted, its shape grotesque—meat clumped together, shifting and writhing. The sound it made was wrong. A thick, viscous tearing, like raw flesh being pulled apart.

Emiko squeezed her eyes shut. She braced for pain.

But it never came.

The silence stretched unbearably, pressing against her ribs. Hesitant, breath trembling, she forced her eyes open.

A figure stood before her.

Red. That was the first thing she saw. Red hair, dyed by the glow of the molten river behind him, blurring into the eruption of orange volcanic light. But in that instant, the colour bled into something else—something older, something buried. A different red. A different day.

The black limb had pierced straight through his stomach.

Blood spilled from the wound, thick and glistening, trailing down in sluggish rivulets. Ji-Soon's body trembled, muscles taut with resistance, holding back a force meant for her.

Emiko's breath caught in her throat.

The sight before her pulled at something deep inside, clawing at a memory she had long since locked away.

Another figure, taller than her, stood in front of her. With a violent expression. A mess of red—red hair, red blood, pooling from his head down at his feet.

She hadn't seen his face then.

She couldn't see Ji-Soon's now.

She had screamed once. A long time ago.

Again, she stood frozen, the past and present overlapping like a cruel trick of the light.

That day, she had wanted him to live. Despite all the horrible things that he did to her. She had wanted time to rewind, to fix things, to take back every hateful word she had spat at him. But it was too late. He was gone. And she had no one to blame but herself.

Her selfish, foolish self.

The men she loved. The men she hated. They had all bled for her.

And now it was happening again.

And she had done nothing.

Again.

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A forest of silver stems stretched into an expanse of pale petals, a sea of white under a sky that did not exist. The ground, soft yet firm, cradled the weight of a frail body, its touch both gentle and intrusive, a whisper of something alive beneath the surface. A boy lay there, eyes shut, adrift in the void of his own making.

Above him, slender metal poles stood like skeletal trees, their limbs burdened with swollen, golden sacs. They pulsed faintly, a lifeline, a tether. Translucent tubes trailed down like veins of glass, linking his arms to their silent nourishment. His skin, fragile and marred, bore the evidence of endless punctures—purple blossoms blooming across his limbs, metal spines still embedded deep within, glinting like buried nails under his flesh.

A flicker. Then another. His eyelids stirred, fluttering open to an unbroken world of white. But he was no longer lying down. His bare feet pressed into the soft expanse as he stood, an IV pole gliding beside him, its burden dragging with each step.

His gown, like everything else, was white—too white, as if existence had been scrubbed clean, leaving only the pale remains of something once vibrant. The world had been drained, bled dry of its hues, yet it was vast, boundless, stretching in every direction like an unfinished dream.

He walked.

Before long, a window floated into existence. Curtains draped over its frame, veiling whatever lay beyond, yet the light behind it cast shadows upon the cloth—three silhouettes, shifting, restless. Two loomed over a smaller one, their forms wavering, incomplete. The boy inched closer, the fabric rippling as if breathing. The shadows moved, and suddenly, the largest one lashed out.

A violent strike. A stagger. The smaller shadow collapsed, a puppet with severed strings. The other, slightly larger, hesitated before kneeling beside the fallen form, hands reaching, trembling. The boy watched as the larger shadow tried to lift the fallen one, shaking it desperately, but there was no response. The silence stretched—until it didn't.

A sound.

It began as a whisper, a thread of sorrow unravelling into the air. A cry, broken and torn, bled through the fabric of reality. It was the sound of grief given shape, a voice wailing into the void, clawing at something unseen. And then the shadows dissolved, melting into the light behind the curtain.

The boy barely had time to process before the world around him twisted. More windows flickered into existence, floating, surrounding him like spectres of forgotten memories. Each held its own scene, its own shadows, and now the sounds came in waves.

A shadow hunched over a wall-mounted telephone, its form crumpled, its hands pressed against the receiver as if trying to hold onto something already lost. The sobs that escaped were strangled and fractured, caught between despair and disbelief. The receiver trembled, held but unable to reach.

Another window—another scene. A larger shadow carried the smaller one on its back, an IV pole trailing behind, tubes stretching like leashes, binding the small figure to the burdened form carrying it forward. The weight was unbearable, yet it walked, dragging, dragging, until the world itself seemed to pull it under.

The voices grew. Sobs, whispers, quiet wails, choked screams. They overlapped, clashing, swelling into a chorus of grief that drowned the air, suffocating. The boy clutched his head, his breath ragged, his chest tightening as if unseen hands had wrapped around his ribs, squeezing. The white beneath his feet withered. The petals darkened, curling inward like burnt paper, the stems twisting into gnarled fingers reaching up, grasping.

The windows closed in.

The voices became sharper, needle-like, piercing through his skull. His knees hit the ground, his fingers digging into his arms, gripping, clawing, as if trying to hold himself together.

But the pain—it hurt, the pain. It wasn't just his. It was hers. It was all of theirs. The sorrow, the regret, the loss—it burrowed under his skin, carving itself into his bones, filling the hollow spaces inside him with something unbearable.

He squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to let go.

Then, warmth.

A touch, featherlight, against his trembling fingers. A presence so gentle, so familiar, it made his breath catch. The voices dulled, receding like a tide, and for the first time, he was afraid to open his eyes. He feared what he might see—feared that it would vanish if he did.

But then, a voice.

"Don't cry... I promised that I wouldn't leave you, remember?"

The boy gasped, his eyes snapping open. Before him, dressed in the same unbroken white as everything else, stood a woman. Her presence was soft, yet undeniable, like a whisper carried through time. He barely managed a word, his voice a mere breath.

"Mother..."

And then he was in her arms. Or perhaps she was in his. It didn't matter. The embrace was real. Solid. He could feel the warmth of her body, the steady rise and fall of her chest.

He clung to her, and she to him, their silence more profound than any words could be. They stood atop a surface that rippled like liquid silver, an endless stretch of reflected white. No beginning. No end.

Tears fell freely.

"I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm so sorry... for everything. For all the pain I caused. I wanted to tell you so much, but it's too late, isn't it?"

She said nothing and only ran her fingers through his hair, listening. And so he spoke. He told her everything, every thought, every regret, as if saying them aloud could make them real, could make this moment last. But with every word, the fear crept in—what if this, too, would disappear? What if she faded before he could say it all?

She only smiled.

"Kazami, dear..."

She cupped his face, her fingers light as the wind. "Kazami, listen to me."

He tried to look away, but she wouldn't let him.

"I wish I could stay," she whispered. "I wish I could listen to your voice forever. Catch up on every moment we lost. But I can't. Not yet. Not when your story isn't finished."

His breath hitched. "But I was never good at anything." His hands curled into fists. "I had nothing. No talent, no strength. I couldn't even stop what happened to you."

She sighed, shaking her head with a knowing smile. Then, gently, she knelt before him. The way she always had when he was a child, brushing off his scrapes, steadying him when he felt small.

"Kazami." She lifted his chin, forcing him to meet her gaze. "That's not true. Not even close."

He swallowed, his vision blurring.

"You were always listening," she continued.

"Taking in the world, every whisper, every unsaid thing. You understood people—better than anyone. Not because you had to, but because you wanted to. That's not nothing. That's rare. That's the talent that you were given at birth."

He let out a bitter laugh. "What's the point of understanding if I still couldn't change anything? If I still—" His voice cracked. "If I still lost you?"

She reached up, brushing his hair back the way she used to when he was younger. "Not all things are meant to be changed, Kazami. Some things are meant to be carried."

His breath shuddered.

"You listen. You understand. You take in the broken pieces of others and make them your own. Not to steal them, not to bear them alone—but to share them." Her voice softened. "That is your strength. And it's not something you lost. It's something you still have."

He clenched his jaw, but she could see it—the slight tremble in his lips.

"You think crying makes you weak," she murmured. "But giving up—that's weakness. Letting the past drown you instead of carrying it forward—that's weakness."

He sucked in a shaky breath.

She smiled, warm and certain. "So cry. Cry as much as you need. And then stand up."

His shoulders shook as a sob finally tore free.

Her hands, once so real, were starting to fade. But still, she held him.

Kazami's fingers curled into trembling fists at his sides. His mother's words had settled deep, like stones in his chest, and he could feel the weight of them pressing down, relentless.

He looked away, staring at the endless, rippling expanse of water surrounding them, before his voice—small, uncertain—finally broke the silence.

"I understand people," he murmured, "but that didn't change anything. It didn't change what happened to her." His voice wavered.

"I still couldn't save her."

His mother sighed, a sound soft as falling petals.

"Kazami," she said gently, "do you think understanding alone is enough? That guilt is enough? Mistakes are part of being alive, but what matters is what you do after." She placed a hand over his. "And you, my son, you are not ready to rest. Not until you make things right."

Her words hit like a pulse of thunder in his heart. Kazami clenched his teeth, his throat tightening as he fought against the rawness rising within him.

He wanted to argue, to say that it was too late, that no matter how much he tried, the past would not change. But then she smiled—soft, knowing, unwavering.

"You can still save her," she whispered.

His mother's hand tightened ever so slightly before she pushed him away—not with force, not with anger, but with love. The kind of love that refused to let him stay shackled to regret.

"Go," she urged, voice steady. "Because if you don't, you will regret it forever. And I won't let that happen to my son."

Kazami felt something inside him crack, splintering like fragile glass. His shoulders shook, and before he could stop himself, the tears fell. His hands rushed to wipe them away, shame burning in his chest. But his mother simply laughed, warm and light like the summer wind.

"My foolish boy," she said, reaching out to brush the tears from his cheek. "You can cry as much as you need to. Crying was never a weakness." She held his face, her touch steady. "Giving up is."

Kazami sobbed, and this time, he didn't try to stop it. He let himself weep in the presence of the one person who had always accepted him fully, unconditionally. His mother smiled, not with pity, but with pride.

Then, finally, he found his resolve.

Kazami inhaled deeply and turned away, his back to her. He could not look back now. His mother's voice, full of quiet strength, called to him one last time.

"Follow the lotus, Kazami. It will lead you home."

His lips trembled. "I love you."

His mother's breath caught, her eyes glistening. "I know... and I'm so proud... proud that it was you who was born as my son."

And then she began to fade, her form dissolving into the mist like ink in water.

Kazami took a step forward.

Under him, a lotus bloomed, its petals unfurling in slow, deliberate grace. The water beneath was impossibly clear, reflecting neither sky nor stars, only the endless depths of his soul.

He took another step.

A whisper of laughter—childish, fleeting—echoed in his ears, the sound of an old memory. His brother was giggling as he tugged on his sleeve, pleading for him to play just one more round of their silly game.

A third step.

The distant chime of wind bells. His mother's voice hummed a lullaby under the glow of the lantern light, her hands weaving warmth into the fabric of their home.

A fourth step.

The sharp crack of splitting wood. His father's voice, rough with exhaustion, scolding him for his recklessness and for his inability to sit still. A lesson unlearned, a love misunderstood.

A fifth step.

The faint rustle of paper. The sound of letters he never sent, words never spoken, regrets woven into every crease and fold.

A sixth step.

Silence.

A hollow, aching silence. The kind that followed after everything was lost, after doors had closed and footsteps had faded. The kind that haunted.

Kazami swallowed. He took one last step.

The seventh.

The lotus beneath his foot unfurled completely, and in that instant, something within him opened as well. He exhaled, a breath deep and freeing, as if releasing a weight he had carried for far too long. He understood now.

The past could not be rewritten. But the future—his future—was still waiting.

And he knew exactly what he must do.