Yeaia moved through the shifting dreamscape, their presence as light as a whisper. The figure ahead, clad in a dark suit, walked with slow, deliberate steps, as if each motion carried a precise calculation. Gold-rimmed glasses caught the dim glow of the dream's endless twilight, reflecting a cold, unreadable gaze into the abyss of shifting realities.
Something about him felt unnatural—not in the way of dream echoes or phantom figures that populated this place, but as if he were an anchor, a fixed point amidst an ever-changing tide.
A real person.
Yeaia hesitated, lingering within the folds of shadow and unreality, watching.
'Should I speak?' The thought clawed at them, pressing against the uncertainty in their mind. They had wandered through the dream alone for so long, drifting from one place to the next, always an observer. To reach out, to engage—was that something they could still do? Did they even have the right to break this silence?
Yet curiosity gnawed at them, the unfamiliar sensation of a presence both foreign and familiar all at once. The way he carried himself, with rigid control over his every move, spoke of experience—of someone who had learned to navigate danger without fear yet remained keenly aware of it.
'Who are you?' Yeaia thought, staring at the stranger's back.
They took a step closer, keeping their distance, lingering at the edges of sight. They would watch. Just for now. Just until they understood.
With shining eyes and a child-like curiosity, they started following the figure.
---
Klein's POV
A presence.
Subtle, quiet, but unmistakably there.
Klein did not react, did not slow his pace, did not alter his path. Klein—Gehrman Sparrow did not betray the slightest hint of awareness. But inwardly, Klein's mind spun, sharpening like a honed blade.
'Someone's following me...could that be the eyes I saw at the ship?'
He had felt it moments ago, the distinct sensation of eyes upon him—wavering between hesitation and curiosity, yet never quite making a move. A passive presence, neither openly hostile nor immediately dangerous. That did not make it any less concerning.
'A Beyonder? A monster? Someone who wandered into this dream, or something watching from beyond?'
His steps remained steady, his posture firm, every movement a precise reflection of the persona he wore. Gehrman Sparrow was never startled. Gehrman Sparrow did not second-guess. He simply acted when the moment called for it.
And so, he walked on, ignoring the watchful gaze yet keeping his senses honed, waiting for the moment to strike.
The dream shifted around him, bending in strange ways. Walls of dark stone lined his path, towering high, as if forming a cathedral lost to time. Murals stretched across the ceiling, their golden figures interwoven in an endless dance of fate and fire. One in particular caught his attention—a sea split in two, forming a path for a procession of figures prostrating before a towering, winged entity with closed eyes and silver hair.
The sight made his breath hitch for just a moment. His mind, filled with thoughts.
Ouroboros.
The Angel of Fate which Little Sun had described before.
A flicker of something cold crawled down his spine. This was no ordinary mural. And this was no ordinary dream.
'As expected of the sea of ruins...I should be cautious and focus on my goal of finding mermaids before getting into trouble...'
As Klein continued forward, a rhythmic thump echoed in the distance—heavy, deliberate, like an axe striking wood. Thump. Thump. Thump.
A figure stood at the far end of the hall, back turned to them, swinging an axe against a massive, ancient tree whose roots coiled into the stone floor. A white shirt. A black vest. Neatly parted blond hair.
The figure stilled.
Then turned.
And the dreamscape shifted violently.
Klein instinctively tensed, a hand flicking toward his revolver before stopping. The blond man, dressed like a hunter from the countryside, let the axe rest against his shoulder, tilting his head with mild curiosity.
"And here I thought I was the only one wandering around in this madness."
Klein narrowed his eyes. This was his first time seeing this man, and yet, there was something eerily casual about his tone, as if he belonged here.
The hunter stepped forward with an easy gait, hands in his pockets, his smirk lazy but his sharp eyes taking in every detail. "I should've known I'd run into someone interesting in a place like this. Or rather, someone interesting would run into me."
"Who are you?" Klein asked, his tone measured, unreadable.
"Who am I? I'm the unlucky Anderson. Ever since I saw that mural, I've been plagued with bad luck." The young man pointed in a direction.
'How ironic...seeing a mural of an Angel of Fate bringing bad luck...how unlucky can you be...'
Klein lampooned.
'But now with this 'Anderson' person here, I can no longer ignore whoever's following me, that would be against the persona of Gehrman Sparrow...'
The presence behind Klein did not waver, and now, with Anderson's sudden appearance, he could no longer ignore it. Another person lurking in the dream, watching. With two potential threats in his immediate surroundings, he had no choice but to act.
His voice cut through the air, firm and ice-cold.
"Come out."
A beat of silence.
Then, movement.
---
Yeaia's POV
They froze at the sudden command.
There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. He had known they were there all along.
For a moment, Yeaia considered fleeing—vanishing into the dreamscape like mist. But something held them back. This was different. This wasn't another echo or fragment of memory. These were real people.
People who noticed them.
'It would probably be okay, right? The familiar feeling that I'm getting from that person with gold-rimmed glasses...I want to know more...' they thought hard (at least in their opinion) and decided to show themself.
Slowly, Yeaia stepped forward, emerging from the shifting shadows.
Klein remained unreadable, his dark brown eyes cold and piercing behind gold-rimmed glasses. Anderson tilted his head slightly, intrigued but not immediately alarmed.
Yeaia raised their hands, a gesture of non-hostility. "I mean no harm."
'Believe me... instead of harming you guys, I'm more worried about both of you harming me...' Yeaia thought.
"Most people who say that do," Anderson quipped.
For some reason, Yeaia felt provoked when he heard that.
Klein remained silent, studying them with unwavering intensity. Yeaia felt as if their entire existence was being scrutinized, dissected, analyzed in ways even they couldn't fully grasp.
"Why are you following me?" Klein's voice was low, dangerous.
Yeaia hesitated, uncertain how to answer. The truth? That they were simply drawn to him, to the weight he carried, the strange familiarity of his presence? That for the first time in as long as they could remember, in their short time of being 'alive', they felt less like a ghost drifting through forgotten dreams?
'It sounds weird when I put it like that..'
"…Curiosity," they finally admitted. "You are different."
Anderson let out a low whistle. "That's one way to put it."
Klein remained still, unreadable. Then, as if making a decision, he gave the smallest nod. "And you? Who are you?"
Before Yeaia could answer, before they could even process the question, the dream trembled.
A sudden shift.
The cathedral darkened, the golden murals flickering as if the figures upon them were shifting. The vast hall seemed to stretch infinitely, the pillars warping like distorted reflections in water. A distant hum, rhythmic, pulsating—like a heartbeat.
And then, the dream shattered. The night has ended.
Yeaia awoke.
The remnants of the dream clung to them, lingering in the spaces between thought and memory.
They had met someone—no, two people. Real, living individuals who existed beyond the confines of this place. And for the first time in so long, they had not been alone.
'I saw real people....at least I think they're real...' Yeaia hoped so.
A strange feeling settled in their chest.
Relief.
They were not alone anymore.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that was enough.