The air within the cell was thick and damp, clinging to the lungs with every breath. It carried the heavy stench of rot, old blood, and something far more unsettling beneath it—a burnt, acrid scent that lingered at the back of the throat. A lone ivory candle flickered weakly in the corner, yet its smell was not that of wax. Instead, it released a sharp, chemical odor, as though flesh and skin had been set alight and mixed with kerosene. The smoke it produced felt unnatural, dry and suffocating, coating the lungs like a layer of soot and suppressing even the stagnant odor of sweat and decay that filled the cramped space.
And yet, neither Sora nor the boy in yellow seemed disturbed by it.
The cell itself resembled a narrow coffin carved from sweating cobblestone. Layers of flaking limewash peeled from the walls, giving them the hollow appearance of a skull beneath the trembling candlelight. A low wooden plank had been bolted to the ground to serve as a bed, draped with a thin horsehair blanket that reeked of dampness and long-forgotten sickness. In one corner stood a rusted slop bucket, while in another lay a bundle of tarred rope, dark and sticky, as though waiting for bleeding hands to tear it apart. High above, a narrow barred slit allowed only a thin strand of midnight air to slip through, not enough to refresh the lungs, but enough to remind anyone within of what lay beyond.
Sora's gaze slowly lifted toward the figure sitting across from him.
The boy wore yellow.
There was no face beneath the suit. No mouth, no ears, no hair—only a smooth, empty surface where human features should have been. And yet, within that emptiness, two red eyes remained. They were not bright, nor did they reflect light. Instead, they resembled deep crimson gems devoid of life, as though they absorbed everything that touched them.
A boy of emptiness stares at a boy of nothing.
For a brief moment, neither spoke.
Then the boy in yellow broke the silence.
"Hey," he said, his tone strangely light, almost cheerful. "It's been a long time since we last spoke."
Sora did not respond.
"I saw what you did back there," the boy continued, tilting his head slightly. "With the knight. That was… interesting. Whispering into his mind, guiding his thoughts, making him doubt himself." A faint pause followed, as though he were considering something. "That was intelligent. Truly."
He rose slowly to his feet and began walking toward Sora, his movements unhurried, almost casual.
"But…"
The word lingered in the air as he stopped directly in front of him.
He raised his hand and placed it against Sora's face. The contact felt wrong—not warm, not cold, but something in between, as though the concept of temperature itself did not apply.
"Don't ever think that's enough," the boy said quietly.
His hand tightened slightly.
"Don't ever think you can surpass me."
The red eyes remained fixed on Sora, unmoving, unblinking.
"Don't ever doubt me," he continued, his voice lowering. "I am the one who gave you that power. I am the one who whispered your name into existence."
The pressure on Sora's face increased just enough to be felt.
"You belong to me."
Sora did not resist. He did not move.
"Do not forget our dream," the boy added, his voice softening once more. "To ascend the sky."
For a moment, silence returned.
Then Sora spoke.
"I won't forget," he said calmly. "I want to reach the sky as well."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"But what do we do now? You never told me what comes after."
The boy in yellow remained still for a moment, then let out a quiet laugh.
"There's no need to rush," he replied, stepping back. "From now on, everything will come to us on its own. The world has already begun to move."
He turned slightly, as though pacing the small confines of the cell.
"Still… there are things you need to understand."
Sora remained silent, listening.
"You don't even know what this place truly is, do you?" the boy said. "What our city really looks like?"
"…A city," Sora answered.
A faint chuckle escaped the boy.
"No," he said. "It is far more than that."
He lifted his hand slightly, as if tracing an unseen shape in the air.
"Our world is carved into circles. At the very edge stands a massive outer wall—black, endless, forming a perfect ring that encloses everything within. It does not merely separate what lies outside… it feels as though it prevents something from escaping."
Sora's gaze did not waver.
"Inside that wall, the land is divided into three great regions. Three kingdoms—red, green, and blue. We stand within the red kingdom, under the rule of the Solar Bull, Apis."
He continued, his voice steady and measured.
"These kingdoms are not separated by distance, but by towering inner walls that cut across the land, dividing it like a fractured disk. Each exists within the same enclosure, yet they remain separated from one another."
The candle flickered, casting uneven shadows across the stone walls.
"Closer to the center, another circular wall rises—smaller, more refined. That is where the nobles reside, separated from the rest as though they exist above them."
For the first time, the boy paused longer than usual.
"And at the very heart of it all… there is one final circle."
His voice lowered slightly.
"A jungle. Untouched. Uncontrolled."
The red eyes seemed to deepen.
"It watches."
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
"This," the boy said quietly, "is the city you were born into."
The silence that followed did not fade; it thickened, settling into the cell like a second atmosphere. The candle flame trembled slightly, bending as though something unseen had brushed past it, and for a brief moment the shadows along the walls stretched in unnatural directions, crawling across the limewashed surface like thin, searching fingers before slowly returning to their place.
Sora remained still, his hollow gaze fixed on the boy in yellow.
"A jungle…" he repeated quietly, the word feeling distant in his mouth, as though it did not fully belong to him.
"Yes," the boy replied. "A place no one controls." He tilted his head slightly toward the narrow slit high above, though no real light entered through it. "Even the nobles avoid speaking about it."
Sora said nothing. His thoughts did not race like those of ordinary people; they moved slowly and deliberately, like something sinking through deep water.
"If it is still there," he said after a moment, "then why is it untouched?"
The boy in yellow let out a soft hum, almost pleased. "That's the right question."
He took a few slow steps across the cell, his yellow figure passing through the dim light in a way that made it difficult to tell whether the shadows followed him or avoided him. "Because some things are not left untouched out of neglect," he continued, coming to a stop. "They are left untouched out of fear."
The candle flickered again, the flame dipping lower for a brief second before rising back to its original shape.
Sora's gaze shifted slightly toward it, then returned to the boy. "Fear of what?"
The boy tilted his head. "Of being seen."
The answer lingered in the air—strange, incomplete, yet heavy enough to make the small cell feel even narrower.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then the boy asked, almost casually, "You remember it, don't you?"
Sora did not react.
"The lake," the boy continued. "The bridge you walked on without seeing."
Something within Sora shifted—not visibly, not physically, but something moved. His gaze lowered slightly, not in avoidance, but in recognition.
"…Yes," he said.
The boy in yellow seemed to smile, though no mouth existed to show it. "I thought so."
He stepped closer again, though this time he did not reach out. "That place," he said softly, "was never just a memory."
Sora's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"
The boy did not answer immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and pointed toward the cobblestone floor beneath them.
"The same principle applies," he said. "What you see… and what exists… are not always the same."
His red eyes fixed on Sora once more.
"You already proved that, didn't you?"
The knight. The reflection. The existence that had been stripped away.
Sora remained silent, but this time the silence was not empty—it was listening.
"You think you whispered into his mind," the boy continued. "You think you planted doubt inside him." He tilted his head slightly. "But that's not entirely true."
Sora's gaze sharpened. "…Then what did I do?"
The candle flame bent again, and for a brief moment the air felt thinner.
"You showed him something," the boy said quietly. "Something he already carried within himself."
He stepped closer, stopping just within reach. "You didn't create the doubt. You revealed it."
The words settled deeply.
Sora did not respond immediately. Instead, he slowly lifted his hand and looked at it, as though examining something that could not be seen.
"…Then the power is not control," he said.
The boy in yellow remained still. "Good. You're starting to understand."
Sora lowered his hand. "It's reflection."
The boy's red eyes seemed to deepen slightly. "Yes."
A brief silence followed.
"But reflection alone is meaningless," the boy added. "Anyone can reflect what already exists." He leaned forward slightly. "What matters is what you choose to show."
The candle flickered violently for a moment before stabilizing again.
Somewhere beyond the cell, a faint metallic sound echoed through the corridor—distant at first, then slowly growing clearer. Chains… or perhaps footsteps.
Sora did not turn. "What should I show, then?"
The boy did not answer immediately. Instead, he stepped back, returning to where he had stood before.
"That," he said, "is something you will decide." His tone remained calm, almost indifferent. "But be careful."
The red eyes held Sora's gaze.
"If you show them the wrong thing… they will destroy themselves."
The sound beyond the cell grew clearer now—low murmurs, movement, the slow rhythm of something approaching.
Sora noticed it this time and turned his head slightly toward the source.
"They are coming," he said.
"Yes," the boy replied.
There was no concern in his voice, no urgency—only certainty.
Sora looked back at him. "…Will you stay?"
The question lingered longer than expected.
The boy in yellow tilted his head once more. "I was never here."
The answer came without hesitation.
The candle flickered sharply. For a single instant, the flame dimmed so low it nearly vanished, and when it steadied again, the space before Sora was empty.
No yellow. No presence.
Only the cold, narrow cell remained, exactly as it had been before.
Yet something felt different—not in the air, not in the walls, but in the silence itself. It no longer felt empty. It felt occupied, as though something unseen continued to observe from just beyond perception.
Sora stood alone.
The metallic sounds outside grew clearer, accompanied by the slow, deliberate movement of mechanisms being undone. Each turn echoed through the corridor with quiet authority.
Sora did not move.
His gaze remained steady.
Waiting.