Shura tried to move again.
This time—
it worked.
Not fully. But enough.
His legs held.
For a moment.
Then trembled.
He exhaled slowly.
I'm in the Deep…
Of course it was harder.
Everything here resisted.
Even movement.
A faint smile crossed his face.
Back there at Surface..
He used to train.
Run.
Push his body until it burned.
Now—
Walking itself—
was training.
"…Heh."
A quiet sound.
Almost disbelief.
He sat.
A bowl in his hands.
Steam rose gently.
He stared at it—
lost.
Thoughts drifting.
Too far.
Too heavy.
His hand tilted slightly.
The stew spilled.
Warm liquid dripping across his fingers—
onto the floor.
Shura blinked.
No anger.cNo frustration.
Just acceptance.
Zenkyou's voice echoed in his mind.
"…you lost something important."
He didn't move. Didn't clean it.
Just sat there.
The door opened.
No knock.
Zenkyou stepped in.
Casual. Unbothered.
She glanced once—
and understood everything.
"…Eating already?"
A beat.
Then she smirked.
"Did you trap the lady with questions?"
"I didn't."
A voice from outside—
distant. Deadpan.
"He did."
Zenkyou laughed.
Short. Light.
Then—
After a moment—
Shura looked down.
"…Why?"
Zenkyou raised an eyebrow.
"Why what?"
"Why did you help me?"
A pause.
"Someone with no identity. No place."
Zenkyou tilted her head.
"…Are you asking a question?"
"…Or answering one?"
Shura blinked.
"…What?"
Zenkyou leaned forward slightly.
"Should I have left you there?"
A pause.
"Broken. Barely moving. Barely remembering anything?"
Shura looked away.
He had no answer.
"Still stuck in bed?" she asked.
Shura hesitated.
"…I can't move properly."
Zenkyou stood.
Walked over.
Grabbed his arm.
Pulled him up.
Shura stood—
For one second.
Then fell. Hard.
Zenkyou didn't catch him.
She could have.
She didn't.
"That's not fair," Shura muttered.
Zenkyou crossed her arms.
"I'm here to guide you."
A pause.
"Not babysit you."
She stepped closer.
No warning.
Her hand pressed lightly against his chest.
Shura flinched.
"Stay still."
Silence.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"…It's slow."
"…Unsteady."
Her hand remained.
"Like it's thinking too much."
Shura frowned.
"…What does that mean?"
Zenkyou didn't answer.
Instead—
she grabbed his wrist.
And placed it—
against his own chest.
"Feel it."
Shura stiffened.
A beat.
"…It's normal."
Zenkyou let go immediately.
"No."
A pause.
"Your heart don't works as normal."
Shura blinked.
"I trained a lot."
A faint breath.
"…I was one of the fittest on the surface."
Zenkyou smirked.
"Surface again?"
"…Imagination?"
Shura didn't reply.
Zenkyou stepped back.
"Fine," she said. "I'll teach you."
A pause.
"The basics of Viora again."
Shura looked up.
"…Again?"
Zenkyou ignored the question.
"Everyone has it."
"Same amount."
"Difference is control."
She gestured toward him.
"You're leaking it."
Shura frowned.
"Leaking?"
"You're thinking too much."
A pause.
"Feeling too much."
Another.
"And controlling none of it."
She stepped closer again.
"Sit."
He did.
"Close your eyes."
A breath.
"Control your thoughts."
"Control your emotions."
"Don't chase them."
"Let them pass."
Shura tried.
Failed.
Tried again.
His breathing uneven.
His chest tight.
Zenkyou placed her hand on his chest again.
This time—
firm.
Forcing.
Something shifted.
For a moment—
Everything aligned.
The noise stopped.
The weight lifted.
The Viora—
stabilized.
Shura's eyes widened.
"…That—"
He gasped.
"…That's what it's supposed to feel like?"
Zenkyou pulled her hand back.
"It was a glimpse."
"Not yours yet."
Silence lingered.
Then—
Shura spoke.
"…I saw something."
Zenkyou glanced at him.
"A dream?"
Shura nodded slowly.
"…Strange."
A pause.
"…And scary."
His hands tightened slightly.
"…It felt real."
The room grew quieter.
The light dimmed slightly—
as the Beacon shifted above.
Zenkyou didn't interrupt.
She waited.
Because some things—
needed to be said slowly.
Or not at all.
Shura hesitated.
Then—
"…Have you ever seen a mountain outside the walls?"
Zenkyou paused.
Not long.
But enough.
"A mountain…?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Which one?"
Shura blinked.
"…Which one?"
Zenkyou leaned back a little.
"There's more than one direction outside the walls."
A beat.
"West-North?"
Shura frowned.
He looked upward, searching the heavy, grey ceiling for a light that wasn't artificial.
"…There's no sun."
Zenkyou went still.
Not a normal pause.
A total cessation of movement.
She stared at him.
Flat.
Unblinking.
"The… Strange word again?
Shura blinked.
"…The sun. How do you even measure directions without it?"
Zenkyou didn't answer immediately.
She reached into her coat and pulled out the Pulse-Dial—a heavy brass disk with a single, trembling drop of liquid gold trapped in the center.
"You're saying words that don't exist, Shura."
A small, cold exhale.
"There is no 'up' to measure. There is only the weight of the stone and the rhythm of the Beacons."
She tapped the glass of the dial.
The gold droplet flickered, pulled toward the distant center of the Beacon of Ossuarium.
She traced a circle in the air with a scarred finger.
"The Six Crowns are the only fixed markers in the world. You don't look for 'North.' You look for the Beacon."
Shura stared at the dial.
The gold wasn't measuring geography.
It was measuring Authority.
"…The Kingdoms are the compass," Shura whispered.
He understood now.
Slightly.
Then Shura frowned.
"West-North?"
Zenkyou nodded once.
"Xyrrhal."
The word landed heavy.
"…What is that?" Shura asked.
"Ruins."
"Nothing lives there."
Shura's expression didn't ease.
"…I don't think it was random."
Zenkyou tilted her head.
"Dreams usually are."
Shura shook his head.
Slow.
"…I saw her."
A pause.
"My mother."
His voice tightened.
"…Her face was cracked."
Zenkyou didn't move.
Didn't react.
"…And that mountain…"
A breath.
"…was right behind her."
Silence.
Zenkyou leaned back against the wall.
Arms crossing.
"Dreams are meaningless."
Her tone—
casual.
Too casual.
"Forget it."
But it didn't feel dismissive.
It felt—
intentional.
Like she was pushing it away.
For him.
Shura didn't argue.
He tried to stand again.
Slow.
Careful—
His legs gave out.
He fell. Again. And again.
No complaint.
No anger.
Just repetition.
Zenkyou watched.
"…Don't force it."
"I think Yura will handle you better."
Shura glanced up.
"…Why?"
"She's your age."
A beat.
"More patient."
Shura looked down.
"…I don't want to be a bur—"
"Finish that sentence—"
Zenkyou cut in instantly.
"—and I'll feed you to a monster."
Shura froze.
"…Monster?"
Zenkyou's expression didn't change.
But her eyes—
sharpened.
"…Don't tell me you don't know what monsters are."
Shura hesitated.
"…Stories."
"…Just stories."
Silence.
Zenkyou stared at him.
Long.
Then—
she grabbed him.
Her hand felt like a vice of cold iron.
She lifted him.
Like he was made of nothing but hollow bone and dust.
"Wait—"
She didn't wait.
With a single, fluid motion, she tossed him through the doorway.
Shura hit the ground.
Hard.
The stone floor was freezing—
a sudden, sharp reminder of the world's weight.
He rolled, his breath hitching, and looked back toward the window where Zenkyou stood.
She was a silhouette against the golden glare of the Beacon.
"…HEY—!"
He didn't just see her.
Inside—
A sharp, jagged frequency of amusement.
"I can feel it," Shura rasped.
He stared at her through the glass.
"I can feel what you're thinking."
Zenkyou stepped out into the hall.
She wasn't angry.
She was laughing.
"Fighting Yun Shi's Severance was easier than dealing with you."
Shura went still.
He didn't understand that.
But he understood the tone.
Don't ask.
He opened his mouth—
then stopped.
A beat.
"…Yeah."
He let out a small laugh.
Quiet But real.
Zenkyou noticed.
Immediately.
She went still for a fraction of a second.
Watching him.
That was new.
Since the moment they met—
he hadn't laughed.
Not once.
"…Took you long enough," she muttered.
But her voice—
was lighter now.
Shura exhaled.
Still on the ground.
Still unable to stand.
But—
not as heavy as before.
Zenkyou turned slightly.
"We start properly tomorrow."
Shura looked at her.
"…Tomorrow?"
"Yeah."
She smirked faintly.
"Try not to fight the floor until then."
She walked off.
Like it was nothing.
Shura stayed there.
Breathing.
Thinking.
"…Xyrrhal…"
The word echoed.
Ruins.
Nothing lives there.
But in his dream—
It stood. Clear. Unbroken.
Shura clenched his hand slightly.
This time—
it held.
Small strength.
But real.
And for the first time—
he didn't feel completely lost.
Just—
behind.