Are dreams meant to be awakened? Suiming asks himself. He is still in-doors , but his body is shivering as if it is winter.

Or it is winter.

Suiming can’t see his fingers , all around him are dark and black. He reaches for his dagger , but there is nothing other than an empty pocket.

He walks around in the darkness , usually he’d like dark nights like this , but this time there are no stars to guide him. He walked in a straight line for a long time that felt like eons.

Suiming continues walking until he gets bored. He needs something to grind off the tasteless times.

Suiming isn’t the nostalgic ones , he barely rewinds his own memory. He recalls some of his old , blurry-faced friends , most of them dead or on the way to their graves. Suiming couldn’t remember their name.

The past days in his mind were almost identical to each other , perhaps there’s no meaning to store it.

But only one of his forgotten friends stands out , he also can’t remember their name. Perhaps it doesn’t matter.

Does the name really matter? If not , why did the piece of Unknown Existence accepted Nameless’s name? Suiming thinks to himself.

‘‘Oh wait , I-i can’t remember anything about them…’’

‘‘He…was my roommate…’’

‘‘We studied astronomy…’’

‘‘And…there was this solar eclipse…’’

‘‘Wait , is this Alzheimer's or amnesia? I don’t have crappy memories.’’

Suiming continues walking while he recalls other memories.

Then he realizes that his memory is sharded as his title , from his memory he sees that he had a different personality , he took part in observatories , academies and many more.

His mind is flying and his feet seek the end. The wandering continued until Suiming felt something sticking to his shoes.

His leg twitching , skin’s ice cold , his monocle almost falling off.

Suiming adjusts the monocle slightly and takes a better look around.

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Same dark , not the same empty. It is just like what people see after they press their eyeballs too hard , but more vivid.

The almost-invisible couture worms around , reminding something similar to a map. On the ‘‘map’’ Suiming sees the ocean’s boiling , shifting into desert , mountains rising and descending , cities built from scratch and burned down. After a few ticks of clock , his head is melting , legs wobbling , falling apart.

As the worms of the map peristles around , Suiming sees something , a door.

A door to a white white space that seems to never end.

He runs towards it , tripping a few times over. After a minute , his hand holds the door frame , his mouth breathing hard , for drama effect of course.

The white space is warm , like an afternoon sun that illuminates the land. He explores the white space for a bit , only his footsteps echoing.

For a moment Suiming though this is some kind of fold spacetime or a place made by some unimaginable beings.

But ‘‘they’’ twisted his hypothesis.

With a turn to the right , he sees three figures , attached midair by some foul and smooth string.

From it black ooze slithers down as if they were some kind of snake.

Suiming is stunned , not because of this disgusting uneasy scene , but it is somehow…art-ish.

He could say that the strings , the liquids and the bodies are part of something greater , some kind of…..art piece.

He stood there for another few minutes , just watching the dense , unlikeable goo falling off.

That is until everything creaked and wrecked.

Suiming didn’t do anything , his breath was even lighter than usual.

As the white wall breaks , he sees ‘‘that’’.

No , more precisely , ‘‘they’’.

It is the same thing as before , same feeling , same silver branch. And same fear flicking aura around it that lets its ''flesh'' grow and expand.

But the difference is that the other thing that has arrived.

It has an ungodly , foul goo dripping down , just as the one from the strings. It worms around , twisting its already wicked meat vessel. The countless spikes on it vibrate by the beat of the cosmos. Leaving trails of blind and foolish masses.

Suiming’s sound of horror explodes from his lungs , knowledge that isn’t our world’s mind fills his brain , squizing , expanding inside his head , until he forgets everything. The last moment before he completely fades away , just before he is shoveling out his eyeballs , he sees those faceless figures even more closely.

They were Suiming. Their eyes closed like they were the childrens of city , sleeping as their mother sings them a lullaby inside the neon wrapped building.

Except there is no mommy , only three figures and a man losing his mind , screaming and lamenting.

………………………….

‘‘What happened to him?’’

The young messenger asks his captain.

What comes in his eyes has turned his mind upside down-a man thrusted by some kind of metallic tree with black , mind corrupting liquid coming out of it.

The man looks so holy , yet so ungodly , like it is a saint that crawled out of the deepest abyss.

So the withered saint opens his eyes.