(POV – Arthur Hensley)
Arthur watched the situation unfold in silence. To be more specific, both he and Victor felt like mere spectators in a story being woven by invisible hands, pulling the strings of fate.
At least, that's how Arthur felt—like a misplaced piece on a board he barely understood. In the end, trying to steer his own path seemed pointless when powerful, relentless forces insisted on intervening.
Lost in thought, Arthur was pulled back to reality by Victor's voice beside him: "Do you have any idea what the hell is going on here?" he asked, his tone laced with confusion: "None of this makes a damn bit of sense"
Arthur glanced briefly at his reflection in a stone mirror nearby, then turned his gaze back to the massive flower before him. It was still glowing with an intense golden light—so bright his eyes burned, as if the very act of looking at it too long might sear them.
Before the enormous bloom, the [Angel of Death] reached out and gently touched its radiant surface. The first time she had done that, the petals at the top had slowly opened, revealing nothing but a blinding light from within, as though the essence of light itself had been imprisoned inside.
Even now, the [Angel of Death] remained completely still, unmoving after touching the flower. And yet, Arthur couldn't shake the feeling that something was happening—something unseen by either him or Victor.
It was just a hunch, with no solid evidence to back it up. He brought a hand to his chin and stroked it slowly, thoughts racing and colliding in his mind, all grasping for a way to make sense of the mystery in front of him.
"By the way... don't you get the feeling we're being watched right now?" Victor murmured, stepping closer and scanning the area warily.
Arthur raised an eyebrow and gave Victor a curious look. A moment later, Victor's eyes locked on something slightly above them. Intrigued, Arthur followed his gaze and squinted, blinking as he made out a still silhouette perched on the rubble just a few meters away. The figure watched them in silence, wrapped in an eerie quiet.
"Sometimes I seriously wonder why the hell we even bother with containment cells when the anomalies always end up escaping anyway" Victor muttered, arms crossed, his eyes still fixed on the anomaly.
At Victor's words, Arthur let out a dry, ironic smile, his eyes narrowing in a half-mocking squint: "Honestly? Instead of being surprised she escaped" he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm: "I'd be impressed if you people could build a cell that could actually hold death itself"
With that, Arthur turned his attention once again to the towering flower. The golden glow pulsed, stronger now—almost like it was alive, as if it was about to awaken. The [Angel of Death] continued to run her fingers gently along the petals with an odd sense of reverence, yet the flower remained still, unmoved by her touch.
No reaction. No sign. Arthur's mind swirled in confusion, locked on a single unsettling thought: (What the hell is really going on here?)
***
(POV – Protagonist)
Have you ever wondered what it feels like to realize you're dreaming? I think every human being has asked themselves that at some point in life: "What would it be like to wake up inside a dream and control it?" Well, I think I can finally answer that—because that's exactly what's happening to me right now.
That's the conclusion I came to as I watched myself—though there were... many differences, if you can call them that. This place, this whole endless field stretching out around me like a silent sea of nothingness... it's just a dream.
A dream playing out inside my mind. In other words, it's a memory—or at least, it's supposed to be. Something I've already lived, somehow. The only problem is, I don't remember it. Not even for a second.
Maybe that's why I'm having such a hard time making sense of it all—like I'm reliving a moment from my own life, but one that was carved into my memory without my permission. In the end, after saying a name, I just stood there, staring at myself.
My past self's eyes were fixed on the girl lying on the ground, and there was something nostalgic in that gaze. But it wasn't just nostalgia—there was tenderness, affection, a quiet sweetness that stood in stark contrast to the pain of the moment.
As I got lost in thought, staring at my own reflection, the figure on the ground began to stir... No, calling her a "girl" didn't feel right anymore. I knew her name—and somehow, I felt compelled to use it. A name carries identity. It tells you who someone is—not what they are.
Althea slowly got to her feet, her movements hesitant, as though she were weighed down by something invisible. And even though she was completely naked, it was impossible to tell what was beneath her skin. It was like there was nothing there—and yet, something. Something undefined. Almost... illusionary.
I couldn't say whether Althea was male or female. Maybe neither. Still, for some reason I couldn't quite explain, there was something in her presence, in her eyes—or maybe in her aura—that made me instinctively refer to her as she.
Either way, as soon as Althea stood, she gently rubbed her still-closed eyes, like someone trying to shake off the last pieces of a dream. A moment later, she opened them slowly, looking straight at me — And for a brief second, I had no words.
Her eyes were such an intense shade of gold they seemed to glow on their own, as if they absorbed and reflected the light around them. And even in that space, flooded with a brightness so strong it bordered on blinding, Althea's eyes still stood out—shining so vividly they seemed to outshine everything else.
For a moment, I wondered if she could actually see me. With that question echoing in my mind, I said her name once more, my voice low and full of hope: "Althea..."
Again, even though I was the one trying to speak, no sound left my mouth. It was as if air simply didn't exist around me—as if breathing had become impossible. Not that it made much of a difference, really. I don't even have lungs. Still, the voice was heard. The name was spoken clearly... but not by me. At least, not by who I am now. That voice belonged to my former self.
Althea flinched slightly at the sound, and with a gentle motion, she slowly turned around, her eyes briefly closing. The next moment, as she looked back and saw the past version of me, she simply leapt into his arms. There was something almost desperate about the way she moved. When her arms wrapped around the neck of my former self, a shiver ran down my skin.
Even though I wasn't the one being embraced, I could feel her warmth so vividly—as if her arms were around me, as if that hug was meant for me. And in a way, it was. Technically, that is me... but at the same time, it isn't. Honestly? It's too strange a feeling to describe with words.
"Zentharys... I missed you so, so much!"
Althea said those words as she held me tightly, gently nuzzling her face against mine. There was such a genuine smile on her lips that, before I even realized it, I was smiling too. When I noticed, I brought a hand to my face—the sensation was odd.
My expression still felt stuck, like before... but now it was frozen in a smile. Curiously, my past self-wore that same expression—though hers was softer, gentler, carrying a peace I still didn't fully understand.
To be honest, I was struggling to understand what was happening. That scene... did it mean I truly knew Althea? The feeling had always been there, but seeing it with my own eyes and experiencing it in the flesh were completely different things. In that moment, I began to seriously wonder if that memory was even mine—or if I was simply diving into someone else's recollection.
"I'm glad to see you're doing well, Althea. I'm sorry it took me so long to visit" my other self-replied. But there was something off about his voice—a slow, melancholic tone, like every word weighed more than it should.
Once again, it felt like I was the one speaking—as if I were truly the one talking to Althea. Strangely, the words came to me naturally, and I just spoke them, without thinking. And yet, as always, no sound ever escaped my lips. No whisper, no breath... only absolute silence.
Honestly, I felt frustrated that I couldn't express myself. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many questions that needed answers... but no right words would come out.
Even the things I did manage to say felt strange, as if each sentence had already been pre-recorded and was just playing back by reflex. They weren't my real words. And of course, Althea had no idea about the storm of emotions I was hiding behind the silence.
Seeming content with my words, Althea finally stopped rubbing her face against the image of my past self and turned her gaze toward me. For a brief moment, her eyes shimmered with hope.
Then, her voice came softly, full of longing: "You're going to stay with me longer this time, right?"
Her voice carried a childlike kind of hope—the kind a kid might have after waiting all year for a special toy. And yet, as her words reached me, a sudden sadness washed over me. It felt like the gravity in my heart—though, ironically, I don't even have one—had simply vanished, letting it fall into freefall.
My past self's gaze stayed fixed on Althea, warm and tender, glowing with something deep... but also unbearably sad, like he already knew how this would end. The words that followed slipped from my mouth so naturally that even I was surprised.
"That... that's all I want more than anything, Althea. But I'm afraid it might not be possible. I truly wish I could spend more time with you... with you, with all the others... But I can't. It's about to happen again"
As the words left my lips, I blinked, startled—even though I was the one saying them, I had no idea what I was trying to tell her. It was like my mouth spoke on its own, guided by something I didn't understand.
The only thing I knew for sure was that seeing Althea's face so full of sorrow hurt me in a way I could barely stand. For a moment, I wondered if I was really doing the right thing.
Althea's eyes grew so full of sadness that, for a second, I thought I saw a single bright tear trail down her cheek—only to evaporate before it could fall. I didn't know why, but that image left me completely shattered.
All I wanted at that moment was to hold her, wrap her in my arms, even if I didn't understand why. Then, her lips moved. I couldn't make out her expression, but I was sure she said something. And before I could react, darkness swallowed everything around me.
The environment had shifted so suddenly I barely had time to process it. Unlike the previous place—warm, welcoming, bathed in soft light—this one was dark, deep, and oppressively cold. It felt like a bottomless pit, where the deeper you fell, the farther the ground slipped away, as if space itself stretched endlessly.
The cold was piercing, cruel in a way that almost felt personal. If I had bones, they'd be cracking from the frost, and my skin would be a brittle shell of ice, ready to shatter. For a brief second, I felt grateful I couldn't feel anything anymore. But that gratitude was foolish—and short-lived.
I didn't stop to consider what it really meant—that numbness, that freezing void wrapped in shadows. Maybe there is something worse than pain: forgetting what it ever felt like to feel anything at all.