Nameless tilted her head slightly, her translucent form glinting faintly against the inky blackness. She crossed her arms, her expression caught between curiosity and suspicion. “Would love to hear it,” she said, her voice carrying a wry undertone. “I’ve been yapping alone for too long, anyway. But—” She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing, “why are you emphasizing the word my when you refer to your body?”

Abhi shifted, lying flat on his back as ripples fanned out across the black, viscous water beneath him. The eclipsed sun overhead hung like a baleful eye, casting an unearthly, dim halo over the scene. He stared into it without blinking, the molten edge reflected in his vibrant soul form. “Because…” His voice wavered, then steadied. “Because I don’t think that body is mine.”

For a moment, the oppressive silence of the nightmare dimension reasserted itself. The absence of ambient sound felt almost alive, wrapping around them with invisible tendrils. Nameless’s form shimmered faintly, the edges of her outline rippling like disturbed water.

“What… what do you mean?” she finally asked, her voice quieter, almost cautious.

Abhi closed his eyes and exhaled, a motion that seemed out of place in a world without air. Turning his head toward her, his gaze locked onto her flickering outline. “I don’t think my soul belongs to this body. And, just like you, I think I’ve come here from another world.”

Nameless’s luminous eyes widened, her form pulsing faintly before dimming again. She stared at him, processing his words with visible effort. Then she shook her head, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “Well, here I thought you might know something useful about your body. Turns out you’re as clueless as I am. How’s that fair?” Her tone was sharp, but her expression betrayed a flicker of something more complicated—fear, perhaps, or longing.

Her voice hardened. “You aren’t lying, are you? No, actually, I don’t believe you. Explain yourself. What makes you think you’re not who you’re supposed to be?”

Abhi’s lips curved into a faint smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll get to that,” he said, deliberately pausing to gauge her reaction. Her flickering outline bristled with faint irritation, but he pressed on. “First, let’s talk about the ‘flashback’ I had.”

Nameless frowned but gave a short nod, motioning for him to continue.

“I could still feel my soul body’s senses while watching the flashback,” he began, his voice thoughtful. “It wasn’t just a vision; it was as if I were living it. I felt gravity pulling me down, the sensation of falling. Then—” He paused, searching for the right words. “The cold embrace of water. I sank, deep, until I hit some unseen depth. Then I floated back up, choking on the water.” He glanced at her. “I almost drowned.”

Nameless tilted her head, her expression sharpening. “That’s... different from my story.”

Abhi raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

She hesitated, then spoke, her voice steady but introspective. “I felt the gravity too, and I watched the scene unfold just like you described. But when I hit the water…” She trailed off, her form flickering as she gathered her thoughts. “It wasn’t like what you’re saying. I felt the coldness, sure, but my body didn’t sink. It barely made a splash, like I wasn’t even fully there. And drowning?” She shook her head. “That shouldn’t even be possible. We don’t need to breathe in this form.”

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Abhi blinked, then looked around as if noticing the atmosphere for the first time—or the lack thereof. “You’re right,” he murmured. “There’s no air here, is there?”

Nameless chuckled, though it lacked warmth. “Exactly. This place—this dimension—doesn’t work like the real world. There’s no atmosphere here, and the same goes for the abyssal dimension. Honestly, Abhi, how can you be so perceptive one moment and completely oblivious the next?”

“Uhh… happens, I guess,” he said with an awkward laugh, rubbing the back of his head.

Nameless’s expression softened slightly. “It probably has to do with the differences in our soul bodies,” she mused aloud. “Yours is so much brighter, more solid. You’re practically glowing compared to me. I’m barely visible most of the time.”

“Maybe,” Abhi said, his tone light. “Maybe I’ve got more of whatever energy this place runs on. Is that why you were afraid of me earlier? Because I seemed stronger?”

Nameless’s flickering form paused, then shook subtly, her voice tinged with exasperation. “No, it’s not that. It’s not just about strength. Your soul body… it’s different. Qualitatively different.”

Abhi frowned, the playful edge to his voice vanishing. “What do you mean by that?”

Nameless hesitated, her form dimming briefly before she answered. “Your body feels… half real.”

Abhi’s frown deepened. “Half real? What does that even mean?”

“It’s a theory,” Nameless said carefully. “My body is entirely illusory—something separate from the physical world. But yours…” She gestured toward him, her translucent hand glowing faintly. “Yours feels like an illusory representation of something physical. Something that exists in the real world.”

Abhi’s eyes widened slightly. “That would explain why my experience with the water was different,” he murmured. “If this dark ocean is half illusory and half real, it would respond differently to our bodies. And if my soul is tied to something real…” His voice trailed off as a new thought struck him. “Does that mean my physical body exists in the same reality as the host? Or…” He hesitated, his brow furrowing. “Does it mean I am the host, just pretending not to know?”

Nameless tilted her head, her eyes gleaming. “That’s one possibility,” she said with a sly grin. “Or maybe your soul body is some weird hybrid, and you’re just as confused as you claim to be.”

Abhi sighed, closing his eyes. “Let me finish my story,” he said. “Maybe something in it will make sense to you. And you should do the same—tell me everything, even the little details. Something insignificant to you might be the key for me.”

Nameless regarded him for a long moment, then gave a subtle nod. “Alright,” she said. “Go on.”

Abhi took a breath, as if preparing himself. “After I sank into the water, I came back up, still in the flashback. The scene wasn’t long, but it was vivid. I’ll describe it as clearly as I can.”

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Abhi stood in front of a mirror, his reflection pale and tear-streaked. His shoulders trembled as he sucked in a deep breath, the sound jagged and uneven. He wiped at his face, first brushing away the tears, then pausing as his expression shifted. The grief melted away, replaced by something colder, emptier. His face became a mask, devoid of emotion.

He turned away from the mirror, his movements slow, deliberate. His feet carried him to a nearby mattress, but he stopped abruptly, his gaze darting around the dimly lit room. His posture changed, his steps silent as he moved like a predator—or prey—through the house.

Abhi’s hand brushed against objects as he passed, his fingers tracing their textures. The faint sound of his movements broke the stillness, stirring the shadows. Behind him, a soft voice called out.

“Abhi?” A woman’s voice—gentle, laced with fatigue. “What are you doing, beta? Go back to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

Abhi froze, his body stiffening. Then he exhaled, forcing a casual tone. “Yeah, Mom. I will.”

The voice softened further. “Good. Sleep well.”

He started toward the mattress again, but the voice called out once more. “Wait, beta… I forgot to tell you something.”

He stopped, his pulse quickening. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing urgent,” she murmured. “I’ll handle it tomorrow.”

Abhi hesitated, his eyes darting toward the shadows. “No… it’s okay. Just tell me.”

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This scene, and Abhi’s growing unease, left both Nameless and Abhi reflecting on the nature of their existence—and what lay ahead.