Shura opened his eyes slowly. Warm light spilled across the wooden floor beside him.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
No pipes. No machinery. No distant Beacon-hum vibrating through thin inn walls.
Only silence.
Soft. Warm. Familiar.
Fabric rustled quietly nearby.
"Finally awake?"
Shura's body froze instantly.
That voice.
He turned his head slightly. White cloth shifted near the doorway. Long dark hair rested over one shoulder beneath the morning light.
His mother stood there with her back partly toward him.
Ruka Arin.
His breathing became uneven immediately.
"Breakfast is ready," she said softly. "Come eat before it gets cold."
Shura stood too quickly.
The chair behind him scraped violently against the wooden floorboards.
Ruka turned slightly at the sound.
A faint crease touched her brow.
"What happened, baby?"
She took one small step toward him.
Shura stepped backward immediately.
"Don't."
The word escaped before he could stop it.
Ruka froze.
"…What?"
"Don't come closer."
Silence filled the room. Not heavy. Fragile.
The kind that formed when something precious cracked without warning.
"You're talking to me like that?" she asked quietly.
Shura's throat tightened instantly.
His eyes burned.
He wiped them roughly before the tears could fully fall.
"…Am I dreaming?"
Ruka's expression softened immediately.
"You've been studying too much again," she said gently. "Come sit first."
The smell reached him then.
Warm bread. Tea leaves. Something sweet simmering quietly nearby.
It felt real. Too real.
Shura stared carefully around the room.
The old shelves beside the wall.
The table near the window.
The pale curtains moving softly beside the sunlight.
Everything looked correct.
Almost.
The hallway seemed narrower than he remembered.
The clock above the doorway had no hands.
And outside the open window—
The trees weren't moving. Not even slightly. No wind touched them.
Shura's breathing slowed uneasily.
Ruka moved again, more carefully this time.
"You're pale," she said softly. "Did you have another nightmare?"
Shura still refused to look directly at her face. He couldn't explain why.
Something inside him resisted it instinctively.
Like if he looked properly—
something would break.
"…Just stay there," he muttered.
Ruka stopped again.
Then smiled faintly anyway.
"Alright," she said gently. "But at least eat something."
Shura hesitated before finally moving toward the table. His legs felt strangely light beneath him. Almost disconnected.
He sat slowly.
Fresh steam still rose from the tea untouched by time.
Ruka remained standing nearby.
"…What happened to you?" she asked quietly.
Shura stared at the table instead of answering.
Because if he looked up—
he wasn't sure what he would see.
His fingers tightened slowly against the edge of the chair.
Then suddenly he stood again. The motion startled even himself.
Ruka blinked once.
"Shura?"
Without answering, he walked toward the front door and pulled it open.
Sunlight flooded across him instantly.
For a moment, his mind went completely blank.
People moved calmly through the street outside.
Children laughed while running between market stalls.
A merchant arranged fruit beneath a cloth awning.
Birds crossed the open sky overhead.
A real sky.
Blue. Endless. Alive.
Shura stared upward silently.
His chest tightened painfully.
"…The sun…" he whispered.
It felt distant now.
Like remembering another person's life.
Behind him, footsteps approached softly.
Too close.
His body reacted instantly.
Shura turned sharply—
and collided directly into her.
Warmth touched him for a single second.
For the first time, he almost saw her face clearly.
Almost.
Then—
everything disappeared.
The street vanished first.
Then the sunlight.
Then the sky.
The house.
The warmth.
The sound.
The entire world folded inward soundlessly like collapsing paper.
And Shura fell. Not downward. Away.
His body drifted through endless darkness in eerie stillness.
Supine. Weightless.
His back curved slightly toward the abyss beneath him while his limbs floated without resistance.
This wasn't a dive.
It felt like the moment after falling stopped making sense.
One arm stretched upward weakly.
Fingers spread toward the distant fading light above him.
Toward a world already disappearing.
Toward home.
The light grew smaller.
Farther.
Farther.
Then even that began to fade.
Shura opened his mouth soundlessly.
No voice came out. Only silence. Endless and cold.
And from somewhere impossibly distant—
he heard her one final time.
"Come back alive, Shura."
Darkness swallowed everything.
—
Shura's eyes snapped open.
Dark ceiling.
Dim Beacon-light.
The inn room.
His arm was still raised upward toward nothing.
Breathing uneven, he stared blankly into the darkness while tears silently slipped across the sides of his face into his hair.
For several long seconds, he couldn't move.
The dream still clung to him like warmth refusing to leave cold skin.
Then slowly—
his gaze shifted toward the nearby table.
The metallic mask rested exactly where he left it beneath the weak Beacon glow.
Dark metal fingers covering empty eyes.
Watching.
Shura lowered his arm shakily over his face.
"…I can't even remember her face anymore."
Shura remained seated on the edge of the bed long after waking.
The room felt different now.
Not physically smaller.
Just… lower.
The ceiling pressed heavier overhead. The cracked walls seemed closer together. Even the narrow window looked suffocating beneath the dim Beacon-glow leaking through the curtains.
Everything reminded him he was underground again. The dream had only made him notice it harder. Shura closed his eyes briefly.
He tried to remember her face properly.
Her eyes.
The shape of her smile.
The way sunlight used to catch in her hair whenever she turned toward the window.
He suddenly realized he couldn't remember whether his mother's eyes were dark or light.
But every memory slipped apart before he could hold it still.
Like trying to remember someone through disturbed water.
Only her voice remained clear.
That frightened him more than the dream itself.
For a brief moment, he almost saw her again.
Standing beside the table beneath warm morning light.
Looking back at him softly.
Almost.
Then the Beacon outside shifted into its brighter morning cycle.
Artificial gold flooded through the curtains instantly, washing across the room in sharp metallic light.
The image vanished.
Shura lowered his gaze slowly.
The silence afterward felt colder than before.
The light's too much today." he murmured quietly.
But even as he said it, he knew that wasn't the real problem.
Beacon-light illuminated everything equally.
It had no warmth. No movement. No life behind it.
After seeing sunlight again—even in a dream—
the Deep suddenly felt more artificial than ever.