Amid the flames, voices called out. Like a desperate father, he tried to rise, seeing from afar the figures of his beloved wife and daughter being consumed by fire. The man's agonized screams were silenced as those figures were dragged deeper and deeper into the uncontrollable blaze…
Ozu awoke.
He couldn't tell how much time had passed, nor where he was.
The first thing he noticed was the silence—a heavy silence, like the kind found in abandoned caverns. It was as if the world itself were holding its breath.
Though his first instinct was to stand, his body felt strange—heavy, sluggish, numb.
"Maybe the gas is still affecting me."
He thought so just as a sharp pang shot through his abdomen. He instinctively placed his hand there. There was no wound—or at least, he couldn't feel one. The place was pitch dark, his vision blurred, but he knew, with certainty, that he had been stabbed.
He clearly remembered the moment the hook pierced his abdomen: the unbearable burning pain, the blood filling his mouth… and yet now there was no pain at all.
But the absence of pain brought no comfort.
His body felt wrong. Foreign. As if it no longer fit him.
He tried to stand, staggering clumsily, as if his feet—or perhaps his legs—were longer than usual.
Every movement was slow and awkward.
His muscles responded with a strange delay, as if they no longer belonged to him or remembered how to move properly.
The ground beneath him was cold and damp. Only then did he realize he was barefoot.
"Probably some corpse scavenger stole my shoes."
Scattered around him were fragments of broken stone, rotting wood, and moldy scraps of tapestry.
He didn't want to accept it, but this was most likely what remained of his home after the fire. He recognized nothing. Moonlight failed to slip through the cracks in the ceiling, and his drowsiness made him feel like a stranger in his own house.
His home was gone.
Even if the foundations remained the same, his home had died that day.
The place was little more than ruins, barely standing after the great fire—supported only by shattered columns and warped beams.
"Aira… Licia…" he tried to call.
Nothing came out.
His throat felt dry, stretched tight, as if the words had been trapped before they could be born. He tried to cough—at least, he thought he did—but only a weak, choked sound escaped.
With no better options, he decided to move forward blindly.
Each step was a negotiation with his balance. The building creaked beneath his weight, and at times Ozu had the absurd sensation that the place was breathing—that it was watching him move through its broken insides.
Then it happened.
The floor gave way.
There was no time to react. A rotten plank snapped beneath his feet, and Ozu fell, slamming into stone before rolling down a narrow opening.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs, but nothing seemed broken. Grateful, even in misfortune, he tried to examine his body—only to realize he couldn't even do a sit-up.
"How pathetic."
With effort, he rolled onto himself and struggled to his feet.
He lifted his gaze—
And saw her.
A crimson-hooded silhouette stood outlined against the faint moonlight.
His mind shattered.
A sudden memory of that hood, of that man wearing the same color, flooded him with rage so intense that his drowsiness vanished, replaced by pure adrenaline. Without hesitation, he lunged after the figure.
"You—" he tried to say.
Her.
The intruder.
The accuser.
The murderer.
Not a single word escaped his mouth. Only weak, unfamiliar whimpers.
It was strange.
As if his throat were no longer meant for human speech.
The figure moved farther and farther away.
Ozu chased her, faster and faster.
Or at least, he thought he did.
His steps were short, clumsy. The world felt larger than it should have been, distances stretched unnaturally long. He stumbled easily, crashing into debris he would once have leapt over effortlessly.
His body felt…
Smaller.
Fragile.
Desperate to catch her, he decided to jump. He bent his knees as much as he could and leapt—
Or tried to.
The ground vanished beneath him once more.
He could only see the hooded figure looking down at him as he fell, almost in slow motion, into a cold pool of water below. He couldn't make out anything above him. He just lay there, wanting to cry—but even that was impossible. It was as if the tears were stuck inside his head, driving him mad and forcing him to stand again.
He had fallen into a small lagoon hidden beneath the ruins.
The water beneath his feet was incredibly clear, bathing the space in a greenish-blue glow. Moss, roots, and plants crawled along the walls, reclaiming the place as their own.
Ozu froze.
Speechless.
For a moment, he forgot about the hooded girl… the pain.
The place was simply… beautiful.
Nature had devoured the broken home and transformed it into something else entirely. It was the living embodiment of peace after chaos.
The murmur of water and the whisper of leaves soothed him so deeply that he could have sworn his ears lifted to better savor the calm.
He slowly approached the edge of the lagoon. In that stillness, he realized how unbearably thirsty he was and reached down to scoop some water with his hand.
That was when he saw it.
His hand was small, white, furry, smudged with dirt.
His gaze snapped to his reflection.
He didn't see his face.
There were no hardened hands forged by years of service. No scars. No stubble, no features marked by age and war.
Instead—
There was white and gray fur.
A lot of it.
The reflection was unmistakable.
A rabbit.
Standing upright on two legs.
Ozu recoiled instantly, slipping clumsily.
Panic struck him like a hammer.
He touched his face. His ears were long. Sensitive. Trembling with every ragged breath. His body was small and covered in soft fur, half of it now soaked and clinging from the water.
A sound escaped his mouth.
A high-pitched squeal.
No—a rabbit's shriek.
The echo bounced through the ruins, confirming the impossible.
Ozu stood frozen, staring at his reflection.
His mind desperately grasped for logic: magic from the wizard? Divine punishment? But none of it held.
The decorated General of the great Wizard of Oz.
The Emerald Knight.
Reduced to a mere hare.
"Have you finally awakened?"
A voice came from behind him.
Slowly, he turned to face a figure he never believed he would see again.
A woman dressed entirely in black emerged from the shadows. Slender and elegant, her form wrapped in dark fabrics that absorbed the scant light, swaying as if alive. A black veil partially covered her face, from which a seductive smile peeked through.
And though she wore no hat, Ozu knew instantly.
The eternal enemy of the principality.
The one destroyed by the girl of prophecy.
She had returned.
"Obed, the Wicked Witch of the West."
The witch tilted her head, revealing more of her moss-green face, studying him with a mix of curiosity and twisted compassion.
"Calm yourself, General Ozu," she said. "I hold no grudge over our past quarrels."
She took a step forward, and the water recoiled from her feet, as if afraid— as if something so pure could not bear to touch the witch.
"Welcome back to Fantasia, General."