“What’s with the sudden question?”

  The laugh Crys forced out

  trembled in his throat.

  “I just don’t like stuff that isn’t scientific.

  Not just magic—

  ghosts, Santa Claus—things like that.”

  “If you really hated magic,

  you wouldn’t play TO.

  There’s magic there. Ghosts too.”

  “Santa Claus isn’t exactly a thing,”

  Crys said.

  He meant it as a joke—

  the best one he could manage.

  In-game,

  TT would’ve caught the hint,

  let it drop,

  said something like

  So Santa’s the worst one, huh?

  and moved on.

  But here,

  TT just kept looking at him.

  Crys grew uncomfortable,

  pouting slightly.

  “So… what are you trying to say?”

  “If this were a dream,

  I’d probably just talk to you

  about fun stuff

  and let it end there.

  But this is real.

  And you’re here.

  So—

  I don’t want you struggling

  in this world.”

  “…Meaning?”

  “If magic’s necessary here,

  I want to help you use it.”

  I won’t use magic.

  The words rose to his throat.

  If it had been Soliorbis—

  he would’ve said it outright.

  But TT wasn’t forcing him.

  He knew Crys.

  He was saying this

  out of care.

  Crys bit his lip

  and swallowed the words.

  “If this is about the Color Initiation—it’s fine.

  Rone told me.

  The Orange Master

  didn’t believe in magic either,

  and still passed.

  And even if you try,

  some people never finish

  all the Initiations—

  not even in a lifetime, right?

  So there’s no point

  forcing it.

  I’m planning to find a way home.

  And even if I don’t—

  after three years,

  I’ll go back no matter what.

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  I’ll manage.

  Even without magic.”

  “Ad.”

  TT’s voice stopped him—

  steady, unmistakable.

  Crys,

  who’d been looking away

  and talking too fast,

  froze.

  “Am I only useful to you

  in the game?”

  The seriousness of it

  took his breath.

  Crys’s eyes darted,

  then stilled.

  He wanted to run.

  Instead,

  he forced himself

  to meet TT’s gaze.

  Embarrassed.

  Ashamed.

  He shook his head,

  then finally spoke.

  “…Will you listen—if I talk?”

  “Of course.”

  TT nodded,

  face earnest.

  Crys returned the nod,

  small,

  and let his thoughts drift

  to something

  he couldn’t get back.

  “I didn’t hate magic

  from the start.”

  He drew in a breath—

  and began.

  “When I was little,

  I think I believed more than anyone else did.

  It wasn’t about liking magic.

  Magic just… existed.

  That was normal to me.

  I read every fantasy novel in the library.

  Even academic papers about magic—

  the kind my classmates never touched—

  I’d flip through them anyway,

  even when I barely understood.

  When we got to elementary school

  and everyone started realizing

  magic wasn’t real,

  I still believed—

  enough that the noise around me didn’t matter.

  A lot of that was my parents.

  Instead of saying

  ‘face reality,’

  like most adults do,

  they accepted all of me—

  the part that believed in magic.

  When I waved a wand,

  ran around in a cloak,

  showed off a new spell,

  they joined in too.

  I baked cookies with Mom, using herbs.

  I went gemstone hunting in the mountains with Dad.

  Every day was tied to magic.”

  “So you had a phase like that too, Ad.”

  As Crys’s voice thinned,

  TT answered quietly.

  The gentleness in his tone

  sounded exactly like the voice

  Crys had imagined through chat.

  Crys forced a small smile,

  returning that care,

  and kept going.

  “I really believed.

  I thought magic could do anything.

  Even if it didn’t work in daily life,

  I was sure it would—

  on the day it truly mattered.

  So I practiced.

  Every day.

  And then…”

  Crys drew in a shaking breath.

  “The day my mom went cold

  and never woke up—

  I cast every spell I knew.

  Healing spells.

  Spells to call a soul back.

  Forbidden spells.

  I tried everything.

  I cried so hard I could barely speak.

  My legs shook so much I couldn’t stand.

  Tears blurred my vision—

  and still,

  I kept saying the words.

  I wished—from the bottom of my heart.

  If she could just look at me again, I’d give anything.

  But it didn’t matter.

  She never opened her eyes.

  Even when I needed it most,

  magic never showed up.”

  He swallowed, hard.

  “That’s when I finally understood.

  Magic doesn’t exist.

  The thing I believed in more than anything

  became something I hated.

  But—”

  Crys grabbed at his hair and shouted.

  “What I hate most

  is myself.

  For believing in something that wasn’t real.

  For not saving my mom.”

  Heavy tears fell,

  soaking into his black jeans.

  He wanted to stop crying,

  but didn’t know how.

  A broken sound slipped from his throat.

  Something he’d never been able to name,

  something he’d sealed away inside—

  finally broke open.

  TT pulled him close,

  holding him,

  patting his back to steady him.

  “Of course you’d hate it,” TT said quietly.

  “It feels like being betrayed

  by the thing you believed in.”

  He eased back,

  cupped Crys’s face in both hands,

  and wiped away the tears with his thumbs.

  Then he made Crys look at him.

  “But don’t say you hate yourself.

  You didn’t fail because you were weak.

  Believing in magic wasn’t a mistake.

  It’s painful, but—

  that time just came.

  Ad.

  I’m here.

  I’ll listen.

  As many times as it takes.

  So stop punishing yourself.”

  At that,

  Crys broke down completely.

  Like a river frozen all winter,

  cracking under spring light,

  time began to move again—

  tear by tear.

  The heavy, wordless weight in his chest

  grew lighter,

  as if it had sprouted wings.

  For the first time,

  it felt like he might be forgiven—

  for not saving Amelia.

  He hadn’t cried like this

  since she died.

  TT never looked away.

  Even as his hands grew wet with tears,

  he kept touching Crys’s face.

  For a while,

  Crys cried like a lost child

  who’d finally found home.

  When it slowed,

  when all that was left

  was a shaky breath,

  he wiped his face with his sleeve

  and muttered, hoarse,

  “Sorry.

  I showed you something pathetic.”

  “Crying isn’t pathetic,” TT said.

  “It was something you needed.”

  Crys wiped his eyes again.

  His expression eased, just a little.

  Tsek, who’d been quiet on TT’s shoulder,

  stretched its neck

  and rubbed against Crys’s head.

  Its feathers were soft.

  Smooth.

  Warm.

  “About what you were saying,” TT continued,

  stroking Tsek’s back.

  “You protected yourself

  by hating magic.

  That guilt—

  it was too heavy otherwise.”

  Crys nodded silently,

  biting his lip to hold the tears back.

  “Have you talked about this

  at Happy Halloween?”

  “Not yet.

  Actually… I just realized it now.

  The things that really need to be freed—

  they’re hard to put into words.”

  “If you haven’t talked about it,

  then the lid’s still open.

  That means you probably need

  a professional.”

  Crys almost said

  he had an appointment with Nash next week—

  but stopped.

  Soliorbis hadn’t told him how to go back.

  And even if he reached that white space again,

  whether the elevator would work

  felt like a gamble.

  Could he really return

  in just a few days?

  Crys looked up

  at the islands floating in the sky.

  If this world really mirrored TO,

  maybe there was a bug somewhere—

  a way out.

  But it felt impossibly far.

  Beside him,

  TT pressed a finger to his lips and thought aloud.

  “I’ve heard Yareq Ruach

  has a lot of healers.

  Probably therapists too.

  But that’s the Fourth Milu’im.

  It’d take time to get there.

  Getting sorted into Yareq Ruach

  might be faster—

  but your Tseva feels different.

  Which would mean…

  You want to go back to Chuts anyway.

  So we should focus on that.

  Since today connects Chuts

  and Emet Echad Olam,

  maybe it’s not just coming here—

  but going back, too.”

  Then TT paused.

  “Wait.

  Where did you come from?”

  “Where…”

  Crys lifted his hands.

  “I don’t really know.”

  But TT’s eyes were serious—

  like that answer mattered.

  “Everyone else was summoned

  straight to the great hall.

  You came through the doors

  with Soliorbis.

  Where were you before that?”

  “It was different for me.”

  Crys almost mentioned the white space—

  but remembered Soliorbis’s warning.

  “I can’t explain it fully.

  Somewhere high up.

  I wanted to go back the moment I landed—

  but I don’t think it’s possible.”

  TT answered at once,

  as if he’d expected it.

  “Let’s go see Tsitsi.”

  Before Crys could process it,

  TT said it again—

  stronger.

  “Let’s go see Tsitsi, Ad.”

  He stood in one smooth motion,

  cheeks flushed,

  and pointed at the milky-white castle.

  “You think Tsitsi is Seder Gador, right?

  If that’s true,

  exceptions can be made.

  You know her.

  You’ve met more than once.

  She knows you don’t want

  anything like this.

  Let’s talk to her.

  Ask her to send you back to Chuts.”

  Crys looked into TT’s eyes—

  flickering like flame in the light.

  And as he did,

  something lit inside him too.

  Going to see Tsitsi—

  he’d never even considered it.

  Tsitsi knew he avoided magic.

  If he explained patiently,

  maybe she would send him home.

  Even if she refused,

  he could try the white space again.

  And if both failed—

  TT would think of something.

  With TT as his buddy,

  there had never been anything

  they couldn’t figure out.

  A hope he’d almost forgotten

  swelled in Crys’s chest.

  “TT…

  will you help me?”

  “Of course.”

  TT smiled,

  winked a little too dramatically.

  Crys finally smiled back,

  took the offered hand,

  and stood.