The world continues moving forward, not stopping, which felt so strange to Fia- well - to Amy.
She had always imagined that if something terrible happened, everything would become silent. That the world would somehow recognise the weight of it all - but it didn't.
Cities never slept. Cars still traveled through busy roads and streets. People still walked beneath the glow of neon lights between venues. Music still played through supermarkets and malls. And someone, somewhere was probably laughing with their friends, unaware that everything had changed for the rockstar overnight.
She grabbed the remote and the television flickered on in the corner of the living room.
On the screen, there was a familiar face - her own.
A photograph taken during one of her concerts. Her hair caught beneath the glaring stage lights, and a microphone in her hand. Her smile looked effortless. Perfect.
A smile she remembered forcing herself to wear after exhausting days.
A smile that everyone knew, but very few people truly understood.
"Fia Noir remains missing following her sudden disappearance from her apartment," the news presenter announced. "Fans across the world have expressed their concern for the rock singer, with many hoping for answers regarding her current whereabouts."
The screen changed to show past concert footage, with millions of people singing along and her voice filling stadiums. Fans holding signs with her lyrics written across them.
The screen then transitions to a fan interview.
"I just hope she's ok," a young woman said, who was on the verge of tears.
"She's helped so many people with her music. I just want her to know that people care about her."
Amy looked away. Her throat tightened.
Prosper glanced at her from the kitchen.
He walked into the living room and picked up the remote from the coffee table.
He switched the television off, and the room fell silent.
There was a brief pause before he decided to open his mouth.
"I'm sorry, " he said. Almost too quietly.
Amy shook her head.
"No. Don't be."
Her voice was quieter than expected. As if her delicate, trembling tone could break at any given moment.
"They are not doing anything wrong."
She stared back at the blank screen.
"They care, but they don't know me, well, not the real me anyway."
Prosper's expression softened. He understood that feeling all too well.
Amy folded her arms around herself.
"They know Fia Noir - my public persona."
She swallowed.
"The musician performing on stage, and in interviews. The one who smiles for the camera."
Her fingers tightened.
"They don't know Amy. They can never know."
For a moment, Prosper didn't say anything, but then he sat next to her and pulled her into a hug.
"You are both. Fia Noir is a part of you, Amy. You created her."
He rested his chin on her head, pained by his daughters' internal conflict.
"Never be ashamed of who you are," he whispered.
"Never."
***
Outside, the forest remained still.
The moon had risen high above the trees.
Full, bright, and beautiful.
Prosper stood alone on the porch.
He waited until Amy went upstairs before stepping outside.
He told himself that he needed air, that he needed to think, but deep down he knew the real reason why.
Since Engel's capture, there had been a restlessness crawling under his skin - a pull.
His hand slides through his hair. Fingers touching a sharp, small growth on the top of his skull.
The unmistakable, multiple curves of bone - antlers.
They weren't large, but they had grown a couple more inches since yesterday.
Prosper closed his eyes.
And for the first time in years, the urge to saw them off again was still lost to him.
***
Beyond Moonview City, in the depths of another domain known as Neverend, where the gaping hole of hell and the mountains where the undead king resides, Malachor, an upside-down tower levitates over the infernal pit, monitoring it.
Within the tower, a pair of golden eyes follow the traces of paint strokes across a half-finished canvas.
A pale, steady hand instinctively guides the paintbrush, breathing life through vivid hues and intricate details. Silas didn't intend to paint anything specific, but on this particular night, after rousing from sleep after a certain dream.
He felt compelled to record it before the memory faded to obscurity.
He painted a forest under a full moon, with the body of a colossal black wolf sleeping amidst the trees. A petite woman with black hair and red eyes stood before it. Silas slowly set the brush down on the small round table next to the art easel.
He stared at it.
Long black hair blew past his face as the nightly winds came through the open upper glass balcony doors. The full moon highlighted and coated the outline of his fully grown black antlers, giving them a luminescent sheen.
He takes a step back and regards the canvas painting properly. His black robe shifts and hangs loosely from his frame, basking his bare chest in a silver, otherworldly afterglow.
A slight smirk ghosts the corners of his lips.
"How interesting."
***
Inside Moonview's psychiatric ward, Engel still remains motionless within the coffin.
The machines resume their steady rhythm, but in the depths of his subconscious, he continues to walk the surface of the immeasurable crimson ocean.
The sphere pulses again, and a golden light produces a ring around its orbital shape. Sharing the same visual likeness as an eclipse.
While trapped within the domain of his subconscious, he could feel it. That familiar energy.
The type of energy that heavily reminded him of prosper.
This internal eclipse was an extension of his family.
Still alive.
Existing.
Growing.
A faint smile forms across Engel's sleeping face.
And for the first time since his imprisonment, he knew for sure that he was not alone.