Ran felt it when the dream collapsed around him. He had no idea what it meant.
He found himself back in limbo, the first mark upon his soul was pulsing—energy leaked from it in quantity.
It was like it had just been used.
He didn't have time to focus on that right now, still reeling from the drinker of dreams' harvest.
"Why didn't I wake up," he asked, his voice echoing spiritually in the soundless realm of limbo.
"Why am I still asleep? Why? Even after the night of screaming stars and melting thoughts," he whispered to himself, wanting nothing more than to be out of this place.
According to the Book of Calidation, limbo was the result of Fey power soaking in into Naraku for what would be billions of years in Kurana.
The Feys were beings of chaos—where there's chaos, there a Fey resides.
It was no surprise that the energy of their essences would mutate in Naraku and hatch, birthing a realm of psychic abominations and spiritual flow.
"If it's your wish to have me here, fine then," Ran said aloud to the silent realm. "But show me something, something important to me, instead of just letting me stand idly."
Good, now he'd see his father.
It was known that in limbo one could see anything. If one could connect their mind to limbo, they would be able to see anything they wish to see—past, present, future.
And it worked regardless of distance. He could see Kurana if he wanted to, see what was beyond in the cosmos, see if there were empires in the stars or just ancient gods and goddesses.
He looked around, feeling tired from all he'd gone through today.
But he won't let exhaustion have its way with him.
Hell never gave rest unless it was cruelly earned.
Hopefully, limbo would restore him.
Now he felt himself falling asleep while he was already sleeping. His young soul slumped, a pressure weighing deep on his mind.
Sleep found him in the next minute.
He slept and found himself somewhere else.
He could feel something that notified him of this not being a dream—it was a destination.
He stood in a plain of obsidian dust under a bruised sky, alone but watched. The silence had weight, like it was pressing down on his bones—slowly suppressing his will and senses.
And ahead, rising from the black horizon, was a prison.
It wasn't made of bricks, or blades, or molten chain—it was carved from petrified despair, a spire that spiraled down instead of up. Its walls wept smoke, and its gates were sealed by runes Ran's eyes couldn't focus on without bleeding.
Still, he was drawn toward it.
From inside, something pulsed. A heartbeat. A rhythm older than time. And with it came whispers.
Not voices. Not words. Just... sound. Repeating. Bending. Folding into itself.
A name. Or the shape of a name.
Each time it brushed his ears, he forgot it instantly, like it had never existed—but left a burn in his chest, a searing echo behind his ribs.
He descended the outer ledge, gravity warping around him, deeper toward the sealed entrance. The closer he came, the clearer the whispers became.
"He waits still… forgotten, forbidden… unfallen…"
The wind screamed and made Ran's garment billow. His feet burned. His shadow crawled ahead of him, growing longer with each step, as if something inside the prison had begun reaching back.
And then—
He saw it.
Or him.
Just for a moment, through the smoke-veined walls and beyond the runic ward: a man's face. Or what used to be a man. It was flawless and cruel, beautiful and wrong. His skin was like obsidian polished with sorrow.
His eyes closed, as if sleeping—or dreaming of things too large for reality.
And wings.
Dark, unfurled, impossible wings that spanned longer than the palace's throne hall. Not feathered, not leathery—something else. Something of the greater elements.
It shone and darkened like dark light. Like the darkest black in a neon hue, a dark so bright it was like a void in space.
Ran felt his soul quake.
The whispers surged.
"He remembers… He remembers being in flames. He remembers being first. He remembers genesis."
Ran fell to his knees. His mouth opened but no scream came. The name was in his head, crawling like worms behind his eyes. He was about to speak it—was about to know it—
—when cold water splashed across his face.
"Ran! You sack of sludge, wake up!" barked the palace overseer, holding an empty bucket.
Ran jerked up, gasping, coughing up sleep like poison. He blinked. He was in a storage den in a gatehouse out in the city. It must be one of the few places still standing.
He watched the overseer leave and looked at the other person in the room whom he was only just noticing.
"Soran Haru," he said, nodding at the boy.
The boy acknowledged him with a grim nod. "You were trapped in limbo."
Ran believed that, but he wasn't in the mood to talk about it. He'd wanted to see his father, and instead what had he seen…
"And then a bucket of water untrapped me?" He asked, causing the acolyte to laugh.
"No, that was Mukoku," he said.
Ran blinked in feigned confusion. "Mukoku disguised as the overseer just to pour a bucket of water over me while I slept?"
Soran Haru snorted. "You are developing a sense of humour. Good, it was sad seeing a boy like you always grim and gloomy," the boy said. "Maybe you got it from one of your kagami-hankyo."
Ran barely wondered what he meant by 'mirror echoes' focusing, instead, on being called grim and gloomy.
"I'm not grim and gloomy," he said, frowning.
"Of course you are," Soran Haru waved him off.
"So you came in here to tell me I'm grim and gloomy?" He asked, wondering why he was being so informal with the boy.
Haru shook his head. "I came here to see how you were doing after the limb… after the attack yesterday. You fainted q from being in the blast zone of Lagarakei and the Lords of Hell getting destroyed. Mukoku had to nearly exhaust herself healing you with her previous ichor."
Ran's eyes got as big as saucers upon hearing that. "She used ichor to heal me!" He exclaimed, unable to believe what he'd just heard.
Haru grimaced. "Nothing was working," he defended, gently. "Healing kin did nothing, the blood of regenerating demons did nothing. Even her essence soaking deep into you did nothing. It was then she knew she had to stop beating around the bush and just do what needed to be done."
Ran stared at the acolyte in shock. His mind went back to a few minutes ago as breathed in hell's heavy air, looking around.
He felt a pressure upon him. Like he was back in the prison.
The prison was gone. But not the feeling.
Not the name.
He couldn't remember it—but he knew it had seen him.
And now it was waiting.