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The sun blazes forth in the vast blue sky.
Always has been for the past-
"How many years now?" he murmurs softly, his voice hoarse from disuse.
Clouds were non-existent for the most part, but sometimes, they would swirl around him like dreamy halos when he looked up, and birds (seagulls?) would fly and call out to him, filling the dusty breeze with ambient sound.
Sometimes it would be replaced by their laughter.
_____________________________________________________
The landscape changes.
The ever-bright sun and the sky remain the same tranquil, ancient blue, but the air becomes frigid and ice now strokes his cheeks; the land transforms into a blanketed snowscape. He pulls his cloak tighter around him, waiting for it to pass.
Aeons ago, when it was cold in the forest, she would-
She-
Emma. Emma!
He falls to his knees. Drags his hands through the hard, cold, unforgiving frost.
"Where are you?" he's crying out. Has been for a very long time. "Why did you leave? You promised you wouldn't leave."
The blizzard winds howl and threaten to freeze his soul; his body is racked with shivers-not from the cold-and his mind, which feels like it's falling apart, searches for the cure to his disease. He doesn't really care about himself, though. He's just doing it for Norman, even though he didn't need his pitiful existence invading his plans, and Emma, even though she's already gone.
Gone.
It feels so foreign to him, the concept of Emma not being...there anymore. But this feeling-that...that little something that pushes him on and on, the voice that whispers "Just a little more!", sounds so much like her that he cannot bear to let go of it.
"You're insane. You've gone insane," he chuckles bitterly, finally pulling out something from his pocket. The glint of the polished metal catches the sunlight, showing the gold-rimmed, dark lapis lazuli eye.
It's as if the amulet is calmly gazing at him, giving him peace like it has all these years.
Ah, yes, peace. Peace from the ink-black, swirling clouds of obscuring mist, surrounding him and pulling him into now-faded shadows of the past, of books, clocks and Vida flowers, peace from his own torturous memories.
He keeps it safely around his neck, the metal almost frozen stiff in place. Good. He doesn't ever want to lose it.
The man curls up into a nearby tree, its leaves still somehow fresh, green and intact in this freezing winter; he picks up a fragment of snow and squeezes it between his fingers, but it doesn't melt. Of course it doesn't, it's not real. Nothing here is, he reminds himself, letting go of the phantom in his hand.
He takes out his diary.
Something he'd found in the library in those two months after Norman had been shipped out, and something he'd used to take notes about the demons and any vital information he'd gathered about the real world and William Minerva's allies.
Ah, right. William Minerva. Norman.
Is Norman still alive? Is he okay?
Please. Please let him be okay. Let him be alive, at least.
It's been so long, he's probably-
Stop.
Focus on other things.
Lately, the pages had just been scribbled on with tally marks-about 54 pages had been invested into just tally marks so far.
A small scrawled 'X' had been marked at the end of every 365 tally marks, sometimes 366.
With shaking hands, he marks another X at the end of a long and exhausting countdown till 366. Counting the number of marks, he reaches
Forty years.
Forty damn years.
_______________________________________________________
The landscape changes yet again.
He's caught up in a thick fog; it's almost impossible to see anything in it, but he couldn't possibly miss the massive shadow darkening the bright skies, or the playfully ominous tinkling of chimes.
No, he meant it. It sounded exactly like a wind chime.
While in the House (ah, the House, such nostalgia), Norman had once insisted about making a wind chime as Emma had just read Peter Pan, and wanted to see fairies. Apparently, they were attracted to sounds of other fairies, and since fairies sounded like tinkling bells, she'd wanted to hang one up on a tree and keep watch near it.
It had done the job of lulling all three of them to sleep instead.
This was similar.....but different.
This sound was deeper, as if it came from a cave, with a deep bass that shook the ground, but it was very subtle compared to the soft tinkling melody. The first time he had heard it, he'd steeled himself for the worst and even taken out his rifle.
That time, the source of the sound had responded with an even more disturbing, harsh, grating roar.
Now it just softly, gently, lands in front of h-it doesn't even land. It levitates five feet from the damn ground.
"Greetings."
"Hi," he greets tiredly.
The thick grey fog suddenly clears up.
Now they're standing in the middle of a picturesque, sunny, yellow grassland, with a few large rocks scattered all over. No trees.
The dragon seems rather intrigued by the terrain, slowly moving to finally fully sit on the grass, its scales illuminated by the sunlight, single eye blinking curiously.
"This is a pretty view."
He still doesn't know how to feel around Cuvitidala.
______________________________________________________________
It had been at least....at least one or two decades since he'd first encountered it; more like it had swooped on him out of nowhere and scared the daylights out of him. And the way it spoke was certainly weird: its voice sounded like a blend of a male and a female voice.
At first, he'd asked. The first thing he'd done was ask.
"Where's Emma?!" he pleaded. It had been at least five years. Five fruitless years searching for her, and he felt like he was at his limit, his head about to explode, his throat red raw from screaming and his voice hoarse with grief.
After they had first entered the desert, Emma had rejoiced; after all, they had finally made it out of the hellish maze of the illusionary shelter. But upon discovering that there seemed to be nothing worthwhile, they decided to experiment by shooting arrows into the sandstorm.
And that's when Emma suddenly cried out.
She'd cried out his name until she was somehow magically reduced to the body of an infant. This wasn't new-they had reverted back to their childlike appearances many times in the maze. Emma (now a baby) simply squeezed her eyelids together as if in pain and writhed in his arms, swaddled in her oversized clothes.
"Come on, get a hold of yourself, Emma!" he groaned, cradling her protectively. "Now's not the time f-"
Crack.
As quickly as she had regressed into infancy, the warmth of Emma's body, of her fragile life nestled in his arms, had broken apart into glass shards of puzzle pieces, falling to the ground and mingling with the scorching sands.
The cloth covering her was cast away. The person holding her now frantically trying to gather what was lost.
When he'd finally given up after what seemed like weeks, all he found was her amulet. Emma's amulet.
He hadn't just lost her that day. He'd lost himself.
"Please, just tell me! Where is Emma?! Where did you take her?!" he'd wept many years later, his rifle pointlessly aimed at the dragon, who narrowed its eye, almost in pity.
"The other human?" it replied.
"Gone, of course. Like all the others."
_____________________________________________________________
The dragon had provided the man company, and for that, he was grateful. However, the overpowering, harsh bitterness he felt towards it, towards the Seven Walls and the Demon King, overshadowed most of it for the first few years.
As time went on, however, he'd grown listless and weary, lost and distant.
Pathetically aching for something, anything, to escape the hell that was isolation.
He had once torn his coat in a fall from a mountainside that had appeared out of nowhere; he instead took to patching it up and wearing it as a cloak, thankful that his black turtleneck and blue scarf were still intact.
Throwing the hood back, he turns to face Cuvitidala, who, for some reason, found itself in his company more often than not.
He takes a seat on a rock, right in front of the beast.
"Why are you still here?" he asks, and immediately regrets it. Because he's terrified. He'll never admit it, but he's terrified that if he does get a reason, then the dragon will leave him in agonising solitude. Permanently.
"The One has sent me to keep my eye on you," it replies factually.
"Doesn't your eye see everything?!" he questions, incredulous but comforted.
"Truly it does," it admits, blinking its single eye.
Got you, he smirks, exhausted. He just really needs an answer. "Answer my question."
"Would you prefer being alone?"
He stills.
He thinks about how the world within the Seven Walls had aligned itself to become his personal hellhole after Emma left him.
After he'd finally broken and swallowed the fact that he'd never see her again, the desert had vanished, and he'd fallen back into Grace Field House, seeing the corpses of innocent children getting devoured and his siblings screaming in pain. Seeing Mama again had made him simultaneously want to brave the whole ordeal and just lose his sanity.
He thinks about how he'd found his way out of Grace Field alone and immediately fallen into Goldy Pond's town square, Emma's bloodied body decorating the grounds and Leuvis standing over her, fangs bared.
He thinks about how he saw himself killing Andrew, who murdered so many of their friends. About how conflicted he felt when he saw that he looked just like Mama-with burning hatred and ugly, murderously twisted satisfaction engraved onto his features.
He thinks about how warped Norman looked as his best friend looked at him with betrayal in his sapphire eyes and pointed a Vida to his chest, how he'd smiled peacefully as he impaled himself and doubled over, red on red on a floor of demon corpses.
He thinks about how when all of it was over, he'd found himself in the desert once more.
From then on, he'd kept walking.
Never once stopping to rest.
"......No."
"It is obvious. Loneliness is the most painful way to go. Do you think so?"
He stirs some herbal tea and sips from his canister, and breathes, feeling his whole being ache.
He breathes, not knowing how long it will last.
The murals on the ceilings of the temple all had demons painted on them, except the one with the place of Day and Night.
Which meant..that no demon had ever reached that place. Like me, they all lost themselves in the maze of the Walls, now just ghastly husks wailing in the distance.
Why am I still here?
Why can't I just drop dead now?
"That it is."
____________________________________________________________
It seems like Cuvitidala isn't too averse to questions.
"What's the concept here?"
"It is a metaphysical puzzle of sorts. The One seeks to test the strength of those who gather the will to venture into the Seven Walls. And, as you have guessed, the laws of time and space are irrelevant in this space."
He notices how it artfully dodges the topic of how to solve the puzzle. Something which he's been searching...for...
His breath catches in his throat.
"Am I...am I still searching for it?" he thinks aloud. Yeah. Yeah, he was. He was, wasn't he? That's why he'd been roaming aimlessly all over this godforsaken place, right?
For decades, you useless piece of shit.
He'd have figured it out ages ago. But here he was, still stuck in the Seven Walls.
Would they be happy? It was debatable. Emma was-
Wait.
Em...ma?
"Who...is that?"
It starts out as a harsh whisper, and then repeats itself until he's clawing his throat out. It's driving his brain crazy. The syllables repeat themselves in his mind until they're not making any sense at all. "Who is that?"
Was she the person he saw, again? A girl, right?
Wait, he saw a girl in this place?
This originally was a desert, right? It seemed silly. He was alone.
He was alone.
Always had been since-
"Who....."
"Who am I.....?"
Yet again he falls from the mountainside.
It doesn't hurt, no matter if his body bruised and tattered as he reaches the foot of the hill, the dragon's eye boring a hole into him as it flies above him, coming closer and closer into his range of sight.
"It's time," it says peacefully, sitting before him, beckoning him to stand and follow it.
Follow it into...where?
The dragon looks down. And he drags himself to see where its gaze lies.
An abyss.
An abyss, his head sings, taking in the sight of the vast canyon a mere five feet away, and the eerie, low-pitched growl emanating from the void.
"What," he chokes. "What is this...?"
"Eternal Darkness," it replies. "Where every other mortal has descended."
Every other mortal.
He was going to die in another half-century. And it's not like he had a purpose anymore...but-
But.... he can still hear the voice.
Come on, you're almost there.
No, I'm not.
Please, just a little more.
I've had enough. I can't take this anymore.
Do this for everyone else. For our family.
They're gone. I can barely even remember them. There's no way out for me.
Ray.
It's crying now.
Ray, please. Don't give up.
I already have.
He steps forward, and he falls.
___________________________________________________________
A cube.
He falters a little, stirring within a cocoon of dark strings.
A cube and an hourglass.
How long has it been?
He wants to say he's done. He wants to say that he's done, but something stops him. A soft, melodious, brutally familiar voice.
The Curtain of Dark is not the end.
The bridge is to Inferno
Then to Purgatorio
Then to Paradiso.
The clue is to look within
Much deeper than the mind we know.
Where have I heard this?
"That's right. The diaries of the Ratri Clan!"
That voice-
The curtain shifts. Everything's a bit less suffocating.
It reminds him of the times he had spent in the attic of the House, sitting on a large, old casket full of old curtains with a lamp beside him, reading, moonlight streaming through the frayed pale drapes and the wind singing lullabies in his ears. He would later fall asleep, wrapped in dusty, beautifully embroidered cloth, moths and dancing speckles of light fluttering in his hands and tears in his eyes.
He breathes.
"Eternal Darkness. Where every other mortal has descended."
How the hell am I still breathing?
He tries to move his hand, slowly clenching his fist and relaxing. He can't see anything, not even his own body. He can't hear or smell or feel, but he can sense that he's moving, or at the very least, he's trying to move. The choking weight has lessened, but it's far from gone. The breeze blows even stronger now.
Wait, the breeze?
"Move-"
He coughs, feeling heavy-headed. His voice won't come out.
He tries bending his knee.
Move.
Breathe.
Move.
Breathe.
Come on, you can do this.
She's there. She's here somewhere. Anywhere.
He tries to sit up, feeling the weight lessen a bit more, despite his legs feeling like numb, heavy logs attached to his torso.
He needs to move, quickly.
There's a stinging pain in his chest, but he tries to ignore it. It only burns further, piercing into his heart.
Come, on, you need to-
"Still haven't figured it out?"
It's her. She's alive and she's not dead and she's okay she's okayokayokayokay
It's Em-
She's right there, in front of him, clad in her pure white blouse and black trousers, white bow clumsily tied, ribbons flowing serenely around her. The world is dark; something which she illuminates easily with her very presence, glowing ethereally in golden light. Her emerald eyes shine like stars in the darkness, fiery strands of hair framing her features.
She stands tall, strong, graceful, and confident before him, smile softening.
"Ray."
The darkness shatters.
The world around him itself shatters; he feels himself being lifted up, up until he's literally lying face-up in the clouds, the sun illuminating the sky once more-he would think it was Heaven itself. Heaven. Paradiso. He wants to laugh, wants to cry, but his voice still won't come out.
Emma. Emma, it's you. You came back. You're alive.
"No," she whispers, silently walking towards him, sitting next to him and placing his head on her lap, stroking his hair. "This isn't me, Ray, no matter how much you want it to be."
I don't care! I don't care anymore! You're here, and that's-
But-" she continues, upon sensing his useless plea, "-I'll be here for you as long as you need me."
Even forever, then?
"Even forever," she agrees, grinning mischievously.
"Don't go."
The first words he speaks are tainted with rough, serrated misery. He tries to continue.
"Please. Stay. I can't. I ca-"
"You can, Ray. You have to."
"Why?!"
It's a question he's been asking his whole damn life. Why? Why was he born? To remember the truth and help Emma and Norman escape? That was relevant. But, otherwise, he didn't exactly have a purpose. He hadn't really accomplished anything since the escape, after all.
Protecting his family? Helping Emma reach the Seven Walls? That was all bullshit. She could have done all those things without him. Without him, everything would've been the same, just.....without him being there.
"Ray."
This time, when he looks up at her, she has a fearful and foreboding-yet stern-look on her face. It's as if she knows what he's going to say.
I should have died that time. That time when I was about to set myself on fire. There really is no place for me here, is there?
Emma's face twists in disgust, and Ray feels his heart scream and contort.
He has two reasons for living: Emma and Norman. And neither of them needed him.
And deep down-he doesn't want them to cast him away; the human psychological need for company be damned.
He braces himself for the scolding that will follow, for the lecture that she's going to say about her saving him for a reason and that she needed him and she and their siblings would be sad if he died. Instead-
"Why do you think so low of yourself all the time?"
"Huh?"
There's several layers of answers to that one, he thinks dryly, knowing full well that Emma (or rather, this illusionary version of her) can hear his thoughts. I hope I can list all of them.
"Ray."
Her tone of voice is still stern, but her eyes are full of tears. The sun dims a bit.
"Em-"
Oh, right. She's just an illusion. Emma would never cry like this.
It's like the illusion is punishing me.
Just like--
....Just like.......I wanted to punish myself......
She's......an illusion........
"The world within the Seven Walls had aligned itself to become his personal hellhole after Emma left him."
After.....I gave up.....and mentally collapsed...
"The laws of time and space are irrelevant in this space."
So there must have been a tertiary force driving the Seven Walls.
"To stop time and reverse it.......If only there was a way..."
"But it's impossible for humans to do that....right?"
But here...the limits of spacetime are distorted.
"The One has sent me to keep my eye on you."
Why.....? Was there....something I could do.......?
"I'll be here for as long as you need me......Even forever."
But you aren't real.
You're.........
You're...........in my head......
Was this......all a projection of my own subconscious......?
Emma pulls him in close, the clouds parting as they both float in the vast sky, the sun now blazing behind them as if searing spacetime itself.
Ray closes his eyes, and for once, shakily breathes in the fantasy, arms holding her tight as if she just might float away.
No, she won't, he'll make sure she won't.
Her cheek grazes his, hands rubbing his back, and he realises that they're suddenly the same height.
They're the same height-and he sees his reflection in her eyes: a childish visage he finally remembers from many decades ago.
"Decades", huh?
Was that my own head too?
"You finally did it," she whispers. "You know it now, don't you, Ray?"
"I'll be honest, Emma," he answers, voice broken. "I'm scared. I don't know how this is supposed to work. I don't know if I can do this!"
"You aren't as lost as you think, Ray. You're more than a Lost Boy," she teases. "Neither are you alone. Did you already forget that I'll be with you as long as you need me? Even if it's forever and ever?"
He....laughs? Cries? "Silly Emma, this version of you isn't even real-"
"So what?!" Emma giggles. "Besides, it's easy. It's like when we were kids and we felt like we could do anything!"
"Like flying with 'fairy dust' that was actually pollen and dry mud?"
"Heeeeyy! That was one time!"
"I know, sorry for teasing." He pokes her puffed cheeks as she pouts, a stray tear rolling down his face. "I miss you. And Norman."
He feels so small now.
"What if I mess this up? I have no idea what to do if I-"
Emma, now shrunken to the size of a little child, smiles like she's a thousand years old, her skin slowly cracking. He knows. He knows what he has to do. And she knows that he knows what he has to do. It's why she's leaving.
"Then you can try again, Ray. Here, anything is possible-literally! Think about it. Feel it. Believe it."
The clouds are swirling, darkening. Thunder rumbles.
She lets go.
Ray falls, plummeting to the ground hard like a comet. He feels no pain. His mind is running a thousand miles a minute.
Make it go back.
Back.
Back.
Stop it all
And reverse it.
Go back to the desert,
And bring Emma back to my side.
Hold that thought.
Hold that wish.
The ground erupts, and the earth screams, the stars and sky breaking apart till only blackness was remaining. His own body is starting to break apart and fade away like Emma's did in the desert, but he hardly focuses on that.
He only thinks of Emma.
I'll....bring you back. I promise.
"Silly Ray. When did I ever leave?"
_____________________________________________________________
"What do you see?"
Ray sits up.
"....Mama....?"
Isabella smiles, reaching out a hand to tuck his bangs behind his ear, looking into his eyes. "Who else?"
Normally, she wouldn't do this.
"You're another figment of my subconscious?"
"You've figured out the Seven Walls. The answer should be easy."
Contrary to the implications, the tone of her voice is frivolous, rather than scathing.
Definitely a figment of my subconscious.
He looks around.
This definitely isn't Grace Field House. It's a meadow, one that seems to stretch on for miles on every side. Unlike the landscape in the Seven Walls, though, there are trees here and there, dotting the plains, which are painted a warm yellowish green in the sun. What impressed him most was the fact that it looked very familiar.
"You seem quite shocked by the place," Isabella remarks, observing his reaction.
"It looks like a Haystacks painting."
"Really?"
"It looks almost exactly like 'Wheatstacks (End of Summer)' by Claude Monet," Ray answers, spellbound.
"You have a vivid imagination."
"It's more memory than imagination."
Isabella laughs. "Underestimating yourself again? When you just managed to break through the Seven Walls itself."
Break through the Seven Walls.
"I...."
Ray stills. I actually did it. I broke through.
But then, where's Emma?
"I haven't broken this place, have I?"
"Oh, you have," Isabella smiles at him, a little too brightly.
"Then where is she? Where's Em-"
"She isn't here."
Her smile isn't soft and gentle anymore; now, it's smug and demeaning.
"Everything I'm saying to you right now is the absolute truth, Ray. You can reflect on that much."
After everything-
After everything, I still can't do this one thing right, huh?
Ray curls in on himself. It all feels so unbearably numb to him now.
Even seeing Mama again, sitting next to him, didn't stir any remnants of feeling from him. Everything just felt so.......far away. After finding out all those wasted years lost in a wanderer's gaze were all a result of his own mind, it felt like it had just collapsed on itself like an uneven tower of stones, unable to understand itself.
He genuinely doesn't know how to be himself anymore. How to act. How to react.
The Ray from Grace Field would stay here, on the plains, and wait for death. And he knows, better than anyone, that the Ray from then was nothing more than a ticking time bomb, having eight years of repressed anger and hatred burning him alive from within.
Guess that's not it.
The Ray from before the Seven Walls would think about a possible solution, not just bound by logic alone. He would come up with a few, but he would mostly rely on Emma's inputs to choose a solution. After the escape, he wasn't sure if he could trust his own judgement anymore, especially when the safety of their family was at stake. And that was fine. He was perfectly fine being Emma's right-hand man, being the wits, silently lending a hand in the background.
The Ray from after the Seven Walls is a hollowed husk of a person, unable to think or feel anything normally anymore, looking back on the fragments of his past that he vowed never to touch again just to get a sense of rationality.
What would Emma and Norman do? says a tiny little voice in his head, sounding eerily like the former. They wouldn't give up. They would find a way out and act accordingly. You have to make the new Promise, remember?
He needs to make the new Promise.
He can't give up, he wants to give up but he can't. If he wants to face Norman and Emma, if that were possible, he would think clearly and try again.
"Then you can try again, Ray."
I need to try again.
He looks at Isabella again, who's been silent the entire time, his heart nearly skipping two beats. He'd forgotten she was there.
No, wait-
"Everything I'm saying to you is the absolute truth."
She said that I'd succeeded.
That means....this isn't the Seven Walls.
He needed to experiment.
This place looks like a Haystacks painting. What if I could make it something else? How about, like, The Starry Night?
Geez, that's so clichéd. Is that seriously the only painting you-
Shut up. Concentrate.
Closing his eyes, he imagines the blue sky being wrapped around with an ethereal midnight cloak, the wind rushing everywhere and the stars forming impossible shapes. He opens his eyes-
Nothing's changed--
Stay calm, Ray. Try again, Norman's voice says this time. Analyse it. Think clearly. Where are you going wrong?
Isabella eyes him curiously. "What do you think you're doing?"
Stay cal-
Again. Again with that annoyingly smug, condescending attitude, just like before.
Ray wants to throttle her. Is this what his messed-up subconscious came up with? One moment, she's the kind, loving person she never was, and the next, she's just.....just...demonic.
stop
The first time she'd appeared, she even hugged him.
Stop it
It felt warm.
Stop it
"Ray."
"Stop it."
He chokes up the sentence like it's bile.
"Tell me the truth about this place. You said everything you're telling me is the absolute truth. In that case, I want to know what this place is and where Emma is!"
Isabella smiles again.
Damn hag, just-
"This is the gateway."
"Gateway.....?"
"You heard me," she continues. "You're almost there. Not quite, but almost. There's another wall restricting you."
Think, Norman's voice says again. Choose your words carefully. She's beating around the bush. Get her to come to the point.
"Another w........No, wait! Wait. Wait."
Choose your words. Stay calm.
"...Restricting....me.....?"
Her eyes widen.
"Restricting your mind. Something that prevents you from seeing the true nature of the Walls."
Quiet. Keep her at bay. Right now, she'd expect you to ask her another question, because that's what you've been doing for a long while now.
What...I've...been...doing............
"Something that prevents you from seeing the true nature of the Walls."
What I've been doing is just questioning everything. Everything that, so far, has been completely unexplainable and irrational.
According to quantum theory, the true form of the observable universe-of spacetime itself-is undefined.
Which means...it can't be questioned or described.
It just....is.
I have to throw away.....all logical reason.
So......I gotta just stop questioning everything? And just go for it?
Can I even do that?
For years, he'd always relied on the fact that the outcome would be worth the trouble. And something as irrational as the Seven Walls, which required no questioning or understanding at all, something which was already driving him crazy because of how unpredictable it was, required exactly the kind of beliefs that he scorned ever since he'd found out the truth behind the House.
Could someone like him, moved by logic alone, even possibly stop considering the reasons behind everything, just close his eyes, and go with the flow?
Yes.
"I can," he thinks aloud, tears of happiness scorching his eyes.
"It's reckless as hell, but I can...I can do this!"
After all.......I've done it before as well.
He immediately takes off his backpack, and pulls out a large pouch, carefully opening it and searching for the answer to his question.
Isabella's eyes snap open when she sees the Vida.
"What are you doing?"
"Something a sane person wouldn't do," he snaps back. He's too caught up in the thrill of the realisation to think calmly anymore, his brain pumped with recklessness and adrenaline, wondering if this is what Emma feels like 24/7. It would explain her personality well.
Okay, he thinks, feeling weird due to the lack of voices in his head. How do I do this?
Ray quickly grasps a broad knife and slices the bottom end of the plant's stem, making sure that the end of the plant is fragmented and bristled. That would slow down the rate of blood absorption. Now, he just needs to pierce it into his body, a place where too much bleeding wouldn't be an issue.
There aren't too many major arteries or veins near the area below the ribcage--
"God, I'm thinking too much again," he laughs at the realisation.
Stop questioning and planning everything and just go with the flow.
How about I just stab myself anywhere that's not my heart and just go for it?
Ray turns around and sees the ghost of a boy soaked in lighter fuel, a lit match in his hand, its flames reflected in his blank and lifeless eyes.
"Sounds good, doesn't it?" he asks, knowing what the ghost's reply will be.
The boy grins.
"Do it."
He points the flower towards his chest.
"What are you doing?!" Isabella demands a second time, standing up abruptly to face him.
"Breaking the restrictions in my head, Mama," he spits. "You aren't a product of my subconscious. When I met Emma earlier, she could read my thoughts. And here you are, unable to comprehend your own son. Funny, I thought we were alike."
Plus, that way you were taunting me, spouting all that cryptic nonsense...
I'm done with all that. I've heard it too many times already.
"I've figured it out, Demon King!" he screams maniacally, facing the impostor.
"I'll bring Emma back properly this time! And we'll forge the new Promise, without fail. I'll assure you of that."
He thrusts the Vida deep into his chest, feeling a stabbing yet satisfying pain.
And he falls.
Rewind time again. Again.
Try again.
I don't care where I end up.
I just want to see them.
I want to see Emma.
He glimpses the flowers turning a bright red and opening; he weakly pulls out Emma's amulet, pressing the cool metal against his lips, closing his eyes.
Ah, yeah, this feeling. The feeling of dying.
The feeling you get when you just want to close your eyes, stop thinking about everything, and just go with the flow, not caring about where you end up.
The feeling that transcends all logic.
What happens after you die anyway?
I guess we'll find out.
_____________________________________________________
He can't seem to open his eyes.
"Ray!"
A muffled voice shouts from somewhere far away. "Ray!"
"Em-"
He moves to lie on his side, coughing up blood as he unceremoniously rips the Vida out of his body, throwing the flower away. His vision is nothing but blackness tinged with red from the sun shining directly on his eyelids, which are glued to each other, unable to open and let him see, goddammit-
"Emma. Emma!"
At least I can still talk. Am I in the desert? Why does Emma sound so far away?!
He manages to force his eyes open by a small margin; it seems that some otherworldly force (the Demon King?) is pushing them down with a vengeance.
So I'm in the desert. But, where's-
"Rayyyy!!!"
He jerks his head to the source of the sound, being able to barely make out the shape of a.....
A cabinet?
Wait, that's the cabinet we came out of when we-
Something heavy, warm and orange pins him to the ground merely seconds later.
"Ray!"
Emma's voice is much clearer now, as she cups his cheeks, leaning in. "H-huh?! Your eyes-"
He pulls her into a hug and squeezes her half to death, rocking back and forth.
"Emma," he laughs brokenly.
"Ray, what's going on...?"
"Emma-"
Ray's voice breaks, and then he's just crying, crying and breaking down, caging her within his arms so tightly they're going numb.
God, he will NEVER let go of her again.
"Don't e-ever-" he sobs, trembling violently. "D-don't go-"
He can't even talk anymore, simply crying, his face twisted in agony; it's frustrating because every time he tries to regain his composure, it just explodes again. It's frustrating, but his tears soothe his eyes enough to be able to open them, seeing Emma's concerned face.
"Ray," she begins gently. He feels her hand caress his cheek. "It's okay. I'm here now."
Without thinking, he grabs her hand, squeezing hard, suddenly terrified beyond belief.
What if she's just another figment of my-
Stop. Think carefully, Norman says in his head.
Take a deep breath.
"Em..ma," he breathes, trying his best to stop his sobbing. "Who.....who was the first person you saw...when you entered Goldy Pond?"
"What...? Why....?"
"Just answer!" he shouts, gripping her hand harder, startling her as she flinches. "U-um......Violet."
Her reaction makes Ray realise what he's done, letting go of her and scrambling backwards, coughing up blood. "Oh god--I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Emma, I just-"
"Ray, you're hurt!" she exclaims, catching a hold of him and pinning him to the ground, examining his wounds. "Your chest has a hole in it! And you're bruised everywhere and your coat's all torn up! Give me your bag, I'll give you first aid. How did you even get hurt?!"
"I fell," he lies. Please don't read my thoughts.
She simply huffs at that, opening the first aid pouch, oblivious to his musings.
"Emma-"
"Stay still. Thankfully, the puncture isn't too deep..."
She's real.
"I missed you so much."
That catches her off guard as she unrolls the gauze. "What? I didn't go anywhere..."
"......Yeah," he chuckles bitterly. "Never mind."
"Ray," she says carefully, holding his hand in both of her own and looking into his eyes. "I just found myself in the monitor room again, and you were nowhere to be found. And then, I heard your voice coming from a window. What happened? How exactly did you fall down?"
She doesn't need to know. After all, it was in your own head.
"I........figured this place out, somehow."
She smiles, interlocking their fingers. "I knew you'd come through, Ray. But...not now, okay? You need to rest."
Ray lies down and admires the various shapes of the clouds in the bright blue sky, his fingers swirling in the desert sands, feeling Emma's warm, soft hands heal his wounds. He missed this feeling so goddamn much, drinking it in, blatantly ignoring the stings of the ointment. Pulling the amulet from around his neck, he hands it to her. "Here."
"Where did you get this? I didn't even realise..."
"I guess I just found it around my neck."
After she's done patching him up and dressing him, she repacks the first aid kit and sits back on her heels. "Can you stand, Ray?"
He tries to stand up.
And immediately falls back down, feeling nausea and dizziness hit him like a train.
"Ray!" Emma cries out, gingerly pulling him up into a sitting position.
"...'M fine," he slurs. "Just...dizzy. Must've been the blood loss. It'll wear off soon."
"We'll have to get you back as soon as possible," Emma whispers, extremely concerned.
"First, the Promise, okay? That's more important."
"I know. We'll have to see the true form of the Walls. And you know how to do it, right?"
"Yeah. It's all connected to our minds. We'll have to rewind time completely by imagining it."
"That explains it!" she jumps suddenly. "This place appeared because we were looking for a vast place, and the riddle mentioned sand. And all the places we've been to so far are places we've been in before. And.....I was thinking about turning back time...and I became a little kid. It all makes sense!"
"It's easier said than done....." Ray murmurs.
Cuvitidala and Isabella and Vida flowers and sun-dusted meadows cross his vision.
Emma steps before him and takes his hands, looking into his eyes. "Well....thinking back, when we were kids, it didn't seem that hard. We just needed to believe."
"You have the craziest ideas, Emma!" he laughs. Leave it up to her to make it all sound so easy.
They're the same height now, both children, both feeling as light as air. Ray reciprocates her hold, covering her hands with his own, closing his eyes.
He won't let go this time.
Make it all stop.
Make it all stop, and go back.
Just like before.
Remember how it felt back then.
Hold those thoughts.
Without a shadow of a doubt.
Press on.
Believe.
_______________________________________________________
"This place.."
Ray opens his eyes and nearly stumbles upon realising Emma's not in his field of vision anymore.
"Ray, hang on!"
His heart rate calms down upon feeling her arms around his waist. "Emma. I'm fine.."
"I know you're not fine, don't lie to me," she pouts, supporting him. "Just a little more, and we'll reach the Demon King."
"Yeah.....What's that?"
Emma follows his gaze to a swirling, glowing, white four-dimensional hypercube with a dark sphere in it.
Ray looks around.
They're in a massive dark, cube with semi-transparent, iridescent borders, and in the center of the cube is the tiny glowing hypercube and the sphere.
"It's about 10 miles on each side. Like the riddle," Emma deduces.
"And the hourglass. In the mural, I think...the sand was depicted moving from down to up.."
"..Which symbolised rewinding time...!"
"Exactly. This is the true form of the Walls. So the place of Day and Night and the Demon King....would be beyond this sphere. No, it's...a black hole..Or a wormhole? It has to be connected to something," Ray points to the cube.
"Well....if he is, then let's go!"
"The thing is...normally, black holes are a point of no return, so if we-" he mutters.
"Ray."
"I know, I know, no questioning things. We just have to believe, right?"
"It worked the first time," Emma says sheepishly.
Second time for me, actually.
"Yeah, alright. You got me."
He reaches out and holds her hand tightly.
"Let's go."
_______________________________________________________________
They open their eyes.
"It's beautiful," Emma whispers.
What stretches before them is a seemingly never-ending expanse of sea, the sunlight painting the surface of the water in beautiful cascades of blue, red, pink, orange and gold. Below the surface, the water is coloured in deeper, calmer hues of indigo, violet, silver, forest green, and black.
The sun radiates its warmth on them, and the air is fragrant and fresh.
"The place of Day and Night," Ray echoes. "We made it."
We made it. We both made it.
"Indeed you have."
They both turn to see the Demon King, at first in the form of a tall, lofty being, who then approaches them, gradually shrinking into the form of a child. Ray recognises Cuvitidala as it flanks the god, moving silkily across the fresh air currents. Smaller, glowing fish float around the entity, swimming in thin air.
"Welcome, Emma, Ray."
Emma steps forth, not letting go of his hand. "We made sure to come from the entrance this time, Demon King."
"It truly was momentous," the demon chuckles, looking at Ray. "How you found out the secret behind the Walls. I admit, even I was surprised. In the end, I wasn't expecting you to make it. But you've defied all expectations."
The air around them stills a bit.
"I'm sure your brains would taste extraordinary."
Emma's grip on his hand tightens, and Ray feels the need to change the subject. "...Putting that behind us. We're here for a reason."
"Ah, yes," the entity agrees. "What are you here for?"
Emma and Ray share a glance.
A single glance that conveyed the determination, the dearest wishes of every single cattle child in the Neverland they had been born in.
A wish to never let Norman be alone.
A choice for a future they wouldn't regret.
"We've come to make the Promise."