Chapter 1132

“The scriptures say that when someone dies, it’s only natural for them to be embraced by the Sun God’s flame and vanish. But this... still contains pieces of the doll left outside. So then—can a part that belongs both to the dead and to the living truly burn in the Sun God’s judgment fire, or not?”

Kishiar picked up the doll buried in the ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) sheets. It dangled limply from his hand. Yuder could see, blended inside its core, a patch of black fragments.

If there were fragments of soul—once Yuder’s, now mingled with the dead Kishiar—then was it part of the soul of the living, or of the dead?

“The answer might not be clear, but I believe that part of what was inside this doll didn’t disappear completely. If that’s the case, then what should we call it? It was once part of the black doll, yet ended up forming the red one. So, by that logic, it’s part of the red doll too. Depending on your perspective, it could be both. In short—it’s a link between them.”

“...”

“A link... It makes you think, doesn’t it? Of the ‘connection’ that remained, even after one life ended and returned. Maybe it’s precisely because such a piece existed that the bond between us remained as well.”

Yuder thought back to the moments he’d encountered the hand in the white glove... and to the inexplicable answers it had given him.

‘It’s strange, isn’t it? That even with only this much left, you still treat me as me. It would be better if you didn’t.’

‘Your guess wasn’t wrong. Almost. Because that’s my guess too.’

‘You come here when the gap between this place and that one opens wide. You’re pulled through naturally. At the end of causality, the scraps of power that couldn’t be burned away—through the connection...’

...

He’d assumed “only this much left” referred to the hand alone. But maybe it meant something deeper. Maybe that’s why it said it would be better not to treat it as Kishiar.

‘The scraps that couldn’t be burned away at the end of causality...’

If taken as a reference to the kind of “death” described in scripture, as Kishiar had said, then it fit far better than just a metaphor about fire.

‘Even the word ‘connection’ was mentioned back then...’

At the time, things had been too chaotic—the seafloor rift that followed that event had demanded all their attention. Yuder had told Kishiar about the dream afterward, but that was it. He hadn’t delved into its meaning this deeply—until now.

Yuder sighed and furrowed his brow.

“To be honest... none of this feels real to me. Maybe it’s because I always imagined the connection as thread binding us together. Seeing it represented as wooden dolls feels too unfamiliar.”

He did remember feeling like he’d been torn apart and sewn back together during the first connection—like being stitched into a patchwork. But seeing it visualized through shattered and reassembled wooden dolls was something else entirely. It made him feel... strange.

Kishiar set the doll in his hand down and replied.

“I used dolls to make it easier to explain, and simplified things to match the result. But to be honest, I’ve started wondering whether two people who are ‘intertwined and merged’ like that could truly be the same people they were before.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“With wooden dolls, even if you mix and match the pieces, the colors have clearly defined borders. But what if instead of wood, we used something like paint—or ink, used to write documents?”

Yuder hadn’t lived a life surrounded by paintings, so ‘paint’ didn’t mean much to him. Kishiar quickly noticed and switched to ‘ink,’ allowing Yuder to grasp what he was getting at.

“When you mix liquids, they turn into a third, different color. And after that, it’s nearly impossible to separate them back into their original shades. In the previous game, I think I went in with the mindset that I’d forcefully push away the threads entangling us to sever them. But maybe... all of that happened after the colors had already been mixed.”

Yuder processed the metaphor in his own way and asked:

“...So you’re saying, even if the connection was severed, the essence had already changed. And that change might be the reason why the connection—and the hand in the white glove—still linger.”

“That’s one possible part of the hypothesis. But it’s an idea I only came to after having time to explore our bond and talk it through with you. I doubt that version of me—the one who tried to sever the connection—thought this far ahead.”

A faint, bitter smile appeared at Kishiar’s lips.

“It’s difficult to fully grasp, but... if we assume the hypothesis is true, then a lot of things do start to make sense.”

“Exactly. Something with a self like mine, but an essence like yours—something that’s existed from the previous game up to now. Judging by how well it knew you, even beyond the rift, maybe it had been watching you all along. Considering all the dreams I kept having without remembering, maybe those dreams... all came from it.”

“...”

“It called your old name in a dream, even though no one told it. It saw your execution in the past life—a scene from after I’d already ceased to exist in that timeline, and all without sharing your dreams. There have always been ominous traces. We just didn’t have enough clues to guess the answer.”

His head throbbed. Yuder sat in silence, organizing his thoughts.

Let’s say everything he said is true. That would mean the hand in the white glove, beyond the rift, is connected to both of us. Then, in a way, it’s like the three of us are bound together in a triangle.

It wasn’t impossible. Just recently, when he tried to dream about the day of the assassination, he had a vivid experience.

Back then, Yuder realized he could enter Kishiar’s dream—and at the end of that dream, Kishiar encountered the white-gloved hand. The three of them had already met in a shared space. Saying they were connected wasn’t a stretch at all.

Then... if my soul and memories were being restored every time my connection with Kishiar deepened, maybe it wasn’t just the connection. Maybe I was retrieving them through that link—from the white-gloved hand.

As their bond grew, Yuder’s soul had reclaimed what it had lost. Kishiar, in turn, had begun remembering dreams he had long forgotten. And those dreams all seemed tied to his previous life. At the center of it all—there was no image but the hand in the white glove.

Still... I don’t fully understand why, after returning in time, my soul had those huge holes in it to begin with...

Yuder stared blankly at the hand he’d pulled free from the sheet. It looked similar to Yudrain Aile’s hand, yet so much had changed. And as he looked at it, one thought flickered through his mind.

Could it be... because my body is different now?

The previous life’s body—one that had been merged with Kishiar—and the current one, untouched. Same person, but as Kishiar had said, the very essence might have changed. Could a soul altered by merging truly settle inside a young, pure body?

If you try to force mismatched things to fit together, of course there will be problems.

That could be the reason for the soul-body fusion issue that had shocked Inon when he first saw it.

If that’s the case, then it also explains why the bond with Kishiar helped stabilize it.

A stronger connection meant Yuder’s body, too, was gradually being altered—becoming something more like it was in his past life. Blended, as before.

Yuder slowly closed his hand into a fist. After all that thinking, only one conclusion remained.

If the essence of the hand in the white glove is the missing fragment of my damaged soul... what happens to it when I recover everything?

Would it vanish before he could ever meet it again? This time, with no identity, no memory—nothing left but ash?

Maybe the hand knew all of that from the start. Maybe that’s why it never said anything—why it always pushed Yuder away. Why it only ever offered the help he absolutely needed, without a word more.

“...”

His heart throbbed, a dull, aching moan. Objectively, this should have been good news—but his chest refused to accept it as such.

I...

When he’d declared he would go and save him, this wasn’t the kind of end he’d imagined. That much, at least, was clear.

“...Hoo.”

Kishiar let out a tired, weary breath. Only then did Yuder come back to his senses and reach out to touch his forehead.

Hot.

Was it from using his power during such a heavy conversation? His temperature was noticeably higher than before.

“Your hand’s cold... I must’ve talked too much about useless things.”

“It wasn’t useless. And my hand isn’t cold—you have a fever. Are you all right?”

“...Ah.”

Kishiar blinked slowly, as if only now realizing it.

“I do... want to close my eyes for a bit.”

“Please rest. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Kishiar didn’t respond. Yuder, recalling how quiet he’d gotten during the peak of his rut, took his hand again and spoke firmly.

“It’s all right. You won’t have another nightmare like before. If you trust me—just sleep.”

Only then did Kishiar nod slowly, like a well-behaved child. He stared at the hand Yuder held, a faint smile touching his lips.

“...Thank you.”

And sorry.

His crimson eyes fluttered shut, overtaken by sleep. Yuder sat there for a long time, thinking of that faint, almost vanishing voice he had just heard.