A nurse in a blue uniform walked calmly past the camera's view. She moved toward the desk where another nurse sat, distractedly flipping through some files.
The camera moved, creeping silently behind them.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
The nurse jolted slightly, looking up with startled eyes.
"Oh! Sorry," she said, a bit breathless with her hands on her chest. "I didn't see you coming. How may I help you?"
"I'm here to look for someone."
The nurse blinked and adjusted her posture. "Who is that?"
The camera pulled back, capturing more of the space—the soft lighting overhead, the faint shine of polished floors, and just beside the desk, a small plant growing in a pot. It seemed oddly vivid, its greenness blurred faintly in the air. Eli would've tasted the green if he were there. He would have felt it like cool mint on his tongue and seen it as a soft tone of jade.
The nurse's voice drifted in, laced with faint surprise."Ah… that person."
She handed the man a slip of paper, and he turned without a word, walking down the corridor. She watched him go, speaking softly to herself, "There hasn't been anybody visiting that guy in a long time…"
The view followed the man. His footsteps echoed lightly as he moved. Overhead lights flickered, with slight static and a faint buzzing hum. At last, he stopped. In front of him was a door.
The name on the door read:
Peter HaleComatose – The Past Four Years
The hospital vanished.
Blackness surrounded El, and an almost unbearable silence. Inside here, Eli felt as if he were always being watched from all directions. It was honestly terrifying—like that feeling when you turn off the lights and turn your back. Was someone behind you? No… absolutely not. But the sensation of their cold, dead breath on your shoulder still made you want to run to your room.
He lifted his head, looking around—just making sure.
Eli returned his focus to the thing in front of him: a big, shiny, grey-blue ball. It was his mind—spheres gathered together. It looked like a shattered crystal ball holding itself together because it simply had no other choice. Its surface pulsed faintly, giving off no sound.
In his hands, Eli held the last shard—translucent, glinting with a blue hue. In its depths, you could see a faint replay: a much younger Eli being thrown into the air, his face bright, his smile so radiant it might have blinded you if you weren't careful. The replay ended when someone caught him.
Eli, outside the shard, smiled. He wondered how his father was doing now. Or maybe he should be more worried about his mother. She would probably be eaten up by her own guilt—she was not one to willingly share her pain.
He stepped forward and let himself fall face-first. The surface beneath him rippled like water, bending without resistance, sinking into the not-floor of this strange place.
"Damn…" he muttered, catching his breath as he got back up. "Is that the last one? It had better be."
How long had he been here?
He'd lost all sense of time in this strange void, collecting pieces of himself for what felt like centuries. He'd expected that each piece he returned would stitch his broken consciousness back together. But no matter how many he found, the cracks inside him never changed.
As a matter of fact, things were getting worse. His previous fall was just one example. The space around him had been quite sturdy when he first arrived, but over time, that changed. It became more like water—a thick, viscous fluid that was honestly hell to walk through. Several times, he had nearly let himself sink into its depths.
But what if he couldn't come back?That wasn't something he could let happen.
Hopefully... this was the final shard.
He could stop moving through this damn swamp of a place and go back home. At least, that's what he hoped.
He looked down at the shard.
Clear, with sharp edges at the cracks. It almost looked fragile. Remembering his situation, maybe it was. And he should really handle it with much more care than he was now—or about to.
This was the part that required the most precision.
He closed his eyes and visualized his bucket.
Still not a real object, but a mental structure for understanding his ability. When he first created it, the bucket had been whole—back when his power flowed somewhat effortlessly. But now? Despite its so-called unreal state, it was full of holes.
Each crack in the bucket was a reflection of a wound, a break in who he was. If he tried using his powers with the bucket like this, he would be in a whole lot of pain.
Did he use it anyway?Yes.
It was truly the only way to move some of the shards.
Though... that wasn't really an issue now. He had learned a better way to do it.
He knew now how to tilt the bucket, how to guide the energy he needed to use through the unbroken sections. If he wasn't careful, the power would slip through the holes and vanish before reaching its target—causing a whole lot of pain.
He grimaced, remembering the time and agony it took him to master this.
Slowly, carefully, he tilted the bucket inside his mind, watching the grey-blue energy swirl within. It dripped through the intact sections, flowing steadily, gently—like water trickling between cracks in stone. He breathed deeply, focusing. Not too fast. Not too much.
A faint warmth spread through him.
He imagined the energy touching the shard.
The shard shimmered.
He felt a sharp tug in the air, static prickling along his skin, as a silence swept across the space—impossibly deeper than the previous silence. The breath on his neck felt so close.
"There is no one there. There is no one there," he reassured himself, voice low and slightly shaking.
To his right, floating quietly, was the Focus Marble—the marble he had upgraded during the explosion of power that shattered his mind. It glowed faintly in response to his action.
Item: Focus MarbleLevel: 10Attribute: SpiritDefense: 1000/1000Attack: 600/600Description:"Fidgeting with it slightly reduces anxiety."Note: Ascended the Gate of 9. Upgrading becomes significantly harder. New abilities unlock only from level 12 onward.Synchronicity: 75%Ability: Mind's Engine –Generates a peculiar energy that allows the mind to stretch beyond the body.
The shard lifted into the air, slowly.
Eli watched as it floated toward the cracked sphere.
So many shards had already been placed—each one found, each one earned, each one giving him something to remember. And now, this was the last.
The shard slid into position.
Click. The sound disturbed the silence for a moment.
Light flared through the veins of the cracked sphere. Grey-white energy poured through its fractures, illuminating the space with a gentle brilliance. It was honestly a beautiful sight.
Eli felt it move through him—a rush, like the feeling you get when you finally take a full breath after what feels like years underwater.
But when the light faded and the rush disappeared...
The cracks were still there.
The shard was still broken.
He clenched his fists.
"…It didn't work," he whispered, his voice thin and distant.
All that effort. All that pain. And still, his mind had not healed.
Back in the hospital, a faint blue hue leaked from the edges of Eli's eyes.
In Peter's room, the man in black biking clothes gripped the bed's metal rails until they shrieked under his fists. The flowers he'd brought lay limp on the desk beside the bed, sitting and waiting to die. In some sense, that made them a lot like the man on the bed.
The monitors beeped in time with the patient's shallow rhythm.
The biker turned to leave, hand on the door. He paused.
For just a second—Peter's pulse… did it change?
He didn't look back. Hope was a grenade with the pin pulled. He'd hunt the bastards who did this instead. The door slammed shut...
From the door, the view scraped across the crystal-white tiles. It brushed against the sheets as they rustled from a strange wind. It climbed up to the face of the man and lingered.
Crack!
Blood-red eyes stared back.