I, the slave boy, awaken with the most potent seed!!

Zafron stepped outside the temple, the crisp air of limbo carrying a surreal calm. It was always quiet here—too quiet. He scanned the courtyard, his eyes landing on Aurelia, who stood under the pale sky. She was scooping shimmering gold paint from a small bowl and carefully pouring it over a strange, thorned plant.

At first glance, the plant seemed like an odd combination of a rose bush and metal sculpture—its twisted branches glittered like polished gold, yet they pulsed faintly, as if alive.

Zafron sauntered over and stopped beside her, crossing his arms. "What the hell are you doing?"

Aurelia didn't even flinch. Her sharp, typically aloof demeanor stayed intact as she replied matter-of-factly, "Feeding my plants."

He squinted at the strange scene, watching how the gold liquid seeped into the roots and made the entire plant glow faintly. "That's food? Doesn't look like water to me."

"Of course not," Aurelia said, giving him a sideways glance. "This isn't some mortal shrub. It's mine."

Zafron arched a brow. "Yours?"

She dipped her fingers into the golden paint, letting it drip over a particularly twisted bud. "It responds to what I give it. Gold keeps it alive, keeps it thriving. It's a reflection of me, after all."

It was then Zafron noticed what he should have seen sooner—Aurelia's taste for bling. Her attire was flashy as ever: metallic accents on her sleeves, golden bracelets, rings, and that glimmering crown-like pin in her dark hair. She looked regal, intimidating, and—if he were being honest—unimpressed by his presence.

He tilted his head, exhaling through his nose. "Need any help with… this?"

Aurelia paused mid-pour, her eyes flicking to him in genuine surprise before she smirked faintly. "Didn't peg you for the gardening type."

Zafron shrugged, rolling up his sleeves. "I'm not. But I'm trying to keep busy."

"Suit yourself," she said, passing him a smaller bowl of the gold paint.

They worked in silence for a while, pouring the strange, glimmering liquid onto the roots of the plants. It was oddly calming—watching something glow and flourish beneath his hands in such a strange place.

Aurelia finally broke the silence. "So? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about what?" Zafron muttered, focusing on a particularly stubborn branch.

She arched a brow, undeterred. "I may not be as close to you as the others, but I'm not blind. You've got a storm cloud hanging over your head, Zafron. It's loud enough to feel from here."

Zafron froze for a moment before glancing at her. "It's that obvious?"

Aurelia smirked. "You look like a giant fight pit advertisement signboard. 'Come one, come all—worry and despair!'"

Zafron blinked at her, caught off guard. "You're joking."

"Am I?" she teased, her tone light but pointed.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah… I guess I've been thinking too much."

"About?" she prompted, her golden-tipped fingers brushing over a leaf as she coaxed it to life.

Zafron hesitated, then leaned against the base of one of the glowing plants. "My body's still in the mortal world, right? Matilda and Sakura are there. I trust them. But the last time I came to limbo, it felt like I was here for hours. Days passed back there."

"And now you're worried how long you've been gone," Aurelia finished for him.

He nodded, his jaw tight. "Exactly. I don't even know if I can return. What if I'm stuck here? What if…?"

"—they can't wake you up?" Aurelia supplied softly.

Zafron's eyes narrowed, but he didn't deny it. "Yeah. Something like that."

Aurelia turned to him then, her expression unusually soft, though still aloof. "You've changed, you know."

"How so?"

"When you first stumbled into limbo, you were a selfish kid," she said bluntly, "clinging to life after Gustavo's blade almost cut you down. Now? You're worried about the people you left behind."

Zafron snorted. "Sounds like you're getting sentimental on me, Aurelia."

She ignored him, her lips twitching faintly in amusement. "Unfortunately, I can't help you with this particular problem."

Zafron frowned. "Figures."

"But…"

That single word snapped his focus back to her. "But what?"

Aurelia straightened, wiping her gold-stained hands on a cloth. "I know someone who can help."

Zafron's ears perked up. "Who?"

Aurelia's sharp gaze flicked around them, as if making sure they weren't being watched. "It has to stay a secret," she said, lowering her voice. "I can't tell you outright."

Zafron's brow furrowed. "Why not?"

"Because of the system," she said matter-of-factly. "You may not have realized it yet, but we—Calista, Thera, and myself—are all connected to you. If I tell you outright, they might sense it."

Zafron's mind whirled, pieces of a puzzle slowly clicking together. "So, what now?"

Aurelia gave him a sly smile. "First, we finish wetting my plants."

Zafron groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You've got to be kidding me."

She shoved another bowl of gold paint into his hands. "I'm not. Get to work, Zafron."

He grumbled under his breath but complied, pouring the shimmering liquid over the glowing roots. Whatever secret Aurelia held, she wasn't going to spill it easily.

But as frustrating as she was, Zafron couldn't deny it—this was the closest thing to hope he'd had in a long time.

Aurelia had an odd habit of keeping herself busy. Whether it was out of boredom or a strange sense of routine, Zafron had no idea. He leaned casually against the doorway, watching as she meticulously polished an assortment of jewelry—gold, silver, and gemstones of every imaginable hue.

"Do you even wear half of these?" Zafron asked, raising a brow as she moved each piece from one spot to another with almost ceremonial care.

Aurelia didn't look up. "Not really."

"Then why scatter them around just to clean them up again?"

Her expression remained stoic, as usual. "It's none of your concern."

Zafron threw up his hands. "Fine. Just saying—this looks less like maintenance and more like self-inflicted chores."

Aurelia ignored him, her pale silver hair falling like a curtain as she polished a particularly ornate necklace. Zafron sighed and decided to leave her to it.

---

It wasn't long after her bath that Aurelia tracked Zafron down again, intercepting him in one of the temple corridors. She handed him a woven basket and an odd-looking pronged tool.

"We're going fruit hunting," she said flatly.

Zafron stared at the basket, then the prong, before groaning. "Oh, come on. Another one of your chores? Can't you just—"

"Let's go," Aurelia cut in, her voice as emotionless as ever. She turned on her heel and began walking.

Zafron dragged his feet behind her, grumbling loudly enough for her to hear. "Every time. Every time I think I've gotten out of something weird, here you come with a basket."

They passed by Calista in the temple courtyard, who was oddly busy sipping tea and staring off into the distance, her eyes vacant as if lost in thought. Zafron gave her a brief wave.

"Morning, Calista."

She didn't respond, save for a subtle narrowing of her eyes, as if even acknowledging him cost her energy. Zafron frowned but shrugged it off.

Thera, however, was nowhere to be seen. Zafron couldn't help but wonder if it had something to do with their kiss back in the library. She was probably avoiding him, and honestly, he couldn't blame her. Limbo was a complicated place, and so were its occupants.

"Where exactly are we going?" Zafron asked, speeding up to walk beside Aurelia.

"To get the fruit," she replied simply.

"And after that?"

"Then we'll discuss your terms."

"Terms?" Zafron scoffed, muttering under his breath. "You're more cryptic than Aphrodite sometimes."

Aurelia didn't respond. She led him in silence through the shifting landscapes of Limbo until they finally arrived at an enormous tree.

Zafron craned his neck upward, eyes widening at the sheer size of it. "You've got to be kidding me. That's not a tree—that's a skyscraper!"

Aurelia, as usual, remained unbothered. She gestured toward it. "Pluck a fruit."

He gawked at her, incredulous. "How? You expect me to just fly up there?"

"Sometimes," Aurelia said cryptically, "it's all about perspectives and angles."

Before he could ask what she meant, Aurelia knelt down beside a small puddle of water on the ground. Zafron watched with a furrowed brow as she set the basket aside, positioned herself on all fours, and shoved her head straight into the water.

"What the hell?" Zafron muttered, crouching slightly to get a better look. It didn't make sense. The puddle was no more than a few inches deep, yet her entire head seemed to disappear.

He shifted uncomfortably as Aurelia remained there, face down, backside raised, completely unbothered. Zafron turned his gaze away awkwardly. 'Just… don't look, man. She'll kill you.'

Minutes passed, and finally, Aurelia pulled her head free. To Zafron's shock, her hair was completely dry, and in her hand was a glowing fruit—round, pulsing faintly with light. She stood, holding it out with a blank expression. "Your turn."

Zafron blinked at her, then at the puddle. "You're serious?"

She said nothing, only gestured toward the water.

With a sigh, Zafron knelt down, mimicking her posture. He glanced up at her. "If I drown, I'm blaming you."

"You won't drown."

"You don't sound too sure—"

"Just do it."

Grumbling, Zafron took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and shoved his head into the puddle.

The moment his face broke the surface, everything changed.

He wasn't kneeling anymore—he was falling. A rush of colors and shadows swirled around him, pulling him deeper into something vast and unknowable. His breath caught in his throat as gravity ceased to exist, and he tumbled through what felt like an endless void.

'What the hell is this?!'

Somewhere, faint laughter echoed. Was it Aurelia? Or something else?

Before he could process, his surroundings began to coalesce. Light returned, shapes solidified, and suddenly—

He landed with a thud.

Zafron didn't know how he got here. One moment he was in limbo, grumbling at Aurelia's strange fruit-hunting ritual, and the next, he was wandering through an unfamiliar place. His surroundings stretched out like a sprawling town—quaint cobblestone streets, houses stacked close together, and townsfolk moving in easy rhythm, as if life here carried no burden.

The people were strange, though. They walked with a serene calm, their faces painted with smiles that were too… content. It wasn't unnerving, exactly, but it didn't sit right with Zafron either. These weren't hollow smiles; these were the grins of people who had found something—something he couldn't put his finger on.

'Where the hell am I?'

Aurelia was nowhere in sight. For someone usually so composed and annoyingly aloof, she'd apparently forgotten to clue him in before vanishing.

Zafron continued walking, eyes scanning every street corner and narrow alley for some sign, some indication of where this was and how he could leave. The feeling of familiarity scratched at his mind. He'd been here, hadn't he? Or somewhere like this. The streets. The scent of salt in the air. A distant memory teased him but refused to fully emerge.

He passed people who barely acknowledged him, too engrossed in their own happy routines—men carrying baskets of produce, women laughing softly as they chatted, children playing in the narrow lanes without a care.

"This… isn't Limbo," Zafron muttered to himself. His unease sharpened. Wherever this was, he didn't belong here. He needed to return.

It wasn't until he reached the docks at the far edge of the town that he saw his first chance.

Water.

The docks stretched out over a glassy expanse of water, so calm it looked more like a massive mirror than a lake or sea. Several small boats bobbed gently along its surface, tethered by thin ropes to wooden posts.

Zafron's heartbeat quickened. Water had been the key before. Maybe it could be again. If he dipped his head in, just like Aurelia had shown him, he could pull himself back to limbo.

Without hesitation, he rushed toward the edge of the dock, his boots thudding heavily against the planks. He dropped to all fours, not caring how ridiculous he might look. The people here didn't seem to notice—or care—about anything anyway.

'Just a quick dunk. In and out. Simple.'

He leaned forward and plunged his head into the water.

Cold. Unforgiving cold.

The icy bite of the water assaulted his face and nostrils instantly, flooding in with a sharp sting that had him jerking back almost immediately. He choked, sputtering as he sat back on his knees, coughing up what felt like half the lake.

"What the hell?!"

This wasn't like before. In Limbo, the water hadn't mattered—breath, air, physics. None of it had applied. Here? Here, it was real. Too real.

Behind him, laughter erupted.

It was soft at first, rising like a playful breeze, but then it grew louder. A man's voice—deep and amused—joined with a woman's softer, melodic laughter.

They were laughing at him.

Zafron's face reddened with frustration. "Oh, you think that's funny, huh?" he spat, pulling himself to his feet as he wiped water from his face. "Let's see if you're still laughing when I—"

He turned sharply to face them.

And froze.

The air seemed to leave his lungs all at once.

Standing a short distance away, side by side, were two people he never thought he'd see again. A man with a rugged face, warm eyes, and broad shoulders—the kind of presence that exuded quiet strength. Beside him, a woman with soft features and a smile that could light up the darkest night. Her hair fell in gentle waves, familiar in every way.

Zafron's throat went dry.

"Mom…"

His voice cracked as the word escaped him.

"…Dad?"

His parents stared back at him with matching smiles, not ones of the strange, serene kind worn by the other people in this town—these were real. Genuine. The smiles he remembered from when he was a boy.

"Still jumping into things headfirst, huh?" his father said, chuckling softly.

"Some things never change," his mother added, shaking her head affectionately.

Zafron felt his legs weaken, his entire world narrowing down to this impossible moment.

"You… how are you…?"

His voice faltered as a dozen questions tangled together in his mind, none of them able to push through. His parents were right there. Alive. Smiling. Speaking.

Tears pricked the edges of his vision as disbelief warred with hope.

They were real. Weren't they?

"…Is this real?" Zafron whispered.

His mother stepped closer, her hand outstretched. "Come here, Zafron."

The sound of his name on her lips sent a shiver through him. It was her voice. Exactly as he remembered it.

Zafron took a shaky step forward. Then another.

"Mom… Dad…"

They were here.

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