It was an impossible thing, an impossible turn of events that had occurred. There was no other way to assess this phenomena than to affirm what was already made clear with the passing of night: it was a miracle, if not the zenith of sorcery unheard of. 

At some point, though such point somehow went unnoticed, his party had passed the white peaks of the jagged hills wherein dwell a people ugly, and titanic in stature. Baffled by the mystical implications of their arrival to the cloudy sheet of gray haze which separated Vitah from the rest of the world, Myungsoo frantically rubbed his face in disbelief. His eyes were zooming dots that anxiously shifted between the smoky tapestry and the steep ranges of the Anakeem.

It seemed like an extreme jest, Laroo and Vitah being a singular realm, but there was no way around it. The jubilant face Dongwoo expressed when confronted with the border haze told him he wasn't lying. It told him this place was home as he knew it, Laroo. To mistake that expression for something else would be ignorant. It was the very expression he wore whenever he saw the peak of the marble tower where Myungeun once waited...

 "What the hell does this mean?" he mumbled underneath his breath, "Laroo and Vitah are the same, but how did we get here?"

Over and above those snowy tips that pierced the clouds was a sapphire sky, undaunted with any sort of question as pertaining to purpose. Myungsoo, in sharp contrast, refused to give in to this reality that went against all set standard of reason, all ground of logic. In a short day, they had surmounted a journey that could easily have claimed their lives and had in fact claimed the lives of many adventurers. In a single day, they had completed a pilgrimage that should have lasted months of travel. 

It was a weird outcome that could scarcely be understood by those whose brains meandered around the ruts of worldly reasoning, of those whose eyes were set upon the phenomenal, the superficial layer of reality. Alas, to Dongwoo who trusted in the unseen movement of the divine, this sudden change of topography was not reason enough to panic. He was overjoyed at this sublime vista of towering white shapes etched against the azure. His whole body was filled with alacrity as he leapt off the giant canine and ran to join his partner.

 "Myungsoo!" he exclaimed, "Nesher has wrought a great miracle! When I stepped out of my jungle, I never glimpsed at mountains! Now look! The horizon is full of those great hills!"

At first his stare was vacant, devoid of any distinguishing feature that might disclose his feelings as regarding this mystery. When the divine appellation was uttered and this enigma attributed to the manifestation of providential purposes, his whole face morphed into that of a suffocating man. His eyes nearly popped out their sockets while the rest of his body became a whitewashed effigy. He gasped desperately for air.

Could it be? This supernatural happening was the work of god? It was a baffling reality that lent credence to the affirmation of an invisible entity that dwelt among the clouds, surrounded by the throng of holiness. 

Myungsoo regained his color as ire trickled in. If this was indeed the working of the divine, then what of the bubbling mass of questions that for years, decades, a whole century even! had remained unanswered? He was wrestling with god, or rather the idea of his existence. His theology was a dusty book of mummery, vain liturgy that never aided him in his tragedy of a life. He had termed his god as an outlier, an alien conception lodging in the desperate hearts of foolish men and women. Though he secretly hoped he were more than that. He was incensed simply because of the question that succinctly rose above his ruminations, "If you're real, where were you?!"

Dongwoo barely touched his shoulder when a hand slapped his. It was obvious he didn't want contact. Here he thought his friend would be enthralled by the suggestion of his god's existence. He was a poor, naive child to assume that.

 Myungsoo whirled about, eyes a fierce scowl, and moved to the boundary of Vitah. He eyed the shimmering haze and studied its velvet appearance. He never knew the exact meaning of it, but hearsay alluded to the idea of it being a passage to a different world. Perhaps it was, perhaps it was not. That was not of any real matter, the matter laid within, behind that hazy veil that challenged his pride to enter. He had gone through it once before, today would be his second.

His eyes narrowed at it, fighting back a scare that tickled his spine like a cube of ice. Inside he knew there soared a dragon, one unconquerable by the sword. How Dongwoo had made such strange and ominous place a home was beyond his ken. Memories of that wicked reptile projected themselves as vivid imagery. It had torn flesh and nearly consumed him with its gaping jaws. He had felt its scales, and knew for a fact it was no drunken hallucination, but even so, his blade failed to impale it though he stabbed with all his thews.

Dongwoo stepped in. Without hesitation he had entered the jungle whereas he still stood on its verge. It was an action that minimized his pride and allocated him to a place of abject inferiority. With a grunt, he clapped his side, signaling his bestial friend to follow him. A step forward and he crossed the gorge of separation, wincing for an instant. 

Eyes, wide open, he observed the place that was half-myth, half-dread, complete hell to those who traverse its grounds. Trees towered high and above all things, sunlight dappling in spots through this hintermost part of the jungle. There wafted in the sultry air the cloying scent of an unknown plant species that dialated his nostrils with intrigue, sent his body squirming with a pleasant warm tingling. Underbrush marched in irregular patterns across the moist and spongy loam. His furry companion sniffed in a gusty breath, poking its snout upwards, and began to tread aimlessly. He didn't stop him, certain that he was more than capable of fending himself- except from the dragon!

Myungsoo hollered at his dog, absent of the realization that Dongwoo stood besides him.

 "He's safe here," he told him, "he's big enough to fight any enemy."

Glaring at him, he crushed his shoulder with a tight clutch. "And the dragon?! If it kills Doggy?! He's all I have left!"

 The impatience that brimmed in his dialogue spoke volumes to him. He was subsequently aware that they were indeed twins of sorts, alone in the world except for those creatures of nature. He had alluded to it before, but his repetition confirmed the fact. Yet it also stung him to know how his perception of him hadn't changed; he didn't view him as friend. After going through so much together, he assumed he had created a bond of sorts with him...

 What link that did tether them, he realized, was Nesher. It was his god that created their hectic relationship. To deliberate now on the matter would be to strive after the wind. He couldn't be the one to change Myungsoo's mind; only Nesher could do that. With the affirmation of the fact, his mind wondered to more trivial matters.

 "I've never seen a dragon here, but I can assure you that no animal here would challenge your- is it a...wolf?"

 "Of course not! It's a dog!"

 Dongwoo nodded, his face a blank canvas. A smile quickly replaced his expression. He was in Myungsoo's field of view, but in an instant, he had disappeared, making not even the leaves tremble with the indication of movement. 

His brows formed a scowl and he stomped onwards, forced to leave Doggy behind in search of Dongwoo. There was no wind stirring, no patter of sound reverberating the echoes of motion. Where had he gone to, to leave Myungsoo all alone?

When Myungsoo unsheathed his dagger to cut away a vine that stretched down a tender branch, he succinctly cocked his head up, spotting a shadowy figure overhead. 

 "Catch," that familiar cantor urged.

His muscles twitched by instinct and with a single hand he caught a peculiar looking fruit, the shape of an "x". 

"What is this?" 

 Dongwoo gracefully slid down the great tree and tossed another of the fruits to his companion.

 "Food! Take and eat!" he told him, extending yet another of these fruits.

 Myungsoo eyed him suspiciously as he brought the exotic fruit to his nostrils so he could sniff it. It contained no special fragrance unlike the earlier scent that had tickled his nose. Besides its odd shape, it was not that special. Tilting his head back while lifting it aloft, he brought it close to the sunlight that poked through a canopy of nodding fronds, waving with the timid breeze. With a tight squeeze a fantastic ruby colored juice spurted out like a crimson waterfall, its glimmer reflecting the unique quality of its taste. The nectar touched the tip of his tongue and his cheeks puckered up from the refreshing and sweet taste. A smile had overtaken all signs of restraint. 

Happy to see him finally smile, Dongwoo clapped his back. While his lips twitched, eager to talk, he refrained. There was more he wanted to show him, much he wanted to share, but outside this haven roamed death and fear. He had witnessed the account of his brethren, of those slaves that bore the yoke of injustice. Nesher had to act now. That urge that had propelled him to leave Diciar, to distance himself from that dainty figure of transcendent beauty, wasn't an evanescent impulse- it was a real force grounded in holy purposes beyond his ken. In the fast blur of returning home, he had lost sight of it, but it was always there.

 "I'll take you to my home now," he said with a clear, determined pair of eyes.

 "Huh?"

 Dongwoo continued his earlier lead and clasped Myungsoo's wrist with a firm, yet not overly so, grip. He didn't resist his touch, nor did he feel it repulsive. In the sweep of things, he figured he could trust him enough to guide him as he had faithfully done. Beyond that, he recalled a similar scene when his sister dragged him along to go see one of her ritual dances. She had prepared for weeks and when he was charged with a mission, she dragged him to see it, afraid he might miss it. Oscuridaon let him stay to watch but afterwards, he was sent to slaughter a band of rogues that had killed Sanritem people to free their families.

It was not a repulsion that caused him to sever their connection then, but it was the memory of all those people dying under his blade: blasts of horror from their throats, grasping hands that caught at his bloodstained legs, and static eyes that were glued to his own icy gaze, eyes that protested against injustice. All they wanted to do was save their families in , even if it meant taking the lives of their captors. He was just like them. They were the same; no difference, they killed to save.

 As he reflected on this analog, a talon dug into his calloused heart, his trachea becoming a narrow straw the width of a needle. He was subsequently aware of his endless litany of sins. He in sharp breaths between his clenched teeth and his knees became a groggy mess. He d at his chest but such vain struggle would never undo the constriction of his lungs. 

There remained no solace for him even when his choked cry pled for help. His fist exploded like a cannon into the ground, but he was fighting an invisible foe that showed no sign of yielding. He hammered again into the dirt and clawed at his chest until with a final cough, he spilled a deluge of dark liquid, blood, onto the ground. His close encounter with death had been averted.

Wiping his mouth with a swipe of his forearm, he noticed Dongwoo kneeling to help him back up. Although it was evident that he was speaking, he failed to be receptive of his words, a loud ringing noise blocking all other sounds. He shoved Dongwoo aside and became nauseated, an intoxicated vagabond that moved like a wobbly pin, teetering and tottering about on flimsy legs. When he took notice of a tree trunk, he slammed himself into it, exuding all effort to clutch it with his shaky members.

As he crashed into the tree, a fruit plummeted to the spot in front of him, bursting into scarlet fleshy pieces that stained the loam with a red hue. It struck him as he glimpsed like a drunk at the scarlet mass. The fruit which he had been fed was the culprit. That was the only possible thing that could've brought about this sudden deadly malady. Its juice was a secret venom that swam through his veins, temporarily stripping him of all his power, leaving him like a miserable wretch unable to even stand, and now his grasp on what was real and what was unreal was a loose grip. 

 "Damn you, Dongwoo!" He cried with a slur, "You and your stupid fruits!" 

 In the vacuum of incoherence, his senses were warped mosaics that changed in constant coloration. Crisp visions of reality twisted like putty in front of him, becoming goop. Psychedelic inspiration filled his aimless stare. In his wavering consciousness he could hear his litany of ugly oaths reverberate in his skull. His voice was then not the only voice he heard, but in his feverish estate he heard the accusations that had been uttered against him in times past. 

He forcibly tuned in to a din of clamor which railed against him with fiery protest. He heard the stinging whimpers of the women he had made widows, of the children he made orphans, of his own sister that once demanded to know why he didn't rebel against the wicked tyrant, of why he let her live a lie for so long.

His hands, thrown up, clapped the sides of his face, futilely attempting to shake away this present evil. Then he felt a hand wrap around his, leading him along a path of dirt for a walk. He winced and gulped a ball of spit, thinking his sister was leading him before the bar of judgment, where his soul would be damned to hell. Those accusing voices, shouts, whimpers and whispers overwhelmed his otherwise stolid heart, pressing guilt on him more and more. His lips were stayed, as though sewn shut by a reluctance to answer.

The hand that led him then fully wrapped around his side and he was guided around a sinuous course of spongy ground. He walked with a limp, dragging his heavy feet along while squeezing shut his eyes, trusting himself to whoever was the one leading him. In this murky state, he had resigned himself to accept his fate of hell. 

When his eyes batted and he regained some control of his faculties, he dropped to his knees. Before him was the mouth of a cavern, sealed shut by a dangling mass of vines and indistinct shrubs that were beaded with colorful orbs. As he peered up, the sunlight that was once a staggering brightness became eclipsed by a monstrous shadow. His hand d at whatever covered the luminary and was met with a hand, clutching his own. At once, his sight became a thick shade through which no luminosity entered. It was a teeming obscurity that gnawed at him, mocking him.

 "I can't see! Damn it!" he screamed, clawing his nails into the hand that held his.

 "Myungsoo?!  What's happening to you?!"

 In his chaotic daze he was unable to comprehend the words being spoken, sounding to him like mere mumbling but he knew it was Dongwoo. He was a shambling mess as he attempted to walk, blind to all his surroundings. 

 "Lay down for a moment!"

 In that ambiguous world through which he navigated, Myungsoo finally understood with bright clarity the voice of his companion. He was furious to have heard him suggest that, to yield to this attack even if for a moment when it was most likely him that brought this plague upon him. But there was no other thing left for him to do. In his cloudy mind he considered the possibility of Dongwoo possessing a cure to this strange malady, perhaps in the from of an herb if not another device which Kei might have secretly gifted him. He was grasping at straws, and was forced to accept whatever help he would be offered.

 "You better not leave me to die!" he ordered with a shout that boomed in the jungle.
 
Dongwoo proceeded to clear the growth which sealed up his home with several strikes of his light-ray edge. He had no idea why his companion dove headfirst into this drunken stupor and was uncertain if he could help. Doubt lurked in his mind as to whether his power could save him. It had failed to save the slave girl some days earlier, and now the possibility of it failing again seemed to grow at an exponential rate for him. For now the least he could do was bring him inside his cave, away from any straying threat of Laroo. 

Straining his thighs, he helped him to his feet- his body, dead weight with the loss of his strength.

 "What are you doing?!" Myungsoo demanded. He hated the idea of being moved like a rag doll, of his pride reduced to ashes.

Dongwoo chose not to answer but bore him on his shoulders and brought him inside his home. He sat him up against the craggy wall and moved him but he showed no sign of recovery, continually complaining about the loss of vision and energy. It was now or never so he pressed beyond all dubiety. His hands alighted on Myungsoo's thigh and began to pulse with a glowing light. 

His powers had been stirred and once the throbbing flare ended, Myungsoo shook with a start.

Locking eyes with the only other person there, his nostrils dilated as he grew incensed. "Stupid fool! You poisoned me with that dreaded fruit!"

 "What?!" Dongwoo snapped, "It's not poison! I always eat it!"

 Myungsoo scoffed and pounded his fist into the wall which he was leaned against, causing some dust from the cave ceiling to fall like powdery rain. "It made me sick and attacked me with weird visions! It made me hear things!"

 Dongwoo jumped to his feet, "That's not possible I tell you! I always eat it. A tree that produces that same fruit grows just outside and I always eat it."

 "It had to be that! What else could have made me sick?" he said as he rubbed his face.

As Dongwoo spoke in reply, Myungsoo finally became aware of his surroundings simultaneously forgetting to question the mode of his healing. The darkened cavity wherein he sat sparkled with a scintillating luster. At the farthest end of the cave laid some metallic objects which luster was undimmed by the dusky space while others' past shimmer was now a drab dullness. A golden object in particular caught his attention. Bemused with awe, he was ignorant of the slew of words which Dongwoo spoke. 

On his knees he crawled to at this golden luxury, half-believing himself of what was in front. His fingers fell upon a leg adorned with scrawling, etched in relief. Like diminutive spiders scaling a wall, every one of his fingers began to crawl up on these graven legs until they touched a cushion, swarming with dust and upon which laid a golden arc. Moving the gilded box aside, he rested his head on the cushion, blasting a cloud of dust with a sudden breath. His arms were tethered to the golden chair, embracing the materialistic as though it were a loved one. This was the very throne upon which his father, Avlot, once sat.  

It was a chair, yet more than a chair: housing memories, some nearly forgotten, some lurid visions. Its golden legs and armrests were cold to the touch yet it stirred a warmth inside his heart. His finger up a gathering of dust. It no longer possessed a polished golden flare, but a bland, faded dreariness that contained the passing of days, weeks, months, and years. 

To his right and to his left were contraptions that likewise were crusted in grime, gossamer webs, and abandonment. Some of these objects hummed when his hand hovered above them, some broke through the ambiguity of the cave with flickering lights and others remained as frozen relics. It was a store of memories from the past, of technology now lost to this world when machines soared through the air and zoomed on the ground.  

Still, farther to the end of the cave, against the hintermost wall, were metals that gleamed as though untouched by the years. There was little he could say about these, even less as to how the whole lot existed. Who had brought them here, and to what avail? At the present, Myungsoo opted not to entertain such ponderings but sank down like a heavy weight on his proper inheritance. His fingers rhythmically tapped on the armrests as he tingled with a pleasant feeling, swept away in utter bliss.

While in his throne, his mind went adrift, swimming in lapping waters of nostalgia, undaunted by the world outside this haven. He was where he belonged, in the embrace of the past. The present melted into a slush compound of immateriality. Everything was incorporeal to him save the lavish seat upon which he sat, into the ethereal, bound by nothing in this world of terror. He was at that point, the freest he had ever been, embraced by the love of ghosts, his father, mother, and sister. 

 Then the name of the devil was whispered to him by a secret voice. He snarled and as he writhed in anger, a second name was whispered, Nesher. All his joy was stripped away and he slammed his fists into the graven armrests.

 "Damn it!"

 "What happened?!" Dongwoo finally asked. 

His eyes, a blazing hellfire, shifted to focus on his companion. In that simple glance, something was made clear to him, or at least, he thought it became clear to him. The dripping sounds of nectar reverberated in his ears, a flash of crimson streaked his eyes, a scent, pleasant, filled his nostrils. The weight of an odd shaped fruit, the form of an "x", fell upon his lap although nothing had actually dropped. For lesser men, the conception of such a theory might've have taken longer, but to him it was made clear with a simple glance.

 "Dongwoo! You said you heard god speak to you, from where?" 

 "It was here," he stammered, caught off guard by the sudden question.

His brain sparked with blinding electricity. The clues were pieced together like a jigsaw puzzle, falling neatly into their designated place. Dongwoo mentioned that right outside this cavern, a convenient place, there was a fruit bearing tree that bore the same fruit as the one he had earlier, the one he affirmed swallowed him up with eerie dreams and voices. A connection was made, linking these hallucinations with another topic. 

If Nesher was real, after staying quiet for several, several hundred years, without so much as speaking a word and then all of a sudden spoke to a random person, a person who was alien to the suffering of the present world- where is the sense in that?

 "That fruit, did you eat of it before you heard that voice?" he asked as he leaned his upper body forward.

 Dongwoo folded his arms and became like a statue as he tried to remember. He didn't have to think much, so he immediately answered, "I did," in the next moment.

Myungsoo rubbed his chin and sat back into his throne. A smirk was on his face, cynicism at its finest. It was a simple matter, then- the divine revelation Dongwoo had been entrusted with was a farce, he assumed with a braggart's heart.

 "It was no god you heard, damn you! It was that stupid fruit that stole your mind and infected you with weird dreams and echoes as it did me."

 Dongwoo staggered back, offended by the suggestion. It couldn't have been that. It was impossible. His god needed to have actually engaged in heartfelt dialogue with him, else how could he explain all of these events that had transpired? There was also the morphing of topography that was yet unexplained.

 "That's not true!" he urged with savage, wide gesticulations.

Myungsoo twitched at his adamant protest. It was definitely true to him. Although a secret part of him might've relished the idea of Nesher finally acting, he was doubtful as to all this supernatural speculations. His fierce arrogance shut down all possibility of faith trickling in anew in his inner man. 

Too long had he been disillusioned by the idea of an invisible force working in the threads of life. Too long had the promises of an ancient one failed him. Too long had he spent waiting for answers, only to be answered with strife and evil. With pride a buffer in all things faith, it was easy to address these seemingly orchestrated meetings with things of his past epoch and Dongwoo as mere happenstances. That drastic change of topography? He swept it off to bad memory.

 "I knew that god was a liar!" he droned as his muscles stiffened with anger.

 "He's not, Myungsoo! It's because of him that I met you and that you have been saved so many times by me!"

Myungsoo wagged his head. In this turn of events, he cocked his head back like a madman and began to laugh. While doing everything in his strength to reach this alien realm, he doubted there was anything of use in regards to offensive capabilities that could be used against Oscuridaon in these relics. He called himself a fool for ever chasing after phantom dreams. A fleeting stare across all these miscellaneous items informed him that they were mere ornaments, trinkets that only beautified his home in former times.

Dongwoo stared on with a distraught face. 

He had endeavored the venture into a wicked dimension for the sake of his god. It was not vain wanderlust; it went beyond his own raw desires and struggles to touch upon the real affliction of his brethren from whom he had been artificially estranged from. He had finally found enough hope to believe that Myungsoo might come to the land of belief, but it was apparently not so. He seemed convinced that the voice he heard here was total hallucination. That confidence Myungsoo held was now infecting him...

With sombre eyes he meditated as to how Nesher had not spoken to him since the time he left Laroo. He had not intervened to stay his hand from sin nor had he at all attempt to comfort him when he was drowning in the self-imposed purgatory which nearly paralyzed him forever. It was not a direct action that he took to save Myungsoo either, it was the Sanritem blood in him that wrought a healing miracle twice. 

Damn it! Dongwoo mentally swore. Had he been swindled by ancient lore and extrinsic factors, a hallucinogen in the form of a fruit?

His faith was shaken, even if slightly. What if it was the fruit? He had witnessed firsthand how it plagued Myungso, apparently blinding him and inducing hallucinations. Maybe he had a point.

 "No, it was Nesher that spoke to me!" Dongwoo exclaimed as he lunged himself at Myungsoo.

It was a sudden scuffle, worked by the rage of man. Even if he wagered his all, he could never best Myungsoo in physicality. The graven throne never tilted back but Myungsoo had caught Dongwoo by the shoulders. He didn't harm him as he stood up, his own mind a haze with the unfolding of these events. 

 "Stop it! You fool, you wanted to kill me for your god?!"

 Dongwoo gnashed his teeth at him until those words ultimately reached his soul. "No! Of course not!"

 Myungsoo lowered him down with a gusty sigh, stepping back only to stumble on a rectangular object. 

 "What's this?" he said as he kneeled to retrieve the gilded arc.

 Dongwoo, a wretched look on his face, poured all his effort in controlling himself. He hated the fact he had just tried to inflict harm on the only person besides his mother that had stepped inside his home. He scolded himself severely for not restraining the outlash of emotion. 

 "Dongwoo, how did you get this?" he asked, clamping down the lid after inspecting the contents.

 Craning his head up, Dongwoo met the golden flare of a box and hastened to swipe it out of Myungsoo's hands, "This is my only treasure where the sacred writings of our faith are written."

 "Who brought it here?"

 "It was always here," he answered with a wagging head. 

 "Impossible! It belongs to me and I'm the one who wrote all those things inside."

Before any more could be discussed, a voice, clear and like the sound of rushing waters spoke. The pair fell to the ground, unsure of what to think. 

 "My children," the voice spoke with a solemn tone, "both of you have dipped your toes in sin. You cannot meet me as you are but must perform the required ablutions before meeting me."