Shura didn't move.
Osiris didn't either.
The room held them—
tight.
Small.
Two strangers.
One bed.
One badge.
One silence that hadn't broken yet.
"…I'll listen."
Shura's voice stayed low.
Careful.
"…Not agree."
A pause.
"…Just listen."
Osiris didn't respond immediately.
But his smile—
shifted.
Just a little.
Like something had aligned inside his head.
Silence stretched.
Shura's eyes drifted—
to the table.
The badge.
Still there.
Untouched.
Important.
Too important.
His gaze returned.
"…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.
He didn't look away either.
Just… waited.
Choosing.
Shura let the silence sit.
One second.
Two.
Three.
"…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.
A pause.
"…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.
That confirms it.
The dream…
and his Viora.
"…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.
A pause.
"…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."
Silence.
"…Alright then," Shura muttered.
He pushed himself up.
Slow.
Steady.
Walked to the center of the room.
And stopped.
Still.
Osiris watched him closely now.
No smile this time.
Just focus.
"…I don't actually know your dream," Osiris said.
"…Just an assumption."
Shura didn't respond.
But something inside him—
tightened.
The air shifted.
Barely.
Like heat over metal.
Osiris's eyes sharpened.
"…There it is."
He stepped forward.
Careful.
Measured.
Too close.
Shura didn't step back.
But his body noticed.
"…You're an Observer-type Viora," Osiris said.
Not asking.
Shura's brow furrowed.
"…First," he said quietly,
"…tell me what Viora is."
That pause—
mattered.
Osiris studied him.
Longer this time.
"…You really don't know," he murmured.
Not mocking.
Worse—
confirming.
His hand lifted.
Slow.
Deliberate.
No sudden movement.
Then—
he placed it on Shura's chest.
Contact.
Everything changed.
Shura reacted—
not outwardly.
Internally.
His body stayed still.
But his mind—
dropped.
Not pushed.
Not pulled.
It fell.
Like the ground beneath it had opened.
Deep.
Dark.
Endless.
For a fraction of a second—
he felt something.
Not Osiris.
Not himself.
Something deeper.
Watching.
Then—
it snapped.
Violently.
The connection broke.
Osiris staggered back.
The smile—
gone.
Completely.
His eyes widened.
Not curiosity.
Not calculation.
Fear.
Immediate.
His hand shot to his throat.
Fingers digging in.
Like something invisible had wrapped around it.
He couldn't breathe.
His body locked.
Frozen.
Shura stared.
Confusion—
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.
Failed.
Air wouldn't come.
His fingers tightened further around his throat—
then trembled.
Shura's hands hovered in the air.
Not touching.
Not helping.
Just… there.
"…What do I do…"
The room felt smaller.
Too tight.
Too fast.
Osiris's body jerked slightly.
A reflex.
A fight for control.
Then—
his other hand slammed against the floor.
Hard.
A dull sound.
Grounding. Again. Another hit.
Breath—
forced through.
Rough.
Broken.
But real.
His grip loosened.
Just enough.
Air slipped in.
Shallow. Painful.
But his lungs moved again.
Shura froze.
Watching.
Not understanding—
but waiting.
Osiris stayed there.
Head lowered.
Breathing uneven.
His shoulders rose and fell—
too fast.
Too sharp.
Then slowly—
it steadied.
Not normal.
But controlled.
After a long moment—
he spoke.
"…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.
Shura went quiet.
Osiris lifted his head.
Slowly.
His eyes locked onto Shura again.
Not fear anymore.
Not fully.
But something had changed.
Something certain now.
"…You're not just unstable," Osiris said quietly.
A pause.
"…You're dangerous."
Shura didn't respond.
Didn't deny it.
Because he couldn't.
He didn't know.
Osiris pushed himself up.
Unsteady at first—
then stable.
Controlled again.
But the smile didn't come back immediately.
"…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."
A pause.
"…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.
Flat.
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."
A pause.
"…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."
A beat.
"…Why?"
Osiris's fingers tapped lightly against his arm.
Thinking.
Fast.
"…Because Xyrrhal is a dead ruin," he said.
"…We have nothing from it."
A pause.
His eyes locked onto Shura again.
"…People don't go there," Osiris said.
A pause.
"…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."
A pause.
"…Because there's nothing to see."
That landed.
Quiet.
Heavy.
Shura frowned slightly.
"…I saw it."
"…No," Osiris said.
Flat.
"…You remember something."
Shura didn't respond.
Because that—
felt closer to the truth than he liked.
Silence stretched.
Osiris took another step back this time.
Creating space.
Not out of comfort—
out of caution.
"…Tell me everything," he said.
Shura blinked.
"…What?"
"…Everything," Osiris repeated.
A pause.
"…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."
A pause.
"…Or if you're just another problem waiting to die."
Shura didn't react immediately.
Didn't get angry.
Didn't argue.
He just… processed it.
Slowly.
Then—
he exhaled.