Storm clouds smothered the moon, leaving only a silver-gray halo etched along their ragged edges. The night hung heavy over the world, suffocating beneath a silence so profound it felt almost like death itself.
Jagged slabs of charcoal-black stone rose from the shoreline like weathered gravestones, scattered without order. Their razor-sharp edges shattered each incoming wave into countless sprays of foam, only for the white fragments to dissolve once more into the sea's endless black fissures.
A lone man lay across the edge of a small boat, one hand dangling into the icy water, welcoming the freezing bite of the ocean as he drifted into the heart of the storm.
Everything swayed gently with the tide. The sea rocked him like a mother's cradle, humming an ancient lullaby, whispering for his rage to fade, tempting him to surrender, to rest forever beneath its embrace.
Perhaps... this would not be such a terrible ending.
The thought crossed his mind as blood seeped steadily from his wounds. His heart struggled through weaker and weaker beats until, at last, it fell silent. Reflected within his steel-blue eyes was a night consumed by fire, its final image burning itself into the deepest corner of his memory.
The waves continued to rise and fall—slow, relentless, monstrous—as though some colossal beast slumbered beneath the sea, waiting until it could swallow everything upon the surface.
Then the ocean claimed him.
He was dragged beneath the waves.
Downward.
Ever downward.
Until he struck the unfathomable seabed, where agony ripped through every nerve in his body.
...
Lloyd's eyes snapped open.
There was no haze of sleep lingering in his mind, nor any curiosity to wonder what ceiling greeted him this time. Curled tightly upon the soft mattress, he felt as though he had fallen from an impossible height. Yet the pain did not come from his body—it exploded deep within his skull.
Gritting his teeth, he clutched his head with both hands, refusing to let even the faintest groan escape his lips.
The torment endured for what felt like an eternity before it finally receded. Only then did Lloyd slowly uncurl, drawing a long, steady breath.
His head rolled toward the window.
A pale morning light filtered through the curtains. Dawn had arrived.
Yet the scent of rain still lingered in the air, cool and damp, accompanied by the steady rhythm of droplets tapping against the roof. The storm had not yet passed.
That... was a strange dream.
The thought surfaced only after a long silence.
Battling demons often left behind peculiar scars. Some took root in the mind, others in the flesh. Lloyd had never paid much attention to them. As a Demon Hunter, his vitality bordered on the absurd; wounds that would cripple ordinary men barely slowed him down.
But now...
Now he could no longer ignore the changes.
The headaches.
They had begun even before his confrontation with Lawrence. Fleeting at first, growing more frequent with time. And if he traced them back carefully...
Everything had started after he killed the burning demon.
Horner.
Of the countless demons Lloyd had slain over the years, most had long since faded from memory. Horner was different—not because he had been especially powerful, but because Lloyd had killed him inside the Gap.
The mysteries surrounding the Gap remained endless, yet within that impossible realm Lloyd had discovered an entirely new way to destroy demons.
Erase them from within the Gap...
...and their physical bodies perished with them.
Amid that chaotic death, fragments of Horner's memories had somehow flowed into Lloyd's own mind, intertwining with his consciousness like foreign threads woven into familiar cloth.
Not long afterward, the headaches had begun.
Everything...
Everything seemed to have started from that battle inside the Gap.
Something had awakened there—something Lloyd still did not understand.
His thoughts wandered deeper until a gentle knock sounded at the door.
"Good morning."
Herkley stood outside wearing a loose brown nightrobe, a massive long-haired guinea pig nestled comfortably in his arms.
"Morning."
Lloyd gave a slight nod.
"You look better today. Still pale, but much improved compared to yesterday. If you're ready... we can begin."
Herkley studied Lloyd's complexion carefully.
The carefree detective from before seemed to have vanished. In his place stood a quiet, reserved man—and strangely enough, Herkley found this version of Lloyd even more dependable.
"The Memory Palace?" Lloyd asked.
"Exactly. Though don't mistake me for a hypnotist." Herkley smiled. "I've already taught you the method. Recovering your lost memories is something only you can accomplish. So... how much have you learned?"
Before going to bed the previous night, Herkley had explained the fundamental principles behind constructing a Memory Palace. Most people required months—sometimes years—to master the technique, and even then few could ever reach Herkley's level.
Lloyd, however, had never been most people.
He possessed an unnerving talent for impossible things.
"I've grasped the basics," Lloyd replied. "At least in theory. I haven't actually tried building one yet."
A flicker of anticipation crossed Herkley's face. Beckoning Lloyd forward, he turned and led the way.
"The Memory Palace..." he began, "is essentially a form of controlled self-hypnosis. Through repeated reinforcement, memories cease to be things you consciously recall—they become instinct."
He paused before continuing.
"Think of a master swordsman. In the middle of battle, he doesn't stop to consider how to parry or strike. His body simply knows. Years of relentless training become intuition itself. His instincts warn him before danger arrives, and his blade follows without hesitation."
"The Memory Palace works much the same way."
"And despite the name," he added, "it doesn't have to be a palace."
"It's simply a metaphor—a symbol. Somewhere so deeply rooted in your subconscious that no matter your condition, you can always find your way back to it."
Lloyd looked at him curiously.
"Then what does your palace look like?"
Herkley's footsteps slowed.
He glanced over his shoulder with a knowing smile.
"Guess."
"Aren't you supposed to be the detective?"
"There isn't much to guess."
Lloyd answered without hesitation.
"The ship."
"The one from your shipwreck."
Herkley chuckled softly.
"Close enough."
He offered no further explanation, steering the conversation back toward the Memory Palace itself.
"It's an abstract thing. It exists only inside the mind—not in the physical world. Rather like the 'Curse of Knowledge' you mentioned. No matter how carefully I describe my palace, you'll never truly picture it."
As he spoke, he pressed against what appeared to be an ordinary section of the wall.
A hidden door silently swung inward.
Its surface had been disguised beneath rows of brass coat hooks laden with heavy overcoats. Had Herkley not opened it himself, Lloyd would never have realized a doorway existed at all.
"Come."
Herkley stepped inside.
The room beyond was astonishingly small.
Calling it a secret chamber almost felt generous. It contained little more than two chairs and a narrow table squeezed into a cramped, windowless space.
Lloyd took one of the chairs, his expression full of confusion.
No lamps burned inside.
Darkness enveloped them as Herkley settled into the opposite seat, the tiny table separating the two men.
"What exactly are we doing?"
"The Memory Palace."
Herkley smiled.
"I usually call this my meditation room."
"I told you already—constructing a Memory Palace is a form of self-hypnosis. And for hypnosis to work, the surroundings must be free from distraction."
He gestured toward the room.
"This place is perfect."
He wasn't exaggerating.
The instant the hidden door closed, every sound vanished.
The rain.
The wind.
The world beyond.
Only the quiet rhythm of two beating hearts remained.
"Though that's mostly for beginners like you," Herkley added. "Unless I'm conducting an especially detailed search through my palace, I no longer need an environment like this."
He leaned forward slightly.
"Now then... let's discuss how to build your palace."
"I know."
Lloyd interrupted him.
"You explained it yesterday."
Contrary to appearances, Lloyd was remarkably intelligent. He simply preferred not to exert himself—unless demons were involved.
"Use space, symbols, and memory," Lloyd recited. "Assign each memory an object, then arrange those objects according to a structure within the palace."
"Exactly."
Herkley reached into the darkness and retrieved something small.
A moment later, a tiny censer flickered to life.
Thin white smoke curled upward, gradually filling the room.
The scent stirred something in Lloyd's memory.
"...Windshade herb?"
Herkley blinked.
"You recognize it?"
His surprise was unmistakable.
"It isn't native to this region, and people usually mistake it for mandrake. I didn't expect anyone else to know what it was."
"It causes hallucinations," Lloyd replied.
There had been a time when the Great Detective had practically lived on cigarettes rolled with the stuff while solving cases.
Lloyd knew its effects all too well.
"Really?" Herkley frowned. "I've always used it to help me enter my Memory Palace."
He shrugged.
"Oh well. Doesn't seem to matter. We'll keep using it."
He continued as though nothing had happened.
"As I said, construct your palace within your mind."
"Then search."
"Search for the books you've lost."
"Search for the memories you've forgotten."
"Treat it like falling asleep, Lloyd. Let yourself relax..."
"But don't actually fall asleep."
"That's right."
"Close your eyes."
"Go deeper."
"Descend to the very bottom of your thoughts."
"To the place that belongs to you—and only you."
Lloyd leaned fully against the chair.
Every muscle in his body gradually released its tension.
"Further..."
Herkley's voice softened.
"Keep descending..."
"Until you reach your palace..."
His voice grew quieter.
And quieter still.
Until it disappeared altogether.
The fragrant smoke filled Lloyd's lungs, dissolved into his blood, and coursed through every vein. His thoughts were drawn downward into unimaginable depths.
His body became lighter...
Weightless...
Then suddenly impossibly heavy.
He continued falling.
How much time passed, he could not tell.
At last, his feet touched solid ground.
He stood motionless in absolute darkness.
Slowly...
He opened his eyes.
"So..."
"This is my palace?"
Before him stood a single magnificent structure.
He had not consciously imagined it.
He had simply allowed instinct to guide him—to reveal the place his subconscious regarded as the most familiar, the most cherished.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"So... it really is here."
He had believed he would never see it again.
Or rather, he had believed the glorious place it once was had long since been buried beneath the Church's endless history.
Yet it had never truly vanished.
It had endured...
Hidden within his memories.
An immense sanctuary stood inside a colossal natural cavern. Ancient stone walls stretched endlessly into darkness, their weathered surfaces carved with intricate patterns that seemed to have grown directly from the living rock itself. Broad stone pathways rose beneath Lloyd's feet, guiding him toward the heart of the monument.
There were no gates.
There was no entrance.
The vast vaulted cavern itself served as its doorway.
Towering stone guardians stood silently on either side, gripping massive cruciform swords, their wrathful faces frozen in eternal vigilance.
Then came the music.
A solemn sacred hymn echoed from deep within the sanctuary.
Beyond the shadows burned an undying radiance.
Steel rang against steel.
Warriors shouted battle cries.
It sounded as though an entire army still fought within those ancient halls, locked forever in an endless war.
Without hesitation, Lloyd strode forward.
After countless years, he had finally returned to the place that had once been his home—
the place that now existed only within his memory—
the magnificent, timeless Sanctuary of Stillness.