Just as the twisted, grinning shadow loomed toward them—eyes glowing with cruel delight and voice shrieking its triumph—an ebony-toned hand burst through the dead-end wall, ripples cascading on the walls from the point of exit.

It moved with purpose, not hesitation, its fingers curling around the collar of Dama's shirt, yanking him and Mumu backward through the seemingly solid stone.

But instead of colliding with rock, they passed through as if it were an ilusion. On the other side, the air felt cooler, heavier—but safe.

Dama stumbled as he landed, still held tightly in Mumu's stitched arms. Before he could even ask what happened, he saw a shadow loom over him. Afraid of what he faced next, Dama's fear would slightly give into confusion looking up at Saa'ir, who kept his gaze on the wall and stepped forward. His sharp, silver eyes gleamed with urgency beneath his long white cloak. Other than Saa'ir being a complete stranger, weirdest thing to Dama was Saa'ir's mere presence that brought with it a stabilizing calm.

With both hands, Saa'ir pressed his index and middle fingers together and raised them to his chest. The two sets of joined fingers pointed toward each other, and he began to chant in a low, guttural tongue—ancient, rhythmic, and foreign to everyone else. The words thrummed with power, resonating in the very walls.

The creature's scream echoed closer. Dama could feel the rage seeping through the false wall, the sheer force of its bloodlust threatening to tear reality open.

However, Saa'ir didn't waver.

As he continued chanting, an array of glowing, hieroglyph-like symbols shimmered into view around him, orbiting his body like stars caught in orbit. His gray aura flared, illuminating the hidden corridor in a ghostly glow.

Then, with a sudden, sharp shout "SEAL!"Saa'ir swung his arms outward in a wide arc, forming a perfect cross. The symbols shot from his aura, hurtling toward the fake wall. They struck with a burst of blinding light and embedded into the surface, which instantly hardened, looking more like ancient stone than illusion.

BOOM.

A thunderous impact struck the wall from the other side. The ground beneath them trembled violently. Screeches of fury and pain filled the corridor, the creature shrieking as if it had rammed into an unmovable object. The wall held true.

Silence returned as Saa'ir, Dama, and Mumu all froze to see what would happen next—but only for a heartbeat.

"Dama!!"

The name rang out like a spark. Dama turned, blinking, disoriented—but the voice, he knew that voice. "Giona…?"

Before he could fully react, she crashed into him—arms wrapping around his neck, tackling him to the floor. He let out a sharp gasp of pain as his bruised ribs screamed in protest, but he didn't care.

Giona clung to him like he was her lifeline, her whole body trembling. Her voice cracked again as she repeated his name, tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're here! You're really here…" She choked.

Her words spilled over like a dam breaking. She didn't notice his pain—not at first. All she could feel was the warm, living boy in her arms, the one whose voice she'd longed to hear, whose presence had been missing like a hole in her soul ever since he left for Briarstone Village. "I missed you..." she whispered as she gripped Dama's sweater, her voice breaking again. "Every single day…"

Dama winced under her weight but couldn't help smiling, even as tears welled in his eyes. "I missed you too…ouch..."

Nearby, Nini—the tiny stitched fox—hopped onto Mumu's shoulder. Her tail wagging with joy as she nestled herself against him. Mumu gave a soft grunt, raising one of his stubby arms to pat her head affectionately. The moment passed between them in quiet understanding—two guardians reunited.

Saa'ir stared at the wall, watching the faint traces of hieroglyphs flicker and dim like dying embers. He knew better than to believe it would hold forever. The creature's hatred was too raw, too potent. It would find a way through.

His mind raced, calculating their next steps now that everyone were safely with him. But just as he turned to check on them—his eyes falling on Giona nuzzling into Dama's chest, her fingers tangled in his shirt—something shifted.

A wave, sharp and disorienting, slammed into him like a silent tide. Saa'ir's breath hitched as the world around him tilted. His hand slapped against the wall to steady himself. It wasn't pain. It wasn't exhaustion. It was draining.

His legs felt heavier. His breathing, irregular. Sweat formed along his brow despite the cold air. He clenched his jaw as he choked, "I know it's been a long time since I've used my Soulful Technique…but this?" He inhaled shakily. It shouldn't have cost him this much.

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Behind him, Dama stirred. Giona's joyful tackle had nearly knocked him unconscious, and he was still dizzy from the impact. But that word—Soulful Technique—cut through the fog in his brain like a bell in the mist.

"Soulful…?" He blinked and tilted his head just enough to look over his shoulder—catching a glimpse of Saa'ir bracing himself against the wall, his cloak hanging heavy, his posture off.

Saa'ir steadied himself, his breathing slow and measured as strength began to trickle back. His mind, though, remained restless. Why had his Soulful Technique drained him so much? It wasn't normal. He remembers using it countless times before in his past—never without cost, but never like this.

Then, like a puzzle piece clicking into place, a theory emerged. "This realm…" he murmured to himself.

They weren't just walking through someone's subconscious—they were trespassers in Giona's mind, an unstable dream-space shaped by trauma and nightmares. The very fabric of this place rejected them. And on top of that, "That creature." He could feel its pressure even now, distant but clinging like a stain. "It's feeding..." he thought. "Not just off her, but maybe also off us..."

His thoughts were cut short as Dama, now on his feet but clearly still recovering, spoke up. Giona clung tightly to him, still unwilling to let go. "Mister," Dama said hoarsely, tilting his head, "do you feel…drained too?"

Saa'ir blinked. The boy's perceptiveness caught him off guard. He looked up, then gave a crooked smirk, something almost amused glinting in his tired eyes. "I do," he admitted, "seems you've caught on to what's happening already."

Dama however shook his head. "Nope. I have absolutely no idea what's going on."

That earned a quiet exhale—half chuckle, half sigh—from Saa'ir.

"But," Dama went on, voice softening, "now that I've got Giona, Mumu, Nini and even you now…I think everything'll be—!?" His words stopped mid-sentence as his body stiffened.

A violent wave of dissonance ripped through him, far more abrupt and unforgiving than before—even Saa'ir's. His knees buckled, and he dropped with a thud, his palm dragging across the stone wall in a desperate attempt to brace himself. His breathing turned ragged. Coughs wracked his body.

"Dama?!" Giona cried. The shift in his body, signs of his fading strength, all of it stabbed her heart like a knife. She immediately dropped beside him on her knees, cradling his face with trembling hands. Her eyes widened as she saw the flicker of light drain from his gaze, and her lower lip quivered. The tears came unbidden, born anew of fear and helplessness. "Dama… No...!"

Giona's panicked cries drew Mumu and Nini to Dama's side in an instant. Mumu dropped to his knees beside them, eyes wide with concern, while Nini pressed close, her small form trembling.

Saa'ir followed right after, all thoughts of his own exhaustion vanishing the moment he saw Dama's state.

He crouched beside them, eyeing Dama carefully. But before he could speak, Giona turned to him, desperation thick in her voice. "Mister Saa'ir, w-what's wrong with Dama?!"

Saa'ir didn't respond immediately. He didn't know, only had a theory.

He got closer and placed a hand gently on Dama's chest. Closing his eyes, he channeled his soulura through the boy's body in steady pulses—like he did with Juin. He felt the bruises, the fractures, his ribs, lungs, the fatigue in his limbs, all of it layered beneath the external exhaustion this realm inflicted. "Are you still with us?" Saa'ir asked softly.

There was a pause. Then, weakly, Dama responded, "Still awake... I'm okay…"

An obvious lie to everyone present. Giona couldn't help but to hug him cheek-to-cheek in an effort to show she's still with him—making sure to not make his condition even worse.

Saa'ir's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. He took mental note of each injury as he worked. Slowly, Dama's breathing steadied. The pain dulled, not vanishing, but retreating just enough. The light began to return to his eyes—faint, but visible.

Giona noticed it first. Her fingers brushed his cheek, and she let out a relieved breath, though her eyes stayed wet with tears.

Before Dama could ask why he felt better, Saa'ir stood up. "I'm Saa'ir." He said, addressing both Mumu and Dama. "I'd love to explain who I am, where I came from, and what exactly is going on…" He glanced behind him. "But we don't have time."

He turned to Mumu and pointed at him. "Pick him up and put him on my back. I'll explain as we move to our destination. If we stay here, that creature will find us."

At the mention of the creature, Mumu and Nini straightened, alert. Dama and Giona looked up at him, confused. "Destination?" The kids echoed to each other.

As Mumu picked up Dama under his shoulders, Saa'ir turned, lowering himself just enough for Mumu to ease Dama onto his back.

"Hold on tight." He told Dama. Then, looking to Mumu again, "Carry Giona in your arms. We'll need to move quickly."

Mumu hesitated for just a second before nodding. He gently scooped up Giona, who wrapped her arms around Mumu's neck, trusting him.

With both children secured, Saa'ir straightened. "Nini. Mumu. Stay close. The safest place for Dama and Giona right now is with me. "

Even though neither of them fully understood, with Mumu barely trusting Saa'ir, they didn't argue. Something in Saa'ir's voice—calm, confident, unwavering—told them they were in good hands.

As they began to move, Giona called out softly. "Mister Saa'ir, where are we going?"

Saa'ir glanced back over his shoulder for only a moment before turning back. "To the center," he said, "the center of this realm, the center of this nightmare, the center of your mind…" his voice then dropped, "…your soul."

-

Next: (Chapter 65) Not What Everything Seems…

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