The tides come in, then retreat.
Will stands on the shore.
Under the washing of the waves, the dirt on Will's body gets cleaned away, leaving him feeling unprecedentedly relaxed.
Now, Will can't remember the grim faces of the cultists, can't remember those companions in the Mushroom Worship Sect, can't even recall how he arrived on this coast.
He merely stands there, hesitating on where to go.
Behind him is the stretching beach, and further away, a vast expanse of emptiness.
He vaguely feels he should head in that direction, there is the end, the destination, where all who stand here eventually go.
Yet, the sea beckons him.
Wave after wave, each retreating more slowly, each curling deeper.
Will stands on the shore for a long time, finally stepping toward the direction of the sea.
Step after step, the seawater surpasses the calves, the waist, the chest.
