The following hours brought no answers.

They brought exhaustion.

The night progressed slowly, as if it had all the time in the world to linger in that room, enveloping each of them in a silent wait that no longer had the urgency of the beginning—but also no relief. The soft lighting of the mansion remained constant, almost unchanging, contrasting with the weariness that slowly accumulated in their bodies and expressions.

Time ceased to be measured in minutes.

It began to be measured in breaths.

By the frequency with which someone looked at Damon, hoping to see something different.

And by the absolute absence of change.

Aria was the first to partially succumb to exhaustion. At some point—impossible to say exactly when—her body finally relaxed enough to allow her eyes to truly close. It wasn’t a deep sleep, nor a comfortable one. It was light, unstable, like someone who didn’t want to sleep, but whose body no longer wanted to negotiate. Even asleep, she remained close, her hand resting lightly on the sofa, a few inches from Damon’s leg, as if that proximity were enough to keep her connected.

Morgana resisted more.

Much more.

But her resistance didn’t come from discipline.

It came from refusal.

She remained there, sitting on the floor, leaning against the sofa, her hand still intertwined with his, as if that were the only concrete thing she could hold. Her eyes were heavy, her breathing irregular, and yet—she didn’t move away. At times, her head tilted slightly to the side, as if to give in, but it always returned, as if something inside her prevented her from simply... switching off.

Ester remained functional.

But even she wasn’t immune to time.

Her posture remained firm, her movements still precise, but there were small flaws in the cadence—pauses a little longer, glances that lingered half a second longer than usual. She still observed Damon with clinical attention, still monitored everything that could be perceived, but the fact that there was no change... was beginning to weigh on her.

Because there was no pattern to it.

And the absence of a pattern was, for her, the worst possible scenario.

Elizabeth—

She didn’t move.

Not for a moment.

Sitting on the edge of the sofa, with the same upright posture, the same fixed gaze, the same presence that had sustained that space from the beginning. But now... there was something deeper there.

It wasn’t anxiety.

It wasn’t despair.

It was... absolute attention.

As if everything else had been filtered out.

As if, at that moment, only one thing in the world mattered.

Damon.

The hours passed.

Another one.

And another.

The silence became such a natural part of the atmosphere that, at a certain point, no one seemed aware of it anymore. It was simply... the state of things.

Until—

Something changed.

Not in the environment.

Not in the rhythm of his breathing.

Not in the energy that continued to grow steadily, steadily, almost unsettlingly.

But... in the detail.

Elizabeth was the first to notice.

Not because she was looking for something specific.

But because she hadn’t stopped observing.

Not for a second.

Her gaze was fixed on Damon’s hand—more specifically, on the fingers that rested relaxed at his sides.

And then—

A movement.

Minimal.

Almost nonexistent.

But real.

The little finger.

A slight... tremor.

So small it could easily be ignored.

But not by her.

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed immediately.

Her body didn’t move abruptly.

But her attention—

Intensified.

She didn’t speak.

Not yet. She only tilted her face slightly, focusing more precisely.

And then—

Again.

The finger... moved.

This time, it wasn’t a tremor.

It was... a slight flex.

As if the body were testing.

As if something were returning.

Elizabeth then moved.

Not abruptly.

But decisively.

Her hand slid carefully, positioning itself close to his—not touching yet, just following.

"Esther."

The voice was low.

But firm.

Enough.

Esther reacted instantly, approaching in two steps, her gaze already focused where Elizabeth was watching.

"What is it?"

Elizabeth didn’t answer immediately.

She only indicated with a slight movement of her gaze.

Esther followed.

And saw.

Damon’s finger moved again. This time, a little clearer.

She stopped.

For a second—

Rare.

Very rare.

"...there was an answer," she murmured.

Aria partially awoke to the sound of the voices, blinking slowly, still processing.

"...what...?"

Morgana was quicker.

Her body rose slightly, almost instantly, her eyes going straight to Damon.

"What happened?!"

Elizabeth finally spoke.

Without taking her eyes off him.

"He’s coming back."

Silence.

But this time—

It wasn’t empty.

It was anticipation.

The air shifted.

Almost palpably.

Morgana squeezed his hand immediately, leaning further forward.

"Damon...?" she called, her voice heavy with something between hope and fear.

Another movement.

His fingers... twitched slightly.

More than one now.

Small.

But undeniable.

Aria was already fully awake, drawing closer, her eyes attentive, curious, but now also carrying something deeper.

"...this is new," she murmured.

Ester was already observing every detail, her absolute focus again.

"Motor activity returning," she said, more to register than to explain.

The movement wasn’t the end.

It was the beginning.

While, in the real world, Damon’s fingers began to respond—albeit minimally, almost hesitantly—inside him, something much greater was already underway.

The space was no longer empty.

Not completely.

The absolute darkness that had once dominated everything was now... structured.

There was still no ground.

There was still no sky.

But there was direction.

There was depth.

And, above all—

There was presence.

Damon stood still for a few moments, observing his surroundings with a silence that was no longer one of bewilderment, but of analysis. The interface still existed, suspended before him, but it no longer occupied all the space. Now it seemed... integrated into his surroundings, as if it were just one layer among many.

The pinkish hue still pulsed around him, but now it was more intense, more alive—like an invisible circulatory system running through that mental space, carrying energy from one point to another.

And he felt it.

Not as before.

Not as someone who observes.

But as someone who... is part of it.

He slowly flexed his hand.

And this time—

There was an immediate response.

His fingers moved with precision.

Without delay.

Without resistance.

Damon looked at his own hand silently for a brief moment, opening and closing his fingers once, testing.

"...so it’s already begun," he murmured, more to himself than to the system.

[Process in intermediate phase.]

The voice came.

Clear.

Direct.

But now completely natural.

He didn’t react to its presence.

It was no longer something external.

It was... functional.

"Intermediate, huh," he replied, tilting his head slightly. His eyes scanned the environment once more, as if trying to identify exactly what had changed.

And then—

He realized.

The space... reacted.

Not visibly at first glance.

But subtly.

Almost instinctively.

When he thought about moving—

The environment adjusted.

When he focused—

The surrounding structure responded.

"...this isn’t just space," he murmured.

[Confirmation.]

Damon narrowed his eyes slightly.

"So this here..."

A pause.

"...is me."

[Correct.]

Silence.

But there was no surprise.

Just... gradual acceptance.

He began to walk.

Or at least... decided to walk.

And the space responded.

What was once undefined now solidified slightly beneath his feet—not as real matter, but as a functional structure that existed just long enough to sustain the concept of movement.

Each step was accompanied by a slight pulse around him, as if that environment were synchronized with him.

Completely.

"Interesting," he murmured.

And then—

Something changed. The interface, which had remained static until then, expanded again.

But this time—

It didn’t show numbers.

It showed... flow.

Lines of energy began to emerge around him, traversing space in complex patterns, connecting invisible points, forming something that resembled a map—but not of a place.

Of a body.

Of his body.

Damon stopped.

His eyes focused immediately.

"...this is new."

[Internal visualization enabled.]

He watched silently as the lines moved.

They weren’t random.

They were precise.

Each flow carried density, intensity, its own rhythm.

Some were gentle.

Others—

Violent.

And they all converged.

Toward him.

Toward the center.

Toward something that wasn’t yet fully visible.

Damon stepped forward.

And the map reacted.

It deepened.

It expanded.

And then—

He saw.

A core.

Not physical.

Not solid.

But... present.

An absurd concentration of energy condensed into a single point, pulsing constantly, like a heart—but much more intense.

Much more... alive.

He stopped before it.

His eyes fixed.

Analyzing.

Absorbing.

"...is this me now?" he asked, without looking away.

[Partial.]

A pause.

[Process not yet complete.]

The core pulsed stronger.

Once.

Twice.

And then—

Something coursed through his body.

Not pain.

Not discomfort.

But... expansion.

As if every part of him was being recalibrated simultaneously.

His muscles—even in that mental state—reacted.

His perception broadened.

The space around him... became clearer.

More defined.

More... accessible.

Damon closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Feeling.

Processing.

And then he opened them again.

More focused.

Sharper.

"...I understand," he murmured.

His eyes returned to the core.

And this time—

There was no doubt.

There was no hesitation.

Only intention.

He took another step.

Approaching.

The core reacted immediately, the pulse increasing, the surrounding energy lines intensifying, as if recognizing the approach.

But there was no resistance.

There was no blockage.

On the contrary—

There was... acceptance.

As if it had been waiting.

For him.

Damon slowly raised his hand.

And extended it toward the core.

His fingers stopped a few centimeters away.

For a second—

Everything was completely still.

No pulse.

No flow.

No movement.

And then—

Contact.

The instant his fingers touched—

The world exploded.

Not in destruction.

But in information.

The surrounding space dissolved into layers, the energy lines fragmented into thousands of data fragments, each one traversing his perception with absurd, yet perfectly comprehensible speed.

Memories.

Sensations.

Instincts.

Knowledge.

Everything being reorganized.

Everything being integrated.

Damon didn’t back down.

He didn’t hesitate.

He remained there.

Absorbing.

Accepting.

Mastering.

His body—even on that plane—began to change.

Not visually.

But structurally.

Denser.

More stable.

More... complete.

And then—

In the real world—

His fingers closed tighter.

This time—

It wasn’t a reflex.

It was intention.

Inside—

Damon opened his eyes.

And the space around him... was no longer the same.

More defined.

More solid.

More... his.

He looked at his own hand.

Closed.

Opened.

And a small smile appeared.

Slowly.

Controlled.

"...okay," he murmured.

His eyes returned to the core—now less unstable, more integrated with the rest of space.

"...now that’s better."