Shura was dreaming.
He ran.
No ground beneath him. No sky above.
Just movement. Just need. Just fear.
"Shura…"
Her voice—
ahead.
Always ahead.
He saw her.
A silhouette. Faint. Unstable.
Edges breaking apart like dust in wind.
"Mother—!"
He pushed forward. Faster. Harder.
His legs burned—
but didn't slow.
The world shifted.
Walls formed beside him—
stone—
then liquid—
then gone.
Paths stretched—
then twisted—
then collapsed into nothing.
He kept running.
He didn't question it.
He couldn't.
Because she was there.
Always just out of reach.
"Wait—!"
His voice broke.
Swallowed.
The space didn't carry sound.
It consumed it.
Then—
something changed.
He felt it before he saw it.
A stillness. Wrong. Impossible.
He slowed.
Just slightly.
And there—
Far beyond the distortion—
stood a mountain.
It didn't move.
Didn't bend under the absolute weight of the Void.
Kilometers of infinite stone—
the world's heavy foundation—
pressed down from the dark.
A silent, crushing gravity.
Most spires in the Kingdoms looked like they were begging the sky not to fall.
But this mountain—
it didn't plead.
It held the dark up. Sharp. Silent. Real.
Its peak—
cut clean.
Not eroded by time.
Not broken by the shifting earth.
Severed.
Everything else—
shifted. Collapsed. Rebuilt.
But that mountain—
remained. Unchallenged.
Shura's breath caught.
"…Why…?"
His steps slowed.
For the first time—
he wasn't chasing her.
He was looking at it.
"Shura."
Closer now. Too close.
He turned—
She stood in front of him.
Not ahead anymore.
Right there.
But—
wrong.
Her face—
cracked.
Lines spreading across her skin like fractures in glass.
Pieces slipping—
but not falling.
Erasing.
"Why did you f....?"
Her voice echoed—
not in the space—
inside him.
The mountain stood behind her.
Shura stepped back.
Not from her—
From it.
"I've seen that…"
His voice trembled.
"…before."
A pause.
Her expression—
softened.
For a moment—
she was whole again.
"Then remember."
A crack.
Her face split again.
Worse this time.
"You're running the wrong way."
The mountain pulsed.
Once.
Everything broke.
—
Shura woke.
A sharp inhale tore through him.
Air flooded his lungs.
Cold. Heavy. Real.
His body refused to respond as if the heavy silence of the room had physically pinned him to the mattress, leaving his arms and legs as cold, immovable anchors of bone that ignored every desperate command from his mind.
Only his eyes remained free, darting with a wide, panicked intensity that traced the crushing weight of the shadows above, searching for a single spark of Viora in a frame that felt less like a person and more like a hollow, pressurized shell.
Am I—
dead?
No.
Pain answered immediately.
"…Alive…"
Barely.
His chest rose.
Slow. Uneven.
Each breath dragged.
As if the air itself resisted him.
Then—
he felt it.
Inside.
A warmth. Faint. Scattered. Unstable.
"…What… is this…"
It moved.
Not controlled.
Like something flowing through broken paths.
His body—
wasn't ready.
"…I can't move…"
A knock.
Soft.
Controlled.
The door opened.
A maid stepped in.
Calm. Balanced. Like she belonged to the rhythm of this place.
A tray rested in her hands.
Steam curled upward.
She paused.
Noticed his eyes.
"…Awake already."
She stepped inside.
Placed the tray on the table.
Careful. Precise.
The smell reached him.
Warm. Grounded.
Shura turned his eyes.
A bowl. Stew.
Muted gold. Gray-orange.
Thick.
Smooth.
Just substance.
"…What is that?"
She blinked.
Then smiled.
Small. Knowing.
"Food."
A pause.
"…How is it made?"
Her smile shifted slightly.
Amused now.
"Manager told me."
A small breath.
"You'd ask even the simplest things."
She straightened.
Answered anyway.
"Cracked wheat."
"Not flour."
"Rough."
"Three parts water."
"Boiled."
"A bit of salt-crystal."
She gestured lightly.
"Cooked slowly."
"Stirred constantly."
A beat.
"Over a Viora vent."
Shura frowned.
She nodded.
She stepped back.
"Eat before it cools."
She turned.
"…Thank you," Shura said.
She paused.
Looked at him.
Properly this time.
A small nod.
Respect.
Then she left.
The door closed.
Soft.
Shura stared at the bowl.
Steam rose.
He tried to move.
Nothing. Frustration rose.
"…Why…?"
His breath faltered.
Inside—
that warmth shifted.
Too fast. Too uneven.
"…It's not… listening…"
Or maybe—
he wasn't.
He closed his eyes.
Just slightly.
That voice—
echoed again.
"Don't fight the air."
A breath in.
Slow.
A breath out.
Careful.
The warmth steadied.
Just a little.
Spread—
less violently.
His fingers—
twitched.Barely.But real.
His eyes widened.
"…I can move…"
Not strength. Not yet. Control.Beginning.
He focused again.
Breathing.
Slow.
Even.
Another twitch.
Then stillness.
Not failure—
limit.
For now.
His gaze drifted—
toward the ceiling.
"…That dream…"
A pause.
His brows tightened.
"…Why that…?"
Fragments lingered.
Running.
Her voice.
Breaking.
And—
that mountain.
Still.
Sharp.
Wrong.
"…Was that just a dream…?"
Silence answered.
He swallowed.
"…No…"
It didn't feel like one.
Dreams faded.
That didn't.
It stayed.
Clear.
Fixed.
Like it existed without him.
His eyes shifted slightly.
"…I saw something like that…"
His voice lowered.
"…outside the walls…"
Faint memory.
Blurred.
But there.
When they were walking—
when the first appeared—
far beyond—
past the gray—
something distant.
Something tall.
He hadn't focused on it.
Didn't understand it.
But now—
it aligned.
"…It's the same…"
His breath slowed.
Thinking.
"…Why would I see it there…"
A pause.
"…and in a dream?"
His fingers twitched again.
Stronger this time.
"…Is it real…?"
No answer.
Only the quiet hum of the room.
Shura exhaled.
Long.
"…If it's real…"
A beat.
"…then it didn't change."
Unlike everything else.
Unlike this place.
Unlike the dream.
It stayed.
Unaffected.
A fixed point.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Then it means something."
Something else.
Something waiting.
He turned his gaze—
toward the door.
"…And they didn't tell me."
Zenkyou. Orin. Ren.
They knew this land.
Every structure. Every boundary.
If something like that existed—
they would know.
Unless—
they didn't.
Or worse—
they ignored it.
His jaw tightened.
"…I need to see it again."
Not now. Not like this. But soon.
The warmth in his chest flickered.
Quieter now. Listening.
Responding.
"…First…"
His eyes returned to the bowl.
"…I need to eat."
His fingers curled.
This time—
they held.
Small strength.
But real.
Shura let out a quiet breath.
Not relief.
Not yet.
But something close.
And outside—
the Beacon continued its steady glow.
Unchanging.
Unquestioned.
But for the first time—
Shura wasn't looking at the light.
He was thinking about what stood beyond it