Beach Episode

Meanwhile, in This Dimension…

“Guys, guys, guys! Quick, grab your camera!” Fire shouted, his eyes sparkling with excitement. The salty breeze carried his voice through the trees, mixing with the rustling leaves and distant crash of waves. “There, there, there! What’s that? I can’t believe it—it’s a flying saucer! Heeeeeeeeeey!” he yelled from the top of a sandy hill, his shoes sinking into the soft earth.

The others scrambled up, the scent of vegetation and salt filling the air. Their third-year trip—the last one before graduation—had brought them here, to this stretch of coast where the forest met the sea. Soon, life would pull them in different directions, but for now, they were just boys chasing something impossible.

A strange object hovered slowly above the trees, not far from where they were, moving along the contours of the canopy.

“It’s probably just a blimp or a plane,” Water said, crossing his arms skeptically.

“I’ve been waiting for you guys! Take me!” Fire grinned, waving his arms wildly as if on a sugar rush.

“Hey, stop it! I heard these things are evil!” Day whispered nervously, sweating as he glanced around. “They abduct you and do horrible experiments on you!” His fingers instinctively clutched the small religious charm around his neck, as if seeking protection from an unseen danger.

“Wow, it’s so close!” Fire exclaimed, his voice filled with wonder. “It’s completely sleek and silvery—no ridges at all. Can you hear that humming?” He pointed at his ear. “It’s hard to tell from this distance, but it looks like it could be as big as a bus!”

“Yup, it’s definitely a blimp,” Water said, though a hint of curiosity crept into his tone.

“What would a blimp be doing here?!” Fire shot back. “Do you know how many licensed blimp pilots exist in the world?”

“Probably more than licensed flying saucer pilots,” Water shrugged.

“Haha, it’s like half a dozen,” Fire said.

“C’mon, guys, hide!” Day urged, darting behind a tree, his heart racing.

“What are you doing?” Fire laughed, glancing back. “It’s just a UFO!”

Water didn’t answer. He was staring through the camera around his neck, completely still. “Wait… is it changing shape?” His voice dropped. “No, seriously. I think we should go.”

“Let me see it!” Fire grabbed the camera—but the strap yanked at Water’s neck as he did.

“Hey—ow! Careful!” Water snapped, reaching up.

But Fire was already peering through the viewfinder, eyes wide. “It’s almost like it’s liquid!” he said, grinning like a maniac. “I think this is the best day of my life. Are we alone? I don’t think so!”

“We don’t know if it’s aliens; it could be a weather balloon or some natural phenomenon,” Water reasoned.

“It’s wobbling slightly… Hey, I think it’s moving! Let’s follow it! It’s just across that river!”

Water hesitated.

“C’mon, dude, are you scared of a blimp?” Fire teased.

Water glanced at Fire, suddenly struck by how small and fleeting these moments were—how this might be one of the last times they ran toward something unknown together. “Alright, let’s go,” Water sighed.

“Day! We’re following that thing!” Fire called out, his enthusiasm infectious. Then he turned to Water. “Hey, got any pictures?”

“No film. Battery’s dead,” Water replied.

“How convenient, huh?” Fire muttered before shouting again, “Hey, Day, let’s go!”

After a moment of silence, as Fire and Water gazed at the spot where he had been hiding, Day called out, “I’ll stay! You guys go without me!”

“It’s getting dark; we’re not coming back for you!” Fire warned. “Hey Water, let’s go.”

Several minutes into their descent down the hill, the air around them felt heavier, the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds the only sounds filling the silence. Just as they started to relax, a soft but unmistakable crunch of footsteps echoed from behind.

Fire and Water froze, their hearts skipping a beat. They turned, slowly. Expecting something they weren’t ready for.

It was Day. Or at least… it looked like him.

He walked toward them—too calm, too quiet. His steps were oddly measured, and his expression didn’t quite match the tension that hung in the air.

“I’m glad you changed your mind, Day! Scared of being alone?” Fire teased, though his voice came out more cautious than mocking.

Day ignored the question, confidently passing them with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, effortlessly descending the hill. Fire blinked. He was without his glasses. His hair looked different, too—sleek, almost like it had been gelled. The slope of his shoulders seemed taller, straighter. A trick of the light, maybe.

Did he really bother to change his hair?

Just an hour ago, Day had been clutching his charm like a lifeline, whispering about abductions and experiments. Now he walked like he owned the woods.

Fire felt a chill skitter up his spine.

“Uh… maybe it’s the other guy,” Fire whispered to Water with a nervous grin, alluding to Day’s odd double personality.

Water didn’t respond right away. His eyes stayed locked on Day’s back as it moved steadily ahead, deeper into the woods.

The sky was dimming now, the last light filtering through the treetops. Shadows stretched longer. The quiet was thicker.

Then Fire gasped. “Look! There’s a faint glow underneath it!”

The object hovered silently ahead, just beyond the trees, and sure enough, a low, diffuse glow shimmered below it, as if the air itself were lit from within.

“Yup,” Water replied, adjusting his glasses. “It’s like it’s energizing the air around it.” He mumbled something about a weather phenomenon—maybe St. Elmo’s fire, maybe ball lightning—but Fire wasn’t listening.

“How much energy do you think it takes to ionize the surrounding air?” Fire asked, stepping carefully over a tangle of roots.

“Probably… as much as a lightning strike?” Water said, rubbing his eyes to sharpen his focus. His skepticism was slipping, replaced with awe. He didn’t want to believe in aliens—not yet—but this didn’t look like anything natural either.

“Yeah… a lightning strike… but it’s sustaining it,” Fire whispered, mesmerized.

“Not as bright as lightning, though,” Water added, shrugging off the thought, though he kept glancing up at the craft like it might blink out of existence.

Fire cupped his hands and called, “Everything okay up there, Day?”

No response.

Water hesitated, then tried, “Erm… Night?”

A beat of silence. Then: “Yeah, everything’s fine,” came the reply.

But it wasn’t Day’s usual high, slightly nasally voice. It was deeper—smooth and resonant, the kind of voice you might hear on the radio just before midnight. Calm. Unbothered. Too calm.

He didn’t look back. Just raised a hand as he walked, in a lazy, deliberate gesture that was meant to seem normal—but somehow wasn’t.

Fire and Water exchanged a look.

Neither said anything. The forest around them pressed in close, the hum from the object overhead still faint but steady. For a while, all they heard was the crunch of their footsteps and the whisper of wind through the leaves.

Then Fire exhaled loudly, trying to shake the tension. “Okay, maybe that was just… regular weird, not scary weird.”

Water let out a short laugh, grateful for the break in silence. “Weird is your normal.”

They walked on.

The trail sloped slightly upward now, winding between gnarled trunks and ferns. The glow above flickered for a second, but returned. Fire began to lag behind.

“Tired already? Can’t you walk a bit faster? This was your idea, anyway,” Water called back with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He didn’t stop walking.

Behind him, Fire was hunched over, hands on his knees, wheezing audibly.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Fire said between gulps of air. “Now that I can see through my own eyes, why do flying saucers seem so unstable in low-velocity mode? Maybe it has to do with a frame rate mismatch between our eyes. It’s moving faster than what we can actually perceive—maybe there’s some form of stabilization happening that we just can’t register, like our eyes trying to catch up with it, but it’s still too fast.”

Water’s steps slowed. He adjusted his collar, exhaled sharply through his nose, and kept walking.

“And like… maybe that flickering is just our brain skipping frames! What if—”

Water abruptly stopped.

He turned around, jaw tight.

“IT’S NOT A FLYING SAUCER!”

Fire froze for a moment, processing. “What…? Are you BLIND?! That! There’s no way in hell that’s not a flying saucer! Why do you always have to undermine everything I say?!”

His fists clenched, face burning. “You wanna challenge me on this? You wanna say I’m seeing things?” He took a step forward, frustration burning in his eyes.

Water’s expression hardened, but he didn’t back down. “I’m not challenging you, Fire. I’m trying to get through your thick skull that it’s not a flying saucer!” He swiped a hand through the air as if to erase the entire conversation. “Can you even hear yourself?! And no, it’s not Santa Claus either.”

Fire’s breath hitched. “What’s your problem?! We’re standing before one of the biggest events of our lives, and you insist on denying the undeniable!” His voice shook with something deeper than anger. “You turn everything into a damn competition. Always dismissive of me, always downplaying my struggles, never celebrating my wins. Never admitting your own weaknesses.” He stepped closer, glare unwavering.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. “Oh, I think I know what your problem is… You can’t handle the fact that I’m everything you can’t b—”

Water turned his back.

He started walking. Calmly. Not storming off—just done.

Fire scoffed. “Really? That’s it? Walk away again? That smug silence—”

No answer.

“Say something, dammit!”

Water stopped.

He turned. His eyes met Fire’s—cold, steady.

Then he stepped in and hit him.

It took a few seconds to register what had just happened. His gaze dropped, breath shallow. Then a crooked smile spread across his face as he looked up at Water.

“What a girl’s punch” Fire said, low and sharp, almost amused.

Then he swung back. Hard.

Water dodged the first blow—but the second caught him in the ribs.

“You think you can dodge me?” Fire snarled, following up with a quick jab.

Water staggered, one arm folding protectively over his side. “Ngh—watch the camera, you idiot!”

He stepped sideways, putting space between them, heading toward Day—no, Night—who stood a few feet away, watching in silence.

“You’re all heat, no control, Fire,” Water said, voice cold and even under the rising tension.

Reaching Night, he dropped his bag with a heavy thump, took the camera from around his neck, and peeled off his glasses. He handed both to Night without looking.

“Hold this for a second.”

Fire scoffed, eyes blazing. “Oh, so you’re really serious about that, huh?!” He exhaled sharply and shrugged off his bag, letting it hit the ground.

Fire lunged again, but Water caught his wrist mid-air, twisting it to a halt. Fire struggled, growling, but Water held firm. “This isn’t about proving who’s stronger,” he said. “It’s about knowing when to stop.”

Fire’s breath came in quick bursts, anger warring with something deeper. “You think you’ve got me cornered?” He twisted suddenly, hooking his leg behind Water’s and pulling him down—both of them hitting the ground hard, rolling in a tangle of limbs, each fighting for control. Dirt smeared, breath ragged, they grappled, shifting their weight, trying to find an advantage.

“You won’t break,” Fire panted, frustration tinged with admiration.

Water wiped his brow, his body tense beneath Fire’s, but his stance more relaxed now. “I’m not the one breaking.”

Their attacks slowed, movements sluggish, exhaustion creeping in. Fire threw one last punch, but his body gave in. He collapsed forward, pressing his hands into the dirt, chest heaving.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “I can’t keep doing this.”

Water stayed where he was, not moving to strike, his body trembling but still holding steady. He didn’t speak, just watching Fire with a quiet, almost knowing gaze.

As the fight between Fire and Water slowed, both of them panting heavily, the tension in the air thickened. The distant, quiet hum of a sound broke through the silence, unnoticed by the exhausted pair.

Night had been quietly observing the fight, arms crossed, an unimpressed look on his face. Two pairs of water glasses hung from hooks on the collar of his t-shirt—one belonging to Water, the other to him—and a camera rested around his neck. He watched them with a mix of boredom and mild curiosity, as if their clash was little more than a pointless spectacle.

Keeping one eye on the strange object, he finally stepped forward with a sigh. “Are you done? Are we still going after that… thing? It’s heading that way.” His tone was indifferent, as if the fight wasn’t even worth acknowledging.

Night’s presence snapped Fire back to focus. He scoffed, then turned to Water. “If that isn’t a flying saucer… I’ll pay for your launch for an entire year. Let’s go.” He extended a hand toward Water.

Water took it with a smirk. “Like you have that kind of money.”

Fire pulled him up. They stood there for a beat, bodies aching, sweat and grime clinging to their skin, bruises throbbing, twigs tangled in their hair—each still tasting the burn of the fight.

The tension between them hadn’t fully faded, but the strange hum pulling at their attention was stronger now. Wordless, they turned back toward the path, flashlights cutting through the gathering shadows.

For several minutes, they moved in heavy silence, the weight of what just happened lingering like a shadow between them. Only the crunch of leaves beneath their boots and the distant sounds of night filled the air.

Then the river came into view, dark and slow-moving. The object stood just beyond the opposite bank, flickering faintly in the dim light. Night glanced back toward the hill behind them. “I think there’s a way to cross from up there,” he said quietly. “This way.”

They followed the trail along the river’s edge for a few more minutes, the rush of water growing louder until it drowned out their footsteps. Soon, they reached a narrow path of rocks stretched across the current. The stones were slick and uneven, frothing water slamming against them, spraying a cold mist into the air.

Without a word, they began to cross, stepping from stone to stone. It should have felt dangerous, but they moved with an odd calm, as if drawn forward. Yet beneath the casual steps, an unspoken tension rippled through them, a charge in the air they couldn’t quite shake.

Fire noticed that Water had suddenly stopped, his gaze fixed on something in his hand.

Fire stepped closer. “What’s up?”

“Hey, check this out,” Water said, showing him his compass.

“It’s spinning like crazy!” Fire replied.

“Looks like it’s interfering with the magnetic field,” Water concluded.

“The air feels heavy,” Fire commented.

“It’s static! You should see your hair! My clothes feel glued to my body.” Water continued.

As Fire looked down at his arm, a spark jumped from his fingertips to a nearby rock. His skin prickled, like a low electric current hummed beneath it. The mist that clung to them felt colder than the air, and carried a faint, metallic scent that caught in the back of their throats.

Night glanced down, a faint smile forming on his face as he watched his friends getting along again.

“We’re so close now!” Fire said, his eyes sparkling.

“I think we can’t get any closer than this,” Water said, pointing with his thumb toward the object. “There it is, Fire. Your UFO. Happy?” He gave a cheeky smile.

They sat on nearby boulders, finally putting down the weight of their bags. Fire reached for his bottle, and Night opened a bag of chips, offering them to his friends. Water grabbed one while holding a cereal bar in his mouth.

Amid the sound of crunching, their eyes remained fixed on the shining object floating over the trees, about 100 meters away. The steady hum from the object buzzed in the air, faint but constant.Finally, Fire, mouth full and grinning wide, asked through a mouthful of chips, “More impressed now, Water?” His tone was half-mocking, half-amused.

Water, unphased, smirked. “It certainly is a strange phenomenon.”

On the big boulder, Fire leaned back with his arms stretched out behind him, his legs stretched out in front. Water sat cross-legged, arms resting on his knees, while Night lounged on his side, his head propped up on one hand as he casually surveyed the sky. The hum deepened into a low, vibrating thrum that seemed to pulse through the ground beneath them. The air prickled on their skin, charged with an energy they couldn’t explain.

Suddenly, the hovering UFO began glowing with a pulsating blue light. The glow spread outward, bathing the treetops in an eerie hue. One by one, four smaller round objects detached from its underside, sliding off like molten metal droplets—first falling, then curving upward in a smooth, U-shaped motion until they hovered at the same height as the larger object, perfectly equidistant and slowly orbiting it.

“That’s… insane! Next-level sci-fi! Dude, this is the coolest thing ever!” Fire exclaimed.

“Are they moving in a pattern? Like a formation? No obvious propulsion… how are they doing that?” Water asked, now fully convinced this was something beyond human technology.

The smaller objects lingered around the larger craft briefly, as if awaiting orders, then zipped away in different directions at incredible speed. Minutes later, they returned and reattached just as smoothly as they had detached. The main craft remained in place, gently wobbling.

Suddenly, a series of sharp clicking noises echoed through the night. Fire turned to see Night flicking his flashlight on and off, aiming it toward the UFO.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Fire whispered urgently.

“Communicating,” Night replied with a smirk. “It was getting boring.” Night’s grin widened, but there was something unreadable in his eyes — a flicker of something more than mischief.

“Stop it! I don’t think it’s a good idea to get its attention!” Water hissed, pushing Night’s flashlight down.

Fire’s breath hitched as he stared at the UFO. “Hey, I think it’s descending!” he whispered, his voice shaky with excitement. “Let’s get closer!”

“Are you kidding me?” Water shot back. “We should run!”

Fire’s heart pounded, a knot of doubt tightening in his stomach. But the chance to see something no one else had? That was worth the risk. “C’mon, we’re this close to seeing aliens! You don’t want to miss that!” Fire insisted.

The boys crouched low, carefully creeping forward, hiding behind a thick bush. The air buzzed with electricity, prickling their skin as the craft slowly descended, its steady hum filling the silence.

The object’s glow softened as it neared the ground, revealing two perfectly stacked plates shimmering in the dim light.

“Woah… I can feel the pulses now,” Fire whispered, eyes wide with awe. “It looks like it’s on fire! There are flames licking the top!”

“I smell burned grass,” Water added, nostrils flaring.

The craft hovered just inches above the earth, its presence heavy and imposing. A soft hum escaped it as a mist rolled out in slow, shimmering waves, obscuring the ground like a ghostly veil.

“What is that?” Fire muttered, voice barely audible.

“No way I’m going in there,” Water whispered, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides, as if searching for something to steady himself.

Fire and Water exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of their next move pressing down on them. Silence settled between them, broken only by the low hum and the crackle of charged air.

Night remained still, his unreadable gaze locked on the hovering craft.

“My heart’s about to explode,” Fire breathed. “Okay, okay… Let’s not freak out.”

Then, one by one, four child-sized humanoid figures appeared through the mist—tall-headed, thin-limbed, their black almond eyes reflecting the craft’s glow. Their skin was pale, almost translucent, and they moved without a sound, gliding smoothly across the grass.

The boys turned to each other in complete disbelief, eyes wide, mouths slightly open—a silent, shared Are you seeing this?

Fire finally lowered his hands from his face. “Holy crap, they’re greys,” he whispered, voice trembling with awe. “Nice weather phenomenon, huh?” he added with a nervous grin.

Water didn’t answer. He was frozen, squinting at them. “Shhh! Be quiet,” he hissed. Then, softer, “They’re… flickering. Like projections. I think they’re scanning or… collecting something off the ground.”

“Their movement’s so… off,” Fire murmured. “Like they’re in slow motion. Out of sync with reality.”

Night, who had been completely silent, suddenly stood and stepped out from behind the bush.

“That’s it,” he said. “I’m gonna kick their asses off our planet.”

“No—Night, wait!” Fire whisper-yelled, reaching out.

But Night was already moving forward, unfazed, stepping directly into the shimmering mist surrounding the craft.

The moment he crossed the boundary, he froze. Mid-step. One foot suspended in the air, his body perfectly still—as if someone had pressed pause.

Fire staggered forward, heart hammering. He crept closer and peered through the bubble. Beyond Night’s frozen frame, the four beings had all turned to face him. Their heads moved in eerie unison, their gaze unblinking and direct.

Then Fire looked back toward Water—and his breath caught.

Water wasn’t moving.

He, too, was frozen mid-crouch, his face still contorted in alarm. Even the leaves around him seemed to hang motionless, suspended in time.

White flooded his vision.

Fire lay flat on his back, naked, on an elevated surface that felt metallic—but not cold. It seemed to emerge organically from the floor, as if the entire structure had grown as one seamless form.

The room around him was dimly lit by a soft, ambient glow radiating from the walls themselves. There were no visible lights, no seams, no sharp corners. Every edge curved gently, as though the room had been designed by something that had never known a straight line.

He sat up slowly, every movement echoing in the eerie stillness. His clothes were neatly folded on the corner of the platform—too neatly. Beside them, the objects that had been in his pockets were laid out in a precise line: a red Bic lighter, his Swiss Army knife, and his flashlight, each aligned and ordered by size.

No noise. No sign of life.

And no sign of Night or Water.

Panic tugged at the edge of his mind. They had been right there—frozen, but there. Now it was just him.

Only the subtle, low hum that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Fire swung his legs over the edge and stood, cautiously. The floor yielded slightly beneath his feet, almost like dense memory foam—yet solid. He walked a few steps, every instinct screaming that something was deeply unnatural about this place.

“Hello?” he called out. His voice didn’t echo. It simply existed and then disappeared. “Water?” he called out softly. “Night?”

Something was watching. He could feel it.

But nothing moved.

He was still alone. No voices. No footsteps. Just the quiet hum of the walls and the sound of his own breath, shallow and uncertain.

After several minutes, Fire caught a glimpse of motion in his peripheral vision. A lid slowly emerged from the center, expanding horizontally into a smooth, rectangular shape with rounded corners. It made no sound. As it stretched, the space beyond revealed a tall, slender figure, unmistakably feminine. She stood taller than the beings Fire had encountered before, though still shorter than him. She glided forward with an elegance that made the others seem stiff in comparison, her hand raised in a peaceful gesture.

She drew closer. Fire noticed her almost translucent white skin—smooth and featureless, like wax—glowing faintly in the reflection of the luminous walls. No hair, no ears, just a small nose, lips, and chin. She was right in front of him now. Fire wanted to look away but couldn’t. Her large, black eyes locked onto his, their hypnotic gaze making him feel more exposed than he already was.

Her hand hovered at her forehead for a moment—fingers trembling ever so slightly—as if she were choosing to become something else. Then, with deliberate grace, she touched her skin.

Fire’s breath caught, heart racing.

In slow motion, her alien face seemed to ripple and burst outward, starting where her hand made contact and spreading down her neck. Time froze as golden hair cascaded down, framing her face. For a brief moment, her eyes remained closed, as though holding something back. Then, slowly, she opened them—startling blue, almost unnaturally wide, their smooth lids tapering gently at the corners. Beneath them, subtle under-eye bags gave her a melancholic air. Her skin, incredibly fair, seemed untouched by sunlight, smooth as porcelain. Rosy cheeks warmed her complexion, while delicate veins were visible beneath her skin. Her pale eyelashes and eyebrows matched the soft golden hue of her hair.

For a moment, everything was still. Fire’s mind went blank, his thoughts and senses overwhelmed. The overwhelming sensation itself seemed to fade, leaving him suspended in silence beneath her calm, intense gaze.

“…Millennium… Whoop…” Fire whispered, the words tumbling out as if plucked from a dream. A flicker—music? laughter?—brushed the edge of his mind. Somehow, impossibly, he knew her.

The figure responded with a gentle, almost imperceptible smile. Her large, expressive eyes sparkled with a depth of understanding that made his chest tighten. Without a word, she glided closer and wrapped him in a gentle but unyielding embrace—a quiet force that dissolved the walls he didn’t even know he’d built around himself.

The world slipped away—shapes, thoughts, even memory. Time itself unraveled, soft and meaningless. Boundaries blurred. He couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. Something vast and gentle held him, weightless and without edges.

Then, without warning, the serenity shattered.

A crushing wave of nausea surged through him. The world tilted. Fire stumbled back from her arms, collapsing into a squat as dizziness overtook him. A blinding pain ignited in his skull—sharp, pulsing, relentless. He clutched his head with both hands, gasping, then screaming as the agony intensified.

His eyes clenched shut. The scream tore from his throat, primal and involuntary. Blood poured from his nose, thick and hot, splattering onto the glowing floor in dark, violent drops.

She leaned forward, her hair flowing softly as it hovered for a moment, catching the light before gently settling. Her long, delicate fingers extended a strange, silver, tear-shaped object toward him. Without hesitation, Fire took it—somehow instinctively knowing what to do—pressing it to his lips and sucking the liquid inside. The moment he finished, he handed the empty vessel back to her.

Dazed, he watched as his blood seeped into the glowing floor, each droplet shrinking until it vanished entirely. What remained on his nose didn’t drip further but instead sank into his skin, absorbed from within.

Gathering himself, Fire spoke—not aloud, but with his mind. “I think I’m finally understanding…” He paused, reflecting before continuing, “This whole ‘making friends’ thing… it can be pretty painful, can’t it?”

“At first, I thought all I needed was to focus on my own path. So I shut myself off, letting no one in. But when I truly needed others, no one was there. The connections I thought I had… they didn’t care about what I had to offer. Or maybe the ones who did were no longer around. Everyone was only looking out for their own interests—just like I was.”

He paused, exhaling softly. “It’s a painful truth. Well, except…” A faint smile flickered across his face, but his gaze dropped slightly, caught in a quiet, distant thought. Then, as he finished speaking, his eyes rose again to meet hers. “Someone made me realize there’s still warmth in this world.”

Millennium Whoop listened carefully, head slightly tilted, eyes focused. Her brows furrowed gently in concentration, but her gaze held a softness that spoke of quiet understanding.

Slowly, Fire rose to his feet, steady and sure, holding her gaze without wavering. By the time he was fully upright, he was no longer his This Dimension self, but the red-skinned, long-haired, horned figure of That Dimension, his pointed tail swirling behind him.

“But even now… I still can’t tell if it was real or not. But… regardless of that… I realize that to achieve what I envision… I’m going to need that—and much, much more.”

Fire lowered his gaze, studying the transformation—his hand now a deep red, tipped with sharp black nails. He let out a slow breath.

“Connections… They’re forged not only when you allow yourself to be hurt… But also when you allow yourself to hurt others.”

Fire could finally see her in full—Millennium Whoop’s hair, neatly parted in the middle, flowed in soft waves all the way to her hips. There was something almost hypnotic about the way it framed her presence. At last, the silence broke, and Fire could hear Millennium Whoop’s thoughts echoing in his mind.

“Pain is inevitable in connections, but it’s not pointless—it shows the stakes are real. The challenge is finding those who won’t hurt you more than necessary. Even the best will sometimes, but the right ones will always try to make it better.” She paused, gazing into the distance. “The hardest part is knowing when to let go. Holding on to something too tightly can burn you, and others, just as much as letting go too soon can leave you hollow.”

Then she closed her eyes, and finally added “If connection is key on your journey, then so is resilience.” The weight of those words settled deep within him, etching themselves into his mind. Fire exhaled slowly, caught between comfort and unease — a truth he’d always sensed but never fully faced. After a long moment, he looked away, releasing another slow breath as sorrow pulled at his heart. “It’s time to say goodbye now, isn’t it?”

Millennium Whoop responded with a gentle, almost imperceptible nod. Her eyes remained fixed on him, blinking slowly, yet she said nothing. The weight of silence stretched between them.

“I want to give you something…” Fire’s thoughts softened. He moved toward the surface where his belongings lay, picking up one of the objects and turning back to Millennium Whoop. Gently, he placed it in her hand.

It was a red BIC lighter, its edges worn from use.

“I know it’s not much,” he thought, “but please keep it—as a memento of our encounter.”

Her fingers slowly closed around it. Then, looking deeply into her eyes, he added in thought, “I hope it helps illuminate your journey… to discover who you truly are.”

Millennium Whoop said nothing. Instead, she slowly lifted the gift to her heart with both hands, her eyes fluttering closed. She pressed the lighter gently against her chest, and it seemed to sink into her, as if being absorbed from within.

A shaky breath escaped Fire. He hesitated for a moment, then murmured, “It’s not fair…” His voice cracked, raw with emotion. “That I don’t get to remember any of this. It feels so lonely out there.” His chest tightened, the weight of the words too heavy to hold back.

“I know…” She turned her gaze away. Her eyes shimmered, reddening with unshed tears, lips pressed tightly together, a faint furrow knitting her brows. She was trying to hold it in. But in that moment, Fire saw the pain etched across her face—and even if he hadn’t, he could feel it, a deep ache transmitted through their silent connection. She was hurting just as much as he was, if not more.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath. Then, gently, she moved closer, her hands reaching for his. They were infinitely warm, a steady heat that comforted without burning.

“You won’t be alone,” she thought softly.

The quiet echo of her words lingered as Fire slowly surfaced from the haze. The gentle night breeze whispered through the trees, carrying the familiar chorus of crickets and distant waves. Faint voices—his friends’ voices—drifted toward him, grounding him back to the world he knew.

Day yawned. “Nice place to rest, huh?” He sat up, stretching his arms, his usual squeaky voice back. “I’m starving!”

“Do you know what time it is?” Water asked.

“Huh… my clock says 9:45!” Day replied.

“No way it’s that late. It feels like the sun just set. Maybe your clock’s broken.”

“Oh no, it’s brand new! I worked so hard to buy it!” Day protested. “Hey, why are you wearing my T-shirt?”

“And you’re wearing mine!” Water replied, surprised. “When did that happen?”

Still lying back, Fire gazed up at the starry night with a contented smile, resting on the very hill where their adventure had begun that day.