I receive an answer cut off abruptly to my desperate question as the persona left behind my Aniwye within my mind fades entirely, turning fully transparent before disappearing. The partial explanation only serves to demoralize me further.

"I was p—"

At the lack of anything to help me understand what has happened since I fell asleep, I just fall back onto the ground and stare up at the dreamy moon above. Some deep part of me wants all of this to be an incredibly lucid dream, but I know it was not.

I helped some otherworldly Angel breakthrough Aniwye's preparations early and, as such, made it grow interested in me. And the Ogre who created Ma to raise me protected me. The scenes shown to me before they appeared as well are not something that can simply be dreamt up.

They were memories ripped up from the conflict deep in my mind. The tension and fighting between two heavily weakened Angels in my mind overcame whatever block the Bloody Palm had on my mind and revealed much of what was supposed to come slowly all at once.

And as I lay here in my melancholic hate, I hear a quiet voice from the sky. It sounds pretty much like Johnny, and while I can't decipher the actual words, it sounds urgent. I stand up with a groan as the injuries from rolling just a bit ago seem to remain. I find it curious how I can get hurt in a dream, but it must be metaphorical or not an accurate representation of injury.

I shake off some grass with my left hand and cup my ear to the sky, but by the time I do so, the voice fades and doesn't return. Maybe Johnny is trying to wake me up. I think with whatever Ewaki did to me, that won't happen too quickly. I can't imagine I'm going to get out of this unscathed. Hell, I'm surprised my memory didn't just get wiped again. Although, I bet it is more difficult for Aniwye to wipe the memory of Sigiled compared to Unsigiled.

Without the voice coming to me and no other options, I just let myself fall back to the grass below like a snow angel. Only that there is no snow and none of the happiness that comes with the childish glee of the substance. It reminds me quite a lot of Ether, now that I think about it.

Dangerous in large quantities, every flake is different in its own way and supremely fascinating. One might only interest a young child, but the other holds a limitless realm of possibility. I move my hand up to my eyes as I try to gather my Ether into the palm of my hand.

It is difficult, very difficult, so much so that I don't even notice any Ether coming to my hand, and I give up for a moment to try and use Chain Eyes to watch my progress more closely. The skill comes quite easy, yet it still takes almost a full ten seconds to activate consciously in my dream compared to the instant while I'm awake.

Then, I go to try and gather my Ether again, wanting to try and create a snowflake, but I stop myself. What's the point? The point is to be able to use Ether while dreaming, but why? Nothing really matters, right? If I die, I'm just going to be sent into another war to die in eventually, and even if I survive, there is no one watching me excel.

I always had the thought that Ma was watching, commenting, and cheering me on throughout everything I did. That semblance in the back of my mind has been a huge motivator, if not the biggest. Edmund was similar. I wanted to make the old man proud and make up for killing him, but he's likely dead by now, right?

Silas mentioned something about how it's the cowards who survive the longest in the Underworld. The ones who know when to retreat and save their strength. The ones who let others die instead of them. Edmund is not dumb. I know that for sure, and the old man would never get himself killed for dumb things.

But to him, saving even a single innocent life is worth it and the opposite of dumb. He proved that to me when he was willing to guard me throughout the whole break, leaving his duty of protecting the vault without hesitation.

Put him in a never-ending war where he knows he can die and possibly return? Where there are thousands if not millions of Unsigiled? He will run himself dry until he completely disappears. I—... I learned a lot from him, but maybe the most important thing I learned was his determination.

The eyes he had when we were alone in the forest. Pure care blended with absolute devotion and determination. If anyone indeed raised me, it was that man. We only had a week together at most, but he left a mark on me that will never fade.

No matter what Aniwye says, I refuse to accept that she gave me the skills or mentality needed to survive this world. It was Edmund. That kind old man had a personality that none can compare to. In a single week and he changed my whole life.

Before I stumbled into him, I was a wholly lost child, one without any power, knowledge, or truthfully much drive. I had a simple, naive goal of becoming a Hunter. And while that goal seems to be an impossibility, I do not blame Edmund for that. He showed me, not just told me, what a Hunter must be and what they must have.

Grit and determination are the most important if you want to survive long enough to accomplish any goal. Knowledge and the skills to survive are needed to actually accomplish those goals. Next is adaptability; this lets you react on the fly to whatever shitstorm might be thrown at you. The last, something that Edmund might have never mentioned but certainly displayed, was empathy and patience. The last two will keep you not only an alive Hunter but a good one as well.

Edmund had each of those in spades. Which is why I need to carry those forward. I was his last student and the one that got him killed. Even if he isn't here to see it. Even if Ma never cared for me like a true mother. Even if my whole past was a lie. I will carry his will. I will get his artifact back from Alexos, and I will put him to rest, even if it is just for me.

But for all that, I need to survive. There may not be a point to this madness, but I can make one. There may not be anyone watching me from the sidelines to cheer me on, but I don't need them. My foundation might be shaken and possibly irreparably damaged, but what part of me is not the same? I am out of an arm, and not a single part of me is missing a scar, bruise, or laceration of some sort. My mind is obviously damaged as well. I am rash, prone to anger, and bloodthirsty. These are things I realized a while ago but have no way to fix besides getting stronger. The Bloody Palm spends all its time slightly altering me while it waits. I know this, yet there is nothing I can truly do. It is my only arm. I don't want to cripple myself in exchange for a clear mind. Some things are worth enduring.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

A body broken, a mind altered, and memories twisted. What remains? My soul and my Sigil. All I need is myself and complete mastery over my Sigil, just as Edmund did.

As a simple 3rd Sigil without even an Absolution such as mine that levels the playing field, he fought like a demon. And I don't mean that metaphorically. Demons can take several humans at their same Sigil without much issue and sometimes fight up in Sigils without being heavily disadvantaged.

I don't know how many 3rd, 4th, and 5th Sigils Edmund killed while we ran through the forest, but it was more than I could do right now, that's for sure. He even gave Alexos a run for his money with a potential chance at killing him with the spare bullet he took had I not fucked it all up for him.

I raise my hand back to my face as I resolve my lack of direction and start to practice Ether once more in this dream. The goal hasn't changed, not really, anyway; only the way I will have to go about it has. I need to be more careful and conscientious of what my actions will do. I'll do what I can to help Johnny in his goal, but I need to get that artifact first and foremost. I need to put that madman down permanently. I'm sure Otto would be willing to join me in that.

In the view of Chain Eyes see, small fragments of chain links emerge from my palm, little bits of Ether that manage to move under my ministrations. Everything is slow, and, well, I guess, tired is the only way to put it. Using a simple skill like Chain Eyes requires so much more effort and time than before. Like I have to first shake awake every tiny morsel of Ether that comes from my core.

But over time, these bits I shake awake start to coalesce in my palm as I try and make a snowflake with them. Gradually through focus and meticulous manipulation, I create an interweaving pattern of Ether on the surface of my hand. Through the vision of Chain Eyes, which makes strands of Ether with substance look like chains, I see a snowflake-like pattern of luminous steel.

I don't know if this small application of Ether does anything, but I don't care right now. I'm just experimenting while there is nothing else to do. I'm stuck in this dream of mine and am unable to use large amounts of Ether. So, I'm restricted to the small stuff.

With a bit more effort, I interweave the Ether even further, making the pattern more and more complex as it slowly grows. From each finger emerges dozens of multi-colored chains of Ether that stretch to other regions of my hand, overlapping, twisting, and coming together with the others.

After about what feels like an hour or so, I complete such an intricate web of Ether on my palm that I can no longer see the skin on my hand. All that I can see are interweaving and layered chains of Ether that adorn my palm.

This is what I need. Precision and delicate manipulation with Ether. So far, I've been rough and forceful in everything I do. That's why I can't use Reach and why something like Explosion does so much damage to me. The intricate constructions just don't come to me quickly, but while I'm here with nothing else to do, why not practice?

With all these links of chain on my hand, it has become hard to close my palm as if they are corporeal things that can block my movement. I move my palm and place it on my leg, where I feel a repelling force that keeps the two from touching. Interesting. With enough pressure, I can put the two together, but it is pretty tricky.

I swipe my hand to the side and try to remake the hand of chains. The Web or whatever. That's what I'll call it for now. It took me at least an hour to make that, and I have no idea how that translates to real-world time, but I'm sure it can't be much shorter than that.

So, I attempt it again to practice using Ether in a dream, a new skill, and more detail-oriented skills in general.

Again and again, I create the Web. Each time takes a little bit less time, and it comes out a little bit better, more efficient, and capable of repelling my leg. But as I do so, time slips away and becomes harder and harder to keep track of, besides faster and slower. The moon above doesn't move, and there is no clock to watch.

All there is for me to look at is grass and a ravine a few hundred feet away that is covered in rocks at the bottom. I don't think either of these came from me, and it's more likely that Aniwye somehow stitched these memories into mine to protect me. Can't have Angels fighting in my memories, right? That surely won't go well.

Eventually, I get the time to activate the Web down to a single minute from the previous hour, alongside reaching the point that I can no longer break through the repelling force with just my arm. And it's at this achievement that I start to worry about just how long I've been here. I figure because of how sluggish my Ether is that time is moving slower in here, but that might not be the case. And even if it is, I have no clue how long I've been here.

I've heard Johnny's voice now and then yell for me through the sky, but there has been nothing I can do. Or is there? Before I practiced with Web, I couldn't use any of my skills besides Chain Eyes due to their complexity while I'm asleep. But maybe that's changed now.

Energized by this thought, I delve once more into the possibilities of Ether as I turn to the two skills that may be capable of waking me up. Indefatigable and Rapturous. These two are complicated to use, yet at the same time, they might be able to wake me up. The former from its ability to give me energy and the latter to expel foreign Ether.

I spend a short moment considering which might be more likely to work before I set my sights on Rapturous. This isn't any normal sleep. I realized that the second my mind sunk under the surface of consciousness. This is sleep induced by the Ether of an Angel specialized in sleep and dreams.

Focusing inward, I move my stagnant Ether. It tries to disobey me in exhaustion, tiredness, or for some other unknown reason as I am asleep on the outside, but I've learned how to work with it. My Ether is me, and I am my Ether. We are one and the same, and as such, we share similarities. As I've practiced more and more, I've realized something.

My Ether is just as stubborn as I am. I give it an objective, and it will do it. If it is pushed aside or struck, it will hold on with everything it can. Not only is it stubborn, but it also seems to hate inaction. And the second I get it moving, even just a little bit, the Ether awakens and stands to attention.

All it takes is a short shake with Ironheart imbued with urgency, and the Ether bends to my will just as usual. From there, I move it as usual throughout my whole body, letting the essence of my Sigil shine through the Ether and activating Rapturous.

The moment that the skill capable of purging foreign Ether is fully activated and streaming through my veins, the entire realm around me shakes like it's under an earthquake, hurricane, and tsunami all at once. My feet become unstable as the air starts to crack into slices of my own mind around me. Memories break through those slices of air and reveal to me more of my past as I slowly awake.

The Ether of Ewaki is slowly dissolved over a full minute by Rapturous, compared to every other time where it's near instant, and I'm enraptured by the scenes that cut through.

For every memory of Ma being kind, I see one of her being harsh. I get praised for reading a passage in one and beat in another for not being able to tie a knot fast enough. Another has me hung up by my feet from a tree for not being able to spot Ma while she was hiding, and the opposite one has me being fed a buffet by Ma for doing my chores.

I am cut by a cleaver for cooking an awful dinner, and I am hugged for creating a delicious one.

I am told bedtime stories for not acting up throughout the whole day, and I am forced to hold my breath for a minute at a time for acting up before bed.

I am beaten to an inch of my life for not killing a deer that I had by bow aimed at, and I am congratulated and given a knife for helping take care of Butter when the horse was severely ill.

These dichotomic scenes seem to be never-ending. Nothing good ever comes without something bad, just as nothing bad ever comes without something good. Slowly, I am numbed by these scenes as they grow in number all around me as the world of this dream rapidly crumbles, my Ether breaking apart the memory Aniwye placed within me.

But as I am entirely surrounded by these memories, one catches my attention just as everything breaks simply because it has no dichotomic partner.

A blurry memory, one that either is so old that I can't remember it clearly at all or one that was purposely forced to be blurry, makes me stare right at it. And within this blurry memory is a tall man dressed in black with two obvious holsters on his hips. The blur covers his face and upper body the most as I see him look at me.

The perspective makes him and all the things around look giant, so I can only assume I am incredibly young in this memory. All that I can really make out on the man is a swirling red on one of the guns and a stark blue on the other that, with the blur, appear to be hourglasses.

He has a hand on each hip as he looks down at me, and I can somewhat see the skin on his arms under the long sleeves. The flesh on his arms appears cracked, broken, and stitched together all over from what I can see.

All I can do before the memory cracks into a million shards and disappears is realize that the figure must be Killian, my father. I did, in fact, have a memory of him. It is just so old and meddled with that it is barely understandable.

And from the mind-bending memories, the first thing I hear as my vision and consciousness returns to me is the never-ending and rapid gunfire of Downpour, Johnny's Colt.