After we brought Sota back, Hana wouldn't stop calling his name. Her cries pierced the damp air, her voice growing hoarse with every desperate scream. Tears streamed down her cheeks without pause, soaking the ends of her hair and dripping onto Sota's motionless body. But what was the point?
I had already checked him. I knew—he was gone.
My own tears didn't fall. I wasn't holding them back; they simply wouldn't come. My eyes were dry. Hollow. Numb. We had known each other since elementary school. He used to annoy the hell out of me back then—always loud, always grinning, always dragging me into trouble with that crooked smile of his. He had been the sun in our group, burning bright, melting away every ounce of tension, every bit of gloom. He made even the coldest days feel warm.
I was trapped in that memory when Satoru's voice cut through the silence, soft and broken.
"There's no point doing anything anymore…"
He paused, then said it plainly, as if stating a fact we all refused to accept.
"He's long gone."
Those words echoed inside me like a distant thunder. I stood up wordlessly and walked away, taking shelter under a low, black rock slick with fog and rain. It wasn't much of a cave, but it was enough to hide me. I sank down there, knees drawn up, my back to them all. I couldn't bring myself to look at Sota's body. I didn't want to see the stillness that had replaced his laughter.
I didn't need to see Satoru to know what kind of face he wore—expressionless, detached. His eyes would be just as dry as mine. Maybe the tears had already left us long ago. Or maybe, the shock was too deep, too raw, for tears to even exist.
As I sat in silence, drowning in thoughts I couldn't name, I felt someone settle behind me. It was Hana. She didn't say a word. Her presence was quiet, trembling. In the distance, Satoru and Brother Cheng Hao were tending to Sota—wiping the blood, cleaning the dirt from his face, laying him down with a care that felt sacred.
And there we were. Mourning not with wails, but with silence that said everything.
I knew Inaya was far stronger than any of us—she could handle whatever came her way. Still, worry gnawed at me. Even though we hadn't known each other for long, the time we had spent together wasn't a lie. It was real. And that made me afraid. My heart pounded in my chest, sweat dripping down my forehead just from thinking about her. How could I not worry? She had always been there—saving me, never leaving me behind. Yet now, we had left her all alone. We had no idea how she was holding up, or what was happening to her.
Lost in those dark thoughts, Hana's voice suddenly drifted to my ear, barely more than a whisper.
"Say Shin... was I always this useless? Am I too selfish? A burden to all of you?"
I turned to look at her. She hesitated, then continued, her voice trembling.
"Since coming to this dimension, I've realized... I've never done anything to help us. Instead, I brought nothing but ruin and endless troubles. Troubles that led to so many deaths... even Sota's."
Her eyes searched mine, desperate for an answer.
"I wanted to ask him—wanted to wake him up just to hear it from him... but he never looked at me again. He never opened his eyes."
Her voice cracked as tears spilled over.
"Say Shin... you were close to him. Was I... was I even worth saving?"
And then, the tears came—quiet, but unrelenting—tracing paths down her cheeks.
'No.'
That's what I wanted to say—but I couldn't. I had no right to. Because in truth, I wasn't any more useful than Hana. Who was I to pass that judgment?
"Maybe... maybe you are," I finally said, turning my gaze away from her tear-stained face. "Maybe Sota thought you were worthy. I know that even if he had opened his eyes in that last moment… he would've said you were more worthy than him."
My voice faltered, but I kept speaking. I had to.
"Hana, I know you feel broken. But so are the rest of us. Every one of us is just trying to survive in our own way—and that includes you. So please… don't ruin what Sota gave up for. His sacrifice—it was his choice. You didn't ask him for it. You didn't cause it. He made that decision because that's the kind of person he was."
I drew in a breath, the weight of it all pressing on my chest.
"If you want to repay him… then survive. Keep going. Don't waste what he left behind by blaming yourself."
I didn't know where those words came from—maybe they weren't even mine. Maybe they belonged to Sota. But I was sure of one thing: if Sota hadn't saved her, he would've regretted it for the rest of his life. Dying with peace in his eyes was better than living while tearing himself apart.
Then, a memory returned, soft as wind rustling through leaves. That quiet afternoon under the tree, beside the lake—before we ever set foot in the foggy forest.
"If you like her, why don't you just confess to her?" I had asked.
"I don't know," Sota had replied, looking down at the water. "I just want to give her more time. I don't think it's the right time yet."
"There's no such thing as the right time," I said. "You should confess to her before our situation worsens."
But I guess, for him, 'that' right time never came.
Some time passed in silence—heavy, mournful silence. Then, at last, a voice broke through it, soft but steady. Inaya's voice reached my ears like a tether pulling my soul back into my body. The weight of worry I'd carried for her lifted, if only a little. She was safe. Bruised, a bit bloodied—but standing.
As I approached, I could see the strain in her eyes, but also the determination that never seemed to leave her.
"What about Sota?" she asked.
No one spoke. The silence around his name was louder than anything. She looked at each of us in turn, reading what we couldn't say, then exhaled sharply.
"I'll sound heartless for saying this, but... maybe this was for the better," she said, her tone low. "Even if he had survived, he wouldn't have lasted much longer. Not with the state he was in. And if he did survive… it would've been a life filled with agony. The kind of agony that slowly kills you every day."
The air grew colder. I felt my stomach twist as she continued.
"I've been gathering information for days now, and I found the answer. We need Sota's heart to unlock the gate to the treasure hall. It's the only way. And I know the full process."
The words dropped like stones.
"What do you mean, days?" I asked, startled. "It's only been a few *hours* since we left that forest…"
Inaya blinked at me, confused. "Hours? No... that can't be. That's the trick of the forest. Each fog behaves differently. Each one is... creative in its own twisted way."
"Explain," Brother Cheng Hao demanded, his voice cautious.
"I mean, time doesn't flow the same way inside each fog. After I left the clearing, I ended up back at the black panther's den. I kept walking… again and again. Only later did I realize I was moving in circles. It took everything I had to get out and find you. I thought you'd already reached the treasure valley."
She paused, her eyes drifting downward. "But before I reached you, I encountered something else. Something terrifying."
"What did you see?" I asked.
"Memories," she whispered. "Echoes of those who died here. Their grief, their agony. And after all of that… I understood what had to be done."
"You're saying your 'solution' is to rip out Sota's heart?" Satoru asked, his voice grim.
Inaya nodded. "Yes. That's exactly what I'm saying."
"I encountered something similar," Satoru said after a pause, thoughtful. "I thought it was just illusion. But if it wasn't… if this is real… then maybe you're right. Maybe this is the key."
"Then who…" Hana began, her voice trembling as she stared at the ground, "Who's going to do it?"
"Don't worry," Inaya said calmly. "I will."
Without waiting for permission or comfort, she stepped toward Sota's body. The rest of us looked away—some out of respect, others because they simply couldn't watch. My hands clenched, my heart sinking lower with every breath.
"I know this creeps you out," Inaya said, her voice tight with urgency, "but we're running out of time. We have to reach the treasure hall."
A dull glow pulsed from her palm. She muttered an incantation, and with practiced precision, used her magic to extract Sota's heart. She wrapped it swiftly in a piece of her cloak—no ceremony, no hesitation.
And just like that, the boy who once brought laughter and light was now reduced to a key… to something that might save the rest of us.
Inaya stood in the center of the clearing, the wrapped heart cradled in her hands like a sacred relic. The blood-soaked fabric shimmered faintly, reacting to the energy pulsing in the air. Around her, strange markings had begun to emerge on the earth—ancient sigils glowing softly beneath the dirt and moss, awakened by the presence of Sota's heart.
"Stand back," she said, her voice steady but low, as if she too could feel the presence of something much older than time awakening around us.
We obeyed.
She unwrapped the heart, and it levitated gently above her palms. Then, with a whisper of incantations none of us had ever heard before—tongues from a forgotten age—the sigils blazed to life. Light burst from the ground like inverted lightning. The trees shuddered, bending backward, as if trying to flee from what was coming.
Suddenly, the mist that had haunted the forest twisted and pulled inward toward Inaya, spiraling around her like a vortex. The fog screamed—yes, screamed, like it was alive and furious. The heart in her hands began to dissolve into golden particles, rising like embers from a fire, swirling into the sigils on the ground.
The earth beneath us trembled.
Then it split.
A long crack tore through the clearing, and from its depths rose a stone staircase, jagged and ancient, leading downward into glowing darkness. At the base of the stairs, massive doors materialized—formed of obsidian and bone, inscribed with spirals and runes that shifted when looked at too long.
The treasure hall.
We stared in silence, awestruck. The air was thick with power—so thick it buzzed in our bones.
Inaya dropped to one knee, exhausted. "It's open," she whispered, a flicker of pain flashing in her eyes. "Let's go."
Brother Cheng Hao took point, drawing his blade. Satoru and I followed, helping Inaya stand. Hana, still trembling, brushed her tears and stepped forward, eyes burning with new resolve.
We descended the staircase.
As the doors opened, the scent of old magic washed over us. Inside, golden light poured through towering crystal structures, floating platforms, and rivers of starlight that shimmered midair. Time felt suspended, as if we had stepped into the space between dreams and memory.
This was no ordinary treasure.
This was the heart of the dimension itself.
And Sota's sacrifice had opened the way.
Just as the last of us crossed the threshold into the treasure hall, a sound rang out—not from within the chamber, but from the very air around us. It was sharp and sudden, like a crystal shattering inside our minds. Then, the space before us shimmered, and a familiar translucent screen appeared midair.
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘
𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐀 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 '𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇' - 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃
𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐍 𝟔. 𝟐𝟓 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎
𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄
The message pulsed in front of our eyes in perfect silence. No voice accompanied it this time. No celebratory music. No artificial fanfare. Just sterile words layered over the breathtaking light of the treasure hall.
We stood frozen.
My heart should have leapt in joy—shouldn't it? But the weight of Sota's death, of Hana's trembling grief, of the eerie beauty of the hall itself... made it all feel hollow. This wasn't a game. It never had been. It was too real, too bloody.
Just as the final word faded, a sudden pressure gripped the air.
Our limbs grew heavy.
The hall blurred at the edges.
Then one by one—me, Satoru, Hana, brother Cheng Hao, and finally Inaya—our bodies gave in. We collapsed to the polished floor beneath us, like broken marionettes cut from their strings.
Our eyes shut.
The last thing I saw before the dark took me was the heart of the hall itself—floating, spinning like a golden star, as if silently watching.
And then, nothing.