"…I'll listen."
Shura's voice stayed low.
Careful.Shura didn't move, and neither did Osiris.
The room held them tight, small, like it had decided there were only ever two positions that mattered.
Two strangers, one bed, one badge, and a silence that still hadn't broken.
"…Not agree."
"…Just listen."
Osiris didn't respond immediately, but his smile shifted slightly, like something had clicked into place behind his eyes.
Silence stretched between them again, heavier this time, more deliberate than empty.
Shura's gaze drifted to the table, to the badge still untouched and too important to ignore, before returning to Osiris.
"…Before anything," Shura said,
"…why do you want that badge?"
Osiris blinked once. Simple question.
But his answer came just as simply.
"…To know something."
Shura frowned slightly.
"…Something what?"
Osiris didn't answer, and he didn't look away either—
he just waited, like the moment itself needed permission.
Shura let the silence sit between them, counting it without meaning to: one second, two, three.
Neither of them moved, and the waiting itself became the only thing in the room that was certain.
"…Not yet," Osiris said.
Shura exhaled through his nose.
"…Don't do that."
"…Don't argue," Osiris replied.
Flat.
Shura tilted his head slightly.
Thinking.
Adjusting.
"…Then tell me something else," he said.
"…I'll pay you."
That made Osiris pause.
Not much—
but enough.
"…How did you earn it?" he asked.
Shura didn't hesitate.
"…Curiosity."
Silence.
Osiris's eyes narrowed—just a fraction.
"…That's not an answer."
"…It is."
A beat.
"…I want to know everything."
That one stayed. It didn't echo it settled.
Osiris didn't speak, but behind his eyes something aligned, like a piece finally fitting where it was meant to go.
Not confirmation in words, but in stillness the kind that says that confirms it without ever needing to say it out loud.
"…Fine," Osiris said quietly.
His voice—
cool.
Controlled.
Like metal settling after heat.
"…Then allow me to check first."
Shura frowned.
"…Allow who?"
A small smile returned.
Too smooth.
Too easy.
"…Someone who's about to buy a bunk bed," Osiris said.
"…Since I'm apparently sharing a room with an idiot."
Shura stared at him.
Flat.
"…I'll change rooms."
"…The others are worse."
Shura glanced at the door.
Then back.
"…Do I have a choice?"
"…No."
"…Alright then," Shura muttered.
He pushed himself up slowly, steady despite the weight in the room.
He walked to the center and stopped there, completely still.
Osiris watched him closely now, no smile left only focus.
"…I don't actually know your dream," Osiris said.
"…Just an assumption."
Shura didn't respond, but something inside him tightened all the same, subtle but unmistakable, like metal heating under unseen pressure.
The air shifted just slightly, not enough to name, only enough to feel it change its weight.
Osiris's eyes sharpened in response, focus narrowing as the room stopped feeling like stillness and started feeling like intent.
"…There it is."
He stepped forward, careful and measured, closing the distance until it was too close to ignore.
Shura didn't step back, but his body noticed before his mind did, tightening in quiet resistance.
Osiris stopped there, watching for the smallest reaction.
"…You're an Observer-type Viora," Osiris said.
Not asking.
Shura's brow furrowed.
"…First," he said quietly,
"…tell me what Viora is."
Osiris studied him.
Longer this time.
"…You really don't know," he murmured.
He stepped forward, slow and measured, not mocking worse, confirming.
His hand lifted and came to rest on Shura's chest.
Contact landed, and everything shifted.
Shura didn't move outwardly, but internally he dropped like the ground beneath his mind had opened into something deep, dark, endless, and for a fraction of a second he felt something watching from beneath him that wasn't Osiris, and wasn't himself.
Then it snapped.
Violently.
The connection broke.
Osiris staggered back, the smile gone completely, his eyes widening not curiosity, not calculation, but fear.
His hand shot to his throat, fingers digging in as if something invisible had wrapped around it, and he couldn't breathe.
His body locked. Frozen.
Shura stared, confusion rising first then alarm.
"…Hey—"
Osiris dropped to one knee.
A sharp, broken inhale—
cut short.
Nothing moved right.
"…What—what did you—"
Shura stepped forward.
Then stopped.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't understand what just happened.
"…It's always my fault…" Shura muttered.
His voice—
shaking now.
"…Everywhere I go…"
Osiris tried to respond again, but nothing came through no voice, no breath, only resistance where air should have been.
His fingers tightened around his own throat, then started to tremble as if the body itself was losing agreement with the act.
Shura's hands hovered in the space between them, not touching, not helping, just held there like they were waiting for something to decide what this was.
"…What do I do…"
The room felt smaller, like the air itself had been compressed into something sharp and immediate.
Osiris's body jerked once, a reflex, then again as his hand slammed into the floor hard, grounding him back through pain and impact.
Air finally forced its way in, rough and broken, his grip loosening just enough for breath to return in shallow waves.
while Shura stood frozen, watching without understanding, only waiting as Osiris steadied himself slowly, unevenly, until he could finally speak.
"…Don't… touch me again."
His voice was hoarse.
Dry.
Different.
Shura blinked.
"…You touched me."
"…Then don't let me."
That landed harder than it should have, and Shura went quiet without realizing it.
Osiris lifted his head slowly, breath still uneven, and his eyes locked onto Shura again.
Not fear anymore, not fully something had shifted into place, something quieter but far more certain.
"…You're not just unstable," Osiris said quietly.
A pause.
"…You're dangerous."
Shura didn't respond, and he didn't deny it because he couldn't. He didn't know.
Osiris pushed himself up, unsteady at first, then regaining balance as control returned to his posture.
But the smile didn't come back immediately, and that absence said more than anything he had spoken.
"…That wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered.
More to himself than Shura.
His hand brushed his throat once.
Checking.
Confirming something invisible.
"…What did you see?" Shura asked.
Osiris looked at him.
Long.
Careful.
"…Nothing I can explain yet."
Shura frowned.
"…You keep saying that."
"…Because it's true."
Silence again.
But different now.
Heavier.
Real.
Osiris exhaled slowly.
Then—
"…Your origin," he said.
Shura blinked.
"…What?"
"…Where are you from."
"…Your surname."
That one—
stopped something.
Shura's expression didn't change much.
But his eyes did.
Just slightly.
"…I don't know," he said.
Osiris tilted his head.
"…Don't know?"
"…I don't have one."
A beat.
"…Or I don't remember."
Silence.
Osiris watched him closely.
Long enough to check if that was a lie.
It didn't feel like one.
That made it worse.
"…Fine," Osiris said quietly.
A pause.
"…Then answer this."
He stepped a little closer.
Not threatening.
Just… focused.
"…What's the strangest dream you've had?"
Shura didn't answer immediately.
This time—
he actually thought.
Not avoided.
Not deflected.
Remembered.
"…Xyrrhal."
The word left his mouth—
and stayed.
Osiris didn't react right away.
But his eyes sharpened.
"…Xyrrhal?" he repeated.
Quieter.
Testing the sound.
"…Yeah."
Shura's gaze drifted slightly.
"…Mountain."
"…Broken structures."
"…mother."
"…I don't fully remember."
Osiris went still.
Completely.
Then—
"…That's wrong," he said.
Shura looked back.
"…What?"
"…You shouldn't be able to dream about that."
"…Why?"
Osiris's fingers tapped lightly against his arm.
Thinking. Fast.
"…Because Xyrrhal is a dead ruin," he said.
"…We have nothing from it."
His eyes locked onto Shura again.
"…People don't go there," Osiris said.
"…Not for fear."
Another.
"…For nothing."
Shura frowned slightly.
Osiris continued, voice even—
"…There's nothing in Xyrrhal worth taking."
"…No relics. No value."
A beat.
"…The only reason someone goes there is for travel records."
"…Mapping routes. Crossing paths."
His gaze sharpened.
"…No one goes there to see anything."
"…Because there's nothing to see."
That landed.
Quiet.
Heavy.
Shura frowned slightly.
"…I saw it."
"…No," Osiris said.
"…You remember something."
Shura didn't respond, because that feeling sat too close to something real for him to shape it into words.
Silence stretched again, heavier now, no longer empty but held between them like pressure.
Osiris took a step back, creating space not out of comfort, but out of caution, as if proximity itself had become uncertain.
"…Tell me everything," he said.
Shura blinked.
"…What?"
"…Everything," Osiris repeated.
"…What you remember."
"…What you don't."
"…How you got here."
His voice lowered slightly.
More controlled.
More serious.
"…What you want."
Shura stared at him.
Long.
Measuring.
"…That's a lot."
"…Yes."
"…And why should I?"
Osiris didn't hesitate.
"…Because you don't understand what you are."
Silence.
"…And I might."
That sat between them.
Sharp.
Uncomfortable.
Shura looked down briefly.
At his hands.
Then back up.
"…And after that?"
Osiris's faint smile returned.
Thin.
Carefully placed.
"…Then I decide if helping you is worth it."
"…Or if you're just another problem waiting to die."
Shura didn't react immediately no anger, no argument, just quiet processing like he was trying to understand the shape of what had just been said.
It took a moment longer than it should have.
Then he exhaled.