A lull amidst the chaotic pitter-patter of rain, broken by the woody groan of aged wood and the sweltering howl of wind.The rain crescendoed with the wind as it lashed against a roof. There was a moist tenor to it all, the scent of wet wood and salt heavy in the air. He felt his body sway with the shape of where he lay.

RUMBLE!

Thunder roared, jolting him awake Gira bolted upright, only for his head to collide painfully with a low-hanging shelf.

“Ahhhck! What the—?” he groaned, clutching the back of his head. His eyes opened with the thud, letting him take in his surroundings.

“Oh, good evening, Gira.” A polite yet familiar voice said.

Blinking through the dim light, Gira found himself inside the cramped cabin of what appeared to be a small boat. The wooden interior, worn and weathered by time, was painted with faded streaks of white, the peeling edges speaking of long-forgotten care. The walls were cluttered with strange, haphazard decorations—drawings of ominous figures, scattered sticky notes, and haunting pictures of stone idols etched with forlorn symbols.

A single, flickering orange light swung overhead, casting the room in an unsteady glow. Beneath it stood a young man, his face familiar yet disarmingly charming.

He stood at the helm, his hands firm on the controls. A wet yellow raincoat clung to him, stretching awkwardly down to his knees, its surface glistening with moisture. He turned slightly, offering Gira a small, knowing smile. The faint glimmer of his teal eyes caught the swaying light, their gaze steady and unshaken by the storm raging outside.

“Ohowowowo?!” Gira said as he struggled to balance himself. Only to find himself falling on his ass as the boat groaned under the impact of a heavy wave.

The harsh crash of water briefly interrupted the monotonous drumming of the rain against the ship’s frame.

“Where am I? And who are you?” he asked, confused, as he held tightly onto the rim of the seat he had woken up from.

“I am you. I am Gira.” the other Gira answered.

Our Gira looked at him confused, “Okay, so like Savagrios?”

“Correct. Although he wasn’t always Gira.”

“Huh? What? Okay, if you’re really me, you can’t be cryptic, alright? Just tell me what’s going on and where we are. Okie?”

The other Gira seemed to pout slightly before clearing his throat. “Very well,” he sighed. “But I don’t really—well, I know, but I don’t understand.” He glanced back at our Gira, who had an upturned smile and a raised brow. “Right. Forgive me. We are currently within ourselves, trapped in the echo of a memory. This storm is apparently a dearly kept place to us. Or rather to me. As to why you’re here, it seems someone’s taken the helm of our life.”

“Is it you?” Gira asked, looking between the other him and then helm of the boat.

“What? Oh, no! No, are you? Um, well, I suppose it was a bad analogy, but no, it’s not me.”

“Oooookayyy, then who?”

“Well, it’s another one of us, but... he remembers far more than we do. He isn’t Gira—he is something else. Savagrios is of his kin. This other us forced our hand, using our impending death to compel us to sever your ties with our body.”

“I was dying?” Gira asked, his voice unsteady as he managed to stand in the cramped cabin as harsh waves roared around them. The rumbling of thunder and flashes of piercing lightning illuminated the blackness of his eyes as he stared into the dark waters surrounding them.

“Indeed, our Calamity Core has shattered after all, and we stood at the precipice of an unknown. But—he knew of a solution. He came to us bearing the truth of our blood, warning that we would break—shatter and writhe in violent death.”

The other Gira looked at a screen on his right. Its dim glow displayed the murky abyss of the vast sea around them. He continued, “I don’t remember who I was,” he said softly. “Nor exactly what I sought in these stormy seas, nor why I’m bound to this lonely memory. But I know one thing: the only way out is to plunge into that sea.” He brushed his hand gently against the monitor, staring into the swirling void.

Gira staggered as the boat rocked under the weight of the sea. He looked out the rain-streaked window, where distant lightning illuminated the waves and their emerald sheen as the little boat fought to stay afloat. The rumble of thunder booming through the hull causing the ship to shudder under the weight of the skies.

“Wait, wait, wait—you’re telling me the only way out is by jumping into that scary water? Okay—ummm…well, unless this other me isn’t doing anything really messed up, I could just wait until—” He gestured vaguely, making a circular motion with his hand as his eyes flicked back to the storm outside. “You know, all that calms down. Maybe we could get to know each other better? How about that?”

The other Gira’s head sank low, his voice carrying a weary finality. “This storm is eternal. Trust me, the only reason I know the way out is because I’ve cast myself off this boat before.”

Gira let out an uncomfortable, uneasy laugh. “Oh, ummm, so... is there anything in the water? You know, besides the crushing waves and the horrid darkness?”

“There is…something down there, perhaps the very reason why I once sailed this archaic sea. The reason why I sacrificed something—something lost to me. Beneath this sea, a leviathan slumbers deep, or so these notes and garbled memories recount. Why we came here, and where we went from here. Who can say?” Lightning flashed as he turned to face our Gira. “I am a sinking memory,” he continued. “I cannot reclaim our body. And from the ghostly glimpses beyond this accursed boat, I see—there is human blood. He is trying to feed.”

Gira stumbled back, his hands brushing against the condensation on the window behind him. The cold moisture stirred his memory as he recalled the wet metal he’d just brushed against. “The pool... I was at the ranger station!?”

The other Gira turned back to face the sea. “He will feed, lest you wake in time, dear me.”

Gira turned to the door at the back of the cabin. It trembled and shook as water and wind whipped the strained door. “Are you super sure that—that spooky ocean is the only way out? Like 100 percent sure?!”

The other Gira stared straight ahead, hesitating, “Uhh———yup. It sure is.”

“That was a long pause! Why did you pause? Oi! Hey!” Gira pleaded with his other self.

The other Gira tilted his head slightly, his movements swaying with the rocking of the ship. “Well… you know, it was either drowning or getting eaten alive. Either or… you know.”

“Both of those suck!”

The other Gira offered a faint shrug, “Unfortunately, they’re the only sure way out of this memory.”

“Why is dying in the memory the only option? Isn’t that a little counterintuitive?”Gira asked, before putting a hand on his chin, “Oh wow, my vocabulary got an upgrade. But that’s besides the point!”

The other Gira abruptly straightened, his attention snapping to the flickering screen. His expression tensed, then lit with exhilaration “By the God of Mind and Body, it’s here!”

“What’s here?” Gira asked, his curiosity quickly turning to alarm as his gaze darted to the screen. Lightning illuminated the murky waters on display, revealing the shadowed silhouette of something massive lurking in the depths.

“What in the world is that?!” Gira exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

The other Gira’s smile widened under the wobbly orange light. “Perhaps I’ll join you in death other me~!”

“Wha? What? Ha?” Our Gira stammered, his finger jabbing at the screen, “What is that? What do you mean? Death?”

The other Gira brushed past him with zero hesitation, swinging the door open wide. A torrent of thunder and rain crashed into the cabin, drenching the unprepared Gira in a salty brine and rigid chills.

“Follow me! We shall jump as one!” the other Gira shouted against the howl of the storm.

“You’re kidding?! RIGHT? HEY?!” Gira yelled back as water crashed into the cabin.

“Where’s your curiosity, Gira!?" The other Gira bellowed as he grabbed our Gira firmly by the arm. “Let us plunge into our abyss as one!”

Thunder rumbled in every direction as lightning split the darkness, casting jagged patterns across the archaic sea. The shrouded emerald depths encased them in a tumultuous cascade of water as the ship wobbled along. Gira’s guts swung around, a nauseating pull as his insides seemed to twist with every crashing wave. His body lurched helplessly as the other Gira pulled him towards the edge.

OH man, we’re doing this? Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. The words raced through his mind in a chaotic loop, his panicked thoughts unable to settle on a single answer. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes. No!

Before Gira could even process what was happening, the other Gira raised his arm, his soaked raincoat glinting faintly in the lightning as he checked a device strapped to his wrist.

“It’s time!” the other Gira shouted as wind and rain battered into their bodies.

“NOWAAAAAAAAA!” Gira screamed as his other self, with a startling surge of strength, dragged the two into the abyss. The world blurred in a chaotic rush of cold, light, and sound as the frame of the boat disappeared above.

A fragile lull after the crash, tinged with the whisper’s of a sunken lorelei, its soft murmur cracking under the rumble of faraway waves, filled his thoughts. The two Giras held each other dearly, desperate as the depth and darkness consumed the two. A weight cast upon them as a piercing sting filled their heads. Deeper.

It was frigid—bitter, invasive as it stung their souls, sinking deep into the very marrow of their bones. Yet, even as the icy currents dragged them deeper and deeper, their grip on each other remained tight, a sliver of humanity against the pull of the unfathomable.

Our Gira dared to force his eyes to see. Visions of vast, naught—black, oppressive. And amidst the void, flickers—green light flashed from beyond. In the brief, he saw his other self. His face was serene, calm, and composed. Those teal eyes met his own, soothing the dread that pulled at his body and mind.

The light left, plunging them back into the maw of the dark waters. A low, guttural sound rumbled from the abyss below, the echo so loud it vibrated through the water, pressing deep into his body. A whale’s call? No. Our Gira instinctively tried to twist away, his muscles tense but weak, but his other self wouldn’t allow it.

Water pressed them forward; something stirred in the dark. Unfathomable maddening dissonance brushed at Gira’s mind. His legs brushed against the impossible. Terror. It held him so. Gira’s instincts screamed and howled—he tried to flee to escape—but there was only surrender to his other self.

He felt water drag at his body, the currents pulling the two towards an unkind abyss. Gira trembled uncontrollably, every fiber of his being struggling in vain against the pull of the sea. His breath, fragile and fleeting, escaped him in a rush. Bubbles erupted, rising, breaking apart as they ascended to the unreachable surface.

Lightning. Its sudden light illuminated the scene in a fleeting glow. Gira looked down. Below, monstrous shapes emerged, massive and primal. Teeth—impossibly large and jagged—manifested in the brief light. They loomed for only an instant before dissolving back into the gloom.

He looked at his other self, whose face remained just as composed, untouched, and cold. Beyond the other him, barely visible, the maws of something shut beyond as darkness swallowed them once more.

GASP!

Our Gira swallowed air, his chest heaving as he crawled away from nothing.

“We’ve arrived!” The other Gira declared, as he looked down at our disheveled Gira.

“Wh-what the hell? You psycho! D-did we just get eaten by a sea monster?”

The other Gira nodded as he offered our Gira a hand.“Yes dear me. We indeed were.”

Gira shuddered, his body still soaked from the frigid waters of the archaic sea. He glanced around, the chill clinging to him as he realized their surroundings had completely changed. Gone was the storm, the waves, and the abyss. Now, they stood within the quiet, almost reverent walls of an alabaster stone monastery.

“Say where are we—” Gira muttered, his voice trailing off as his eyes widened. He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze captured by the towering presence of a magnificent stone-carved dragon. The statue loomed before them, its intricate details illuminated by an unseen light, its majesty undeniable. It bore four powerful wings stretched outward. It had three serpentine heads. Two of which were coiled in veneration of the central head.

“Wow! Is that a dragon?!” Gira blurted, his earlier panic fading.

“It certainly is,” the other Gira said, stepping toward the towering stone statue. His hands lightly brushing over the old runes etched at the dragon statue's base. “We find ourselves within the memory of another us.”

“Wow, where is he?” Our Gira asked eagerly.

“Deeper within the depths of this forsaken place.”

“Forsaken?” Our Gira repeated, taking off the wet coat he was wearing and wringing it out.

“It is to me. These old stone statues... they trouble me, though I can’t say why.” The other Gira paused, his gaze lingering on the statue’s face. “Nonetheless, let’s find Gira the Strong he hopefully remembers more than me…”

“Gira the Strong?” Our Gira asked.

“Oh, right. We’ve taken the liberty to give ourselves titles,” the other Gira explained.

“Oh! What’s your title?” Our Gira asked.

The other Gira blushed a little, looking away with a bashful expression, “Umm, it’s a little embarrassing, but they call me Gira the Kind…”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“Huh. You seem more danger-prone to me than anything else. More like Gira the Suicidal.” Our Gira said, waving his hands, mocking the titles.

The other Gira sighed, brushing off the comment with a faint smile. “The vile ocean is a terrible memory to haunt; you can’t imagine how excited I was to leave that wet mess.”

Our Gira touched his cold wet clothes and reminisced about the storm and the churning sea. “You know what? Fair.”

“Anyways, let us find our other self,” the other Gira announced with renewed determination, striding off in a seemingly random direction.

Our Gira trailed behind, his attention momentarily caught by the old dragon statue. As he passed it, he leaned in to inspect the weathered inscription at its base. It was hard to read as a deep cut had been etched across the words but Gira vaguely discerned these words:

“The hunt beareth our sacred creed. The elder, our unforgotten testament. That which is new we claim. Lo, I will remain. evermore.”

“That’s so cool... I wonder what it means,” he muttered to himself before hurrying to catch up with the other Gira.

They stepped out of the room that housed the statue and into a vast, awe-inspiring expanse. The room was so immense that its boundaries disappeared into obscurity, the genesis of its structure shrouded in mystery. Tall panes of colored glass adorned the towering walls, casting a kaleidoscope of light across the halls. The melded hues of red and blue painted the otherwise stark white chambers in a mesmerizing dance of shifting colors. The chambers themselves were monumental, cut straight into the old white stone that composed the outreaching pillars and walls.

“Wow! What is this place?” Our Gira exclaimed, his voice echoing throughout.

The other Gira looked around, studying the old stone. “If I recall correctly. I’d say its a temple of some kind,” he replied thoughtfully, spinning slowly to take in the surroundings.

“A temple?”

“Are there not stone idols in the rooms that line these halls?” the other Gira pointed out, gesturing toward the nearby chambers.

“Huh, I guess you’re right,” our Gira admitted, glancing at the doorways. “Say, have you been here before?”

The other Gira paused and looked from one end of the monastery to the other. “I’ve been here once before, I believe—but I do admit there is a nostalgia to this place past my last visit.”

“Yeah… there’s something weird with this place,” our Gira muttered as he studied the intricate yet massive decorations carved into the walls. “What with those huge claw marks?” he asked, pointing at huge claw marks that marred the intricate design.

“Old dragon marks, this place was probably once home to them, don’t you think?”

“To real dragons?!” our Gira exclaimed, turning back to the claw marks with a mix of awe and apprehension. The gouges were massive, and as he looked around, he realized there wasn’t just one set. The stone walls bore scratches and scrapes scattered across their surface, as though countless clashes had taken place here. These weren’t just decorative wear and tear; they were marks of the immense living things.

“You’re probably right, other me,” he said, his voice trailing off as he scanned the worn stonework. “Lucas did mention something about True Dragons and the sort.”

“Indeed, I have fleeting memories of the beasts, but they’re so vague and far off I’m not sure if they were merely dreams.”

“You can have dreams in my head?”

The other Gira froze mid-step, “Ah—right. I was being all whimsical earlier. But truth is, we’re actually within our soul, but it does connect to our mind in a sense. ”

“We’re in my soul???”

“Yeah, rather odd, isn’t it?" The other Gira awkwardly laughed as he took a turn up some damaged stairs that were carved into the chaotic sea of figures carved into the wall. “It’s all very confusing in here. But this other Gira is rather good at this type of ordeal. He should be able to fill the gaps in my memory.”

“Right—” Our Gira said as he followed his other self through more rooms filled with statues, chambers, and hallways. All grand and finely decorated, yet seemingly empty and abandoned.

"Ah, here we go!” the other Gira exclaimed as they reached a massive door that led to presumably the outside. “Help me out,” he said as he pushed against the stone door.

The two struggled against the massive stone door. Pushing with all their might. And! It didn’t budge. The two stood before the door.

“Now what?” our Gira asked before he turned to the massive glass-paned windows and looked back at his other self, then back at the windows with a smirk.

The other Gira raised an eyebrow, before nodding as he realized what our Gira implied.

CRASH! Glass scattered on the stone floor beyond the door.

“ACHK! Why’d you throw me?!?” our Gira exclaimed as he got up from his crash site beyond the now shattered window.

“Is this not what you implied when you gave me that look?” the other Gira said as he calmly followed behind.

“NO!” Gira exclaimed, brushing himself off as he rose to his feet. “I thought we'd find a big rock or something.”

As they looked around, they found themselves within an awe-inspiring garden, surrounded on all sides by the alabaster buildings so colossal they loomed like mountains, their walls stretching skyward. The sheer scale of the structure dwarfed everything, their surface etched with massive draconic statues and ivory castle fronts. Gira felt like an ant intruding upon a giant's garden. The perch where they stood overlooked a fragment of the garden below. A lush forest sculpted with meticulous care, its trees standing proud and pristine as though shaped by the hands of giants. This was no mere garden; it was a sanctuary of dragons, a place for being of a size beyond the two little Giras.

The other Gira ran to the edge and looked down. He narrowed his eyes, studying the giant garden below. “Aha!” he exclaimed, “found him.”

Our Gira ran over to the edge and looked around. “Where?”

“See that little hut down there, the shabby little abode amidst those large rocks,” the other Gira said, guiding our Gira with his finger.

“Neat—wait, that’s really really really far away.”

“Indeed, but even here we are blessed with Kyyr!” the other Gira said as he rubbed his hands together. “Time for one of my many charms to be of use~”

“Your what?”

“Allow me to unveil my skills,” the other Gira said before rubbing his hands and then snapping them as faint blue sparks ruptured from his hands. And with expert care, he wove an arc of fine lightning into a coil that he weaved in and out, stretching the line masterfully as he interlaced a cloak of thunder.

Gira watched in excitement. He watched and watched, and the other Gira was taking a while.

“What are you making?” our Gira asked.

“Shhh! I require absolute focus,” the other Gira hissed as he wove a rather intricate weave of light.

Our Gira sat there and watched the garden’s wind dry his clothes and even his undergarments by the time his other self had finished with his little project. Our Gira passed out. A dream amidst a dream, he saw red. Crimson scales fell from his face. Pain. His heart beat, a resonant echo that beat and beat—faster and faster. It hurts! He woke up.

“I’ve finished!” The other Gira exclaimed.

Our Gira groaned as he left the cold but now warm stone he had passed out on. “Oh man, I had a weird dre—Holy what?! Did you make that!” he exclaimed.

Before him was a crude airplane-like construct that seemingly manifested from nowhere. It was black and had a soft velvet-like texture.

“This is my—or rather our Kyyr ability, Electrosynthesis, it grants us the ability to mend and weave electricity, though I must admit it can be rather challenging to use. With it, I can create a wide variety of things, though there are limitations: no food, heavy objects, items beyond my understanding, or those requiring great durability. That said, we shall make use of this winged device to descend to our fellow Gira!"

“And what if we crash and die?” Our Gira asked.

“We proceed to the next memory. It’s a win-win scenario,” the other Gira said, giving a thumbs up. “Now embark upon our craft.”

“Win-win, I guess.” Our Gira remarked as he climbed into the winged contraption. “So how does this work?”

The other Gira crawled inside. “Welp, please maneuver a little more to the left.” our Gira moved over a little, “Precisely, now we aim for the edge.” The device turned as he pulsed Kyyr through it. “And lift off!” he exclaimed as he pulsed more Kyyr into the strange machine as it suddenly dragged against all odds, its little wireframe body dragging up and up and DOWN?!

The two Giras shouted in unison as the little black airplane-shaped device spiraled downward before—SWOOSH—a powerful gust lifted the small contraption as the fragile wings suddenly surged up!

“We’re flying!” Our Gira laughed as the two felt the grace of the wind.

“I knew it’d be a success.” The other Gira exclaimed as they descended down the sheer alabaster rock. The massive piercing pines growing closer and closer—when.

“Hey, other me!”

“Yes, dear me?!”

“How do we turn this thing?”

“Uh—”

“Uh?”

“Uhhhhh—we can’t?” the other Gira said with a smile.

Our Gira stared daggers into his eyes. “Oh,” he said with a dead tone as he watched one of the trees greet them with open branches.

If I die, let it be instant! They both thought before—

CRASH!!!

The little dark airplane crashed into one of the towering pines as the two held tight as they rolled frantically down the branches of the tree. They felt the prickly leaves, sticks, and other undesirable things slap them across their faces before they came to a calm swell and a stop.

Not far from the crash site, a man reclined in a roughly crafted chair, its uneven frame tilted back against a tree. His long, flowing brown hair fell in waves, the ends neatly braided into a single tail that draped over his shoulder with casual grace. In his hand, he held a simple fishing rod—little more than a stick with a line—its lure lazily dipping into a small, clear pool fed by a gentle waterfall. At the sound of the commotion, he straightened in his seat, his light blue eyes snapping open to glare in the direction of the crash. A long, exasperated sigh escaped him, carrying the weight of interrupted peace.

Back at our crash site, our Gira painfully crawled out of the torn little airplane. “Ugh…” he groaned as he lay on the thick carpet of massive fallen pine needles.

The other Gira crawled over to our Gira, “How do your fair, dear me?” he asked.

Our Gira squinted up at the towering pine tree, catching a glimpse of the clear blue sky above. “I fair, okay? I think.”

The two lay there for a while as the adrenaline slowly faded. The other Gira sat up with a wince, his hand moving instinctively to his shoulder. “Agh…oh heavens.”

“What’s wron—oh no.”Our Gira blurted, recoiling slightly as his gaze landed on the source of the problem.

“It appears I’ve been wounded in action…”he muttered as he poked at a stick that was lodged into his shoulder.

Our Gira got up and helped his other self stand, “Ohh—uhh, d-does it hurt?”

“Not yet? But it probably will.” the other Gira said.

“Yikes, welp, let’s find the other, other Gira so we can kill ourselves.”

“Indeed, dear me.”

The two Giras then set off on their quest in search of the other self. But before they got far, a miserable little realization hit them. They were hopelessly, utterly lost.

The two convened together and, after a flustered discussion, they arrived at a less-than-dignified solution—screaming for help.

“Gira! Where are thou?”

“Other me, where are you?”

“Fret, not Gira S; it is I!”

“Hello other me! It’s me!”

The two wandered around pretty aimlessly as they cried out in hopes of being heard. And lucky for them, not far was Gira S. A tired look spread across his face as he sat up from his chair.

“Hey other me, I think we’re screwed, let’s ditch and die,” our Gira said.

“Heavens no, we at the very least require the assistance of our dear friend S.”

“S?”

“Ah, of course I forgot to tell you, we tend to refer to each other by our title letters. You know—since it can get confusing otherwise,” the other Gira explained.

“Ohhh, that makes sense, so—should I call you K?”

“That should facilitate communion with other versions of us.” K said while nodding.

Gira crossed his arms and thought for a second as they aimlessly walked, “Say, how many of us are there?”

K stopped half-step and thought hard before counting his own fingers and mouthing out some names before shaking his head. “Heavens, I can’t remember...”

“Oh, did you hit your head?”

“Perhaps…” K said as they continued through a woody trail as fresh air fluttered through them, carrying the scent of the massive pines.

“Hey!” A voice called from farther up the trail.

The two Giras looked up and spotted a strange shirtless man.

Gira leaned over to K, “Pssst.” He nudged K, “Who’s that half-naked guy?”

“That’s Gira the Strong,” he whispered back.

Gira the Strong, stared down at the two other Giras. “K and... finally...” he sighed as he approached the two.

Gira stayed leaning on K’s shoulder, whispering, “He looks nothing like me… Isn’t he a little too handsome to be us?”

“Yeah, we don’t all share the same appearance.” K whispered back.

Gira the Strong, leaned in and whispered, “Can you two drop dead and die for me?”

Our Gira whispered back, “No…we need you for…something?”

K nodded rapidly and asked, “Are you still mad that we let Gira the Hateful take control?”

“I wouldn’t say mad. I think I’m more so disappointed.” S said.

“Forgive me, dear friend, but we need your aid. The other us is trying to feast upon the flesh of others.”

Gira the Strong, a.k.a. S, sighed, “What did you idiots expect? All we knew about him was that he literally hated everyone.”

K tilted his head downward. “Perhaps it was an oversight of ours, but the threat of true death... didn’t it rattle you?”

Our Gira nodded vigorously.

S’s expression softened. “What happened to you, Gira?”

The two other Giras looked at each other confused. “Which one?” our Gira asked, pointing between the two.

“Right…” S rolled his eyes. “Gira the 'Kind'...” he said with air quotes.

K raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean this stick that is protruding from my shoulder! While it does hurt, my memory of pain is rather vague, so it really isn’t an issue…” he whispered.

S’s gaze softened on K. “Right…friend,” he sighed before looking at our Gira in the eyes.

Gira stared back for a second, but no words came so he looked away. Then he looked back; S’s gaze was still settling in Gira’s. “Ummm—nice to meet you?”

S looked defeated as he leaned away from their little huddle. He exhaled as he looked at his hands, deep with calluses. There was a worn, almost defeated air to this Gira as he began to turn. “Follow me,” he whispered.

The two Giras looked at each other before they followed closely behind.

As they walked, S began to talk normally his voice was different. It was deeper and smoother, but melancholic. “I can’t believe that piss-eyed bastard is consuming our Kyyr reserves.”

“Piss-eyed?” Gira asked.

“Gira the Hateful has golden eyes.” K added.

“Yeah, and he’s currently eating away at our own soul... This Fractalization business, we should’ve let it run its natural course.” S said.

“Fractalization?” Gira asked.

S ruffled his own hair in annoyance, “While I can’t remember the specifics—just know it normally leads to death. We were meant to die, but. But we just had to prolong this already unnatural existence. It wasn’t the just choice.”

Our Gira looked between the two Giras.

K added, “But we were afraid. We barely exist, and with this fleeting existence in this labyrinth of memories. Would we be allowed to see the fleeting world beyond this shattered life? Would there be more beyond just his for us?”

S continued, “I had reached complacency with true death. After all, does an echo of an echo deserve a life? Is a fading song always worth an encore?”

K looked down at the ground disconcerted.

The three reached an opening filled with random, crudely built wooden structures that surrounded a pool of water being fed by a small cascade. S walked over to the shifting water and leaned down. “I’m glad you came to me. It seems that K.” he paused as he placed a hand in the water. “Forgot.”

Our Gira walked over and stared down into the rippling water; a stinging pain rippled through his eyes. “Ow?! Why did that hurt?”

“Good…” S muttered that means it works.

“What?” Our Gira asked.

S stood up, brushing his wet hand against our Gira’s chest. “We can’t tear that golden-eyed idiot off his hateful throne—but—you can. You’re us, at our truest. K and I, we’re just... memories—your memories, and unfortunately you’re forgetting.” He pressed his wet hand harder into his chest. “I can’t promise we’ll be able to help much, but I want you to promise me this one thing,” he paused, his light blue eyes staring into Gira. “Pursue happiness.”

Gira put his hand over S's; he felt this unknowable strain unbind itself from his chest. A pain so familiarly present that he hadn’t realized it was there. He felt suddenly, oh-so light, “Why? What’s happening?” Gira mumbled as tears began to well up.

K walked over and put his hand on his shoulder. “We mustn’t fret, dear me, for you must take back yourself.”

Gira nodded. “But how?”

S dragged him down by the shirt and pointed at the rippling water, “Focus. What do you sense?”

“Your wet hand?” Gira said, unsure.

“Focus on the water.” S hissed as he pulled Gira closer to the water.

He stared into the rippling cold water; there he saw himself alone. No one holding him, just his lonely self. He looked around but he was now alone.

“Focus,” S whispered from the back of his mind.

He focused on the ripples, his nose taking in the humid air. It smelled of blood. His eyes widened as he felt the moisture change against his skin. There was a warmth. There was pain. There was anger. He felt the biting shred of something against his flesh. He looked at his body. Crimson claws—crimson scales. He looked at his reflection, a crimson jaw reflected against the water. He reached into the dark, cold water, but it was warm. He fell forward, his body sinking like a stone, as he saw a light beyond the murk. There were cracks of light at the bottom. Like a weed, he pushed against the pond’s bed and began to breach in search of the warmth beyond this moment. There he finally saw the Coarseblood beyond his soul—he saw himself.

Beyond his reverie, the monster stood defiantly against its prey.