The child had quieted.
The cries—those wounded, helpless sobs—slowly faded into silence.
For a moment, they held their breath… then clung tighter to Vantias, like someone terrified that the warmth, that fleeting sense of safety, might vanish again.
With a trembling voice—yet clearer than before—they said:
"I don't want you to leave me…"
Vantias took a deep breath.
His heart pounded, but not from fear. From the weight of something he now knew had to be said.
His voice was soft, yet carried a heavy and sweet truth:
"I'm always with you… because I am you."
The child paused, pulled back just enough to look into Vantias's eyes.
A look of recognition—of touching a truth too big to fully understand, but felt all the same.
Vantias smiled.
A sad, but tender smile.
And for the first time, facing the wounded self of his past, he spoke with a voice that trembled with honesty:
"I'm sorry…
I'm sorry you were so alone.
Sorry no one was there to hold you when the world broke apart.
No child should ever feel abandoned like that.
But remember—when you had no one else, *you had yourself*.
And now, I'm here.
I'm with you in every moment, always."
He gently raised his hand and wiped the tears from the child's cheeks with his thumb.
A warm silence flowed between them—not emptiness, but connection.
Then, taking the child's hand, he helped them up and said:
"Come…
Let's go home."
And at that very moment,
A blue door appeared.
Right there, in the endless white—like a path that had always been there, but needed to be *seen*.
Vantias walked with the child toward the door.
The small hand of Cyrus trembled gently in his own.
Before reaching for the handle, he paused.
Turning to the child, he asked:
"Are you afraid? "
The child lowered their gaze.
Then, slowly nodded:
"Yes…"
Vantias smiled.
His eyes shimmered—not from power, but from acceptance.
"Me too."
And he turned the handle...
---
**When Vantias opened his eyes**, he found himself in a grand, imposing hall.
A heavy silence hung in the air—one that stirred something dormant in his chest, like the pressure of a forgotten dream.
The vaulted ceiling was covered in ancient, forgotten symbols.
On both walls stood stone statues of angels, silent and unmoving. Wings stretched toward the heavens, expressionless faces, eyes closed as if dreaming a deep, eternal sleep.
A pale blue-silver light streamed through tall windows, and dust danced gently in the air.
In a corner, *Gazel* knelt on the floor. He clutched his head with both hands, muttering frantic, incoherent words under his breath:
"No... no... I don't want to see it again…"
His shoulders trembled, as though his mind might collapse under the weight of it all.
Beside him, a woman with long blond hair and pointed elven ears—*Sylphie*—sat quietly.
Her blue eyes were full of concern. She gently placed a hand on Gazel's shoulder, whispering words Vantias couldn't hear—but could feel.
A few steps away stood two other men.
One, short in stature with messy black hair and deep brown eyes—*Daggerol*.
His muscular frame now trembled slightly. His fists were clenched, jaw tight. His gaze wasn't fixed on the floor… but somewhere deep within himself.
Beside him stood a young man with white hair and ice-colored eyes—*William*.
Calm, silent, yet his face carried something Vantias hadn't seen in him before.
An inner anxiety. A fatigue that had seeped through his skin and into his bones.
All four were Vantias's comrades—his teammates who had stood beside him through dangers, dungeons, and dragons alike.
But now!...
Each of them seemed to have lost something inside themselves.
No wounds marked their bodies, no signs of an external fight.
This pain was of another kind—*a break of the mind.*
And Vantias could feel it clearly.
He slowly walked toward them.
The weight of the room pressed on his shoulders, and each step seemed to pull him deeper into their collective sorrow.
Suddenly, William looked up. His face appeared calm and neutral—but in that stillness was something deeper, something that trembled just beneath the surface.
Something like sorrow.
Something like surrender.
With a faint smile—one that comforted no one, only made hearts sink—he said:
"Oh... hey, Vantias."
His voice was hoarse, like someone who hadn't spoken in hours… or who had only spoken to himself.
Vantias paused, then asked:
"What happened?"
William stared for a moment, then lowered his head.
His faint smile disappeared. His eyes dropped to the floor, as if the answer could not be put into words.
From behind, Daggerol's voice broke the silence—rough, but warm:
"I'm glad you're safe, Vantias."
Vantias turned and met his gaze.
He nodded softly in thanks.
Daggerol stepped closer.
His chest rose and fell heavily as he said:
"You must be exhausted... after that dream…"
That sentence was enough.
Like puzzle pieces falling into place, Vantias understood.
He realized why William's silence weighed so heavily.
Why Sylphie sat wordless in the corner, eyes glistening with tears.
Why Gazel trembled and tried to flee her own mind.
They… each of them had been forced, in their dreams or visions, to confront the *greatest fear of their lives.*
No physical threat, no enemy with a sword.
Just the most dangerous battle—*a battle within.*
The nightmare had crossed beyond sleep and carved itself into their souls.
Vantias thought to himself:
"Each of them faced their own past…"
He had just come back from his own.
But his friends were still lost in theirs.
His gaze settled on Gazel—once strong, confident. Now pale and shaken, her body still subtly trembling.
He stepped closer, and with a trembling yet honest voice, said:
"Gazel… I'm sorry.
You came because of me… and now you were forced to face something you never should've had to see.
I didn't mean to put you through that."
Silence followed.
Only the sound of Gazel's heavy breaths filled the space.
Then, she slowly raised her head.
Her eyes still shook, but her words were firmer than he expected:
"It's not your fault, Vantias...
This was something I needed to face. You didn't cause it. Don't worry about me… I just… I just need time."
Vantias nodded gently.
A pain passed between them—one that needed no more explanation.
At that moment, Sylphie looked up and spoke. Her voice was soft, but firm:
"We should all rest for a while.
Our bodies may be fine… but our minds need time to heal."
Everyone nodded silently.
No one said anything more.
And in silence,
They sat…
Together.