The ethereal realm did not change.

  The little red island floated in the endless black water, the cherry blossom tree standing silently at its center. Petals drifted across the surface—too many now to count at a glance. Each one was a death. Each one a failure. Each one a reminder that Akitsu Shouga was still not finished.

  He stood ankle-deep in the black water, his katana hanging loosely at his side. His body no longer shook when he breathed. Pain had become familiar enough to dull itself.

  Behind him, the humanoid demon hovered, arms folded, grin thinner than before.

  “Forty doors,” the demon said lazily. “Forty attempts. Forty endings. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

  Akitsu didn’t turn around.

  “There is no end to this,” the demon continued. “No victory. No escape. You’re running in circles, boy. Give up.”

  Akitsu stepped forward, the black water rippling around his legs.

  The demon sighed. “You don’t even know what you’re looking for anymore.”

  Akitsu ignored him.

  Red doors floated everywhere—near, far, overlapping in perspective, drifting slowly like leaves on a dead river. Each one looked the same. Each one promised something different and delivered suffering all the same.

  He walked.

  One step. Then another.

  The silence pressed against his skull. At first, it was just emptiness. Then—something else. Faint echoes. Emotions not his own.

  Fear.

  Grief.

  Longing.

  The ethereal realm began to feel.

  Akitsu frowned, his steps slowing. “So you’re showing me this now,” he muttered. “Is that supposed to stop me?”

  The water felt heavier with every step. The doors seemed farther apart now. Or maybe he was just tired.

  “You can’t brute-force meaning,” the demon said from behind. “There is no ‘odd door.’ No miracle waiting for you.”

  Akitsu clenched his jaw and kept walking.

  Minutes passed. Or hours. Time meant nothing here.

  The emotions intensified.

  Regret clawed at his chest—memories that weren’t fully memories. Faces blurring together. Screams. The feeling of hands slipping from his grasp again and again.

  “Shut up,” he whispered, though no one was speaking.

  He walked faster.

  Then faster still.

  Soon he was running, splashing through the black water, breath sharp, eyes darting from door to door.

  “Which one?” he growled. “Which one is wrong? Which one doesn’t belong?!”

  The doors drifted past him in a blur of red.

  He thought about dying again—letting Aurora end it, returning here with another petal added to the count. But the thought rang hollow. Death no longer promised reset. Only repetition.

  “There’s no escape,” he said aloud, voice cracking. “So why am I still moving?”

  He ran until his legs burned.

  He ran until his vision blurred.

  He ran until his foot caught on nothing at all—and he collapsed forward, hitting the black water hard.

  His katana slipped from his hand and sank slightly before floating beside him.

  Akitsu lay there, chest heaving, face pressed close to the dark surface. For the first time since this began, he didn’t try to stand immediately.

  “…I’m tired,” he whispered.

  A hand reached out.

  Warm.

  Real.

  Akitsu froze.

  Slowly, he lifted his head.

  A woman stood before him, kneeling at the edge of the water, her expression gentle and aching all at once. Black hair tied neatly back. Familiar eyes filled with concern.

  “M… Mom?” Akitsu croaked.

  Behind her stood a smaller figure, half-hidden, clutching the woman’s sleeve.

  “Big brother?” the girl said softly.

  Aki Akitsu.

  His little sister.

  Akitsu’s breath hitched violently. “No… no, this isn’t—”

  His mother smiled sadly. “You’ve been walking for a long time, Shouga.”

  His hands trembled as he reached up, fingers brushing hers. She felt real. Solid.

  He grabbed her hand desperately. “Don’t disappear. Please. Just—just stay.”

  She pulled him to his feet with surprising strength. For a moment, he was standing between them, warmth on both sides, the ethereal realm fading into the background.

  “I can’t,” Kisuragi Akitsu said gently.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Aki tightened her grip on their mother’s sleeve. “You promised you’d come home,” she whispered.

  Akitsu’s vision blurred. “I’m trying. I swear I am. I just—everything keeps going wrong.”

  His mother’s eyes softened. “You’re still standing. That’s not nothing.”

  Their forms began to fade at the edges, light passing through them like mist.

  “Wait!” Akitsu shouted, panic flooding his voice. “Don’t go! I need you—”

  “I’m sorry,” his mother said. “You have to finish what you started.”

  Aki smiled, small and brave. “Don’t lose again, big brother.”

  And then they were gone.

  The black water was silent once more.

  Akitsu stood alone, shaking, teeth clenched hard enough to hurt. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve and took a long, unsteady breath.

  “…Alright,” he said hoarsely. “I’ll finish it.”

  He turned and opened the nearest red door.

  The world fell into silence.

  When he opened his eyes, wind brushed against his face.

  He was sitting on grass.

  Real grass.

  Akitsu blinked and slowly pushed himself upright. He stood atop a wide hill overlooking a massive kingdom. Towering stone walls stretched endlessly in both directions, banners fluttering from high ramparts. The city beyond was vast—far larger than anything he remembered.

  “…Fiester?” he murmured.

  It was too big.

  Too grand.

  A hand clapped down on his shoulder.

  “There you are,” a voice said cheerfully. “I was wondering if you’d fallen asleep standing up.”

  Akitsu spun around.

  A young man stood behind him, orange hair tied back loosely, sharp yellow eyes glinting with amusement. He wore travel-worn clothes and carried himself with easy familiarity.

  “…Who are you?” Akitsu asked.

  The man blinked. Then laughed. “Very funny. You hit your head or something?”

  “I asked who you are.”

  The man crossed his arms. “Rhen Calder. Your friend. Or did you forget that too?”

  Akitsu stared at him. “…Friend.”

  “Yeah. That’s usually how it works.”

  “Where are we?”

  Rhen raised an eyebrow. “Outside the Kingdom of Fiester. Where else?”

  Akitsu shook his head slowly. “No. This—this isn’t Fiester. It’s not this big.”

  Rhen studied him more carefully now. “You alright, Shouga?”

  Hearing his name like that—casual, unguarded—sent a strange warmth through Akitsu’s chest. He exhaled and sat back down on the grass.

  “…A lot has happened,” he said quietly.

  Rhen didn’t press. “Alright. Sun’s about to set. Let’s head back before the gates get annoying.”

  Akitsu nodded. “Yeah… okay.”

  They walked together toward the gates. As they approached, the guards straightened.

  “Evening,” one said. “You’re cutting it close.”

  “Sorry,” Rhen replied easily. “Got distracted.”

  The guards waved them through without question.

  Akitsu frowned. “They know me.”

  “Well, yeah. You live here.”

  “…Right.”

  They moved through streets filled with life—vendors closing up, children laughing, lanterns being lit. It felt normal. Too normal.

  “Where do I live?” Akitsu asked.

  Rhen glanced at him. “Garyen District. You’re my neighbor, remember? Seriously, did you hit your head?”

  “No,” Akitsu said after a pause. “I just… forget things sometimes.”

  Rhen hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t argue.

  When they reached the house, Akitsu hesitated at the door.

  Inside, voices spoke.

  A woman’s voice. Familiar.

  “Shouga, wash your hands,” she called. “Dinner’s ready.”

  His chest tightened.

  He stepped inside.

  The house was warm. Lived-in. His mother stood by the table, stirring a pot. Aki sat already seated, swinging her legs.

  “You’re late,” Aki said, pouting.

  “Sorry,” Akitsu replied automatically, though his mind was screaming.

  They ate together. Simple food. Laughter. Complaints about school. Rhen wasn’t there—just family.

  Akitsu watched them closely, memorizing every movement, every expression.

  After dinner, he retreated to his room and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

  “This isn’t Fiester,” he whispered.

  But for now… it was quiet.

  And for the first time in countless deaths, he slept.