To my readers (which I guess is Serenade of Light and…er…yeah): I apologize for the long delay (and in fact, it will be longer still). I got about 3000 words into "Meiru's Quest" before I took the 8000-word outline for all of part two and tossed it out the window, rewriting it into a 15000-word chapter-by-chapter outline. I can say that things to come should be fun, however, and this version should be much improved compared to the original draft…that you will never see. For example, as a result of my rewrite, the next chapter is better called "The Streets of Ameroupe," and not "Meiru's Quest" as I promised (and hey, it wouldn't surprise me if I changed it again while actually writing it). At any rate, work on "The Streets of Ameroupe" shall commence imminently, and I can only hope to keep you all (well, Serenade of Light and…er…yeah) entertained, and in the meantime, a little warmup for part two.

Interlogue

The pink navi yanked on her captor's arm, squirmed and heaved with the agony of the mind, the haunting memories that Imi forced upon her. "No, Imi-chan—Imi-chan—"

"Charge Shot."

A molten stream of magenta energy seared Roll's armor and torched her skin. Her eyelids clinched shut. Imi opened her fist and dropped Roll's limp wrist on the floor.

"Roll-chan, hold on! Roll-chan!"

Her eyes were closed, but she saw him plain as day. She watched him from outside herself, and he cradled her. Was she a ghost? Had she become a spirit right then and there, condemned to witness Rockman's grief as he mourned over her corpse?

"You're still connected to the net, Rockman-san."

That voice—where did it come from? Its sound flooded her, engulfed her.

Forget the sound. I don't care about it. I care about…I care about…

About him. He shook her, roused her, but she evaporated in his arms, like pollen in a springtime breeze.

"Roll-san was wrong to tell me to forget Papa," said Imi. "Now I can find him, and he'll take me back." A void emerged below, and Rockman and Roll—her body, but not her mind—vanished.

Wait! I want to see; I want to see!

'There's nothing more for you to see, Roll-san.'

A flash, and she stood in the great hall. Myriad voices loomed in the shadows, and at center stage stood the soloist, the mistress of the symphony.

Imi.

"Where am I?" asked Roll. "What is this place?"

"This is my music hall," said Imi. "This is where everyone goes when they touch me."

"Echo, Echo, Echo!" chanted the crowd, and Roll shrunk under their command.

"And who are they?" she asked.

"My choir of souls," said Imi. "That's where everyone goes…" She brushed her hair from her face and smiled and twirled. "…when they die."

"When they die…" Roll clasped her hands together and studied the frothy black foam, the formless sea of faces.

"Echo, Echo, Echo!"

She shook her head and turned her back on the choir. "I don't want to go there!" said Roll.

Imi stepped off the central pedestal. "But you're dead, Roll-san. You can't stay here. Do you want to hear everything I hear, see everything I see? Do you want to be confined here night and day, and never have a thought that I won't hear, too?"

Imi's gaze hypnotized her. She crouched before the girl in the white skirt, and their eyes met level. "I…I don't know," said Roll.

"You can't stay," said Imi, placing her hand on Roll's chest. "You have nothing left out there to worry about: not Meiru-san, not yourself, not—"

She shut her eyes, and a tear streaked down her cheek. "Rockman." Even when she was dying, he couldn't pretend to her, lie to her…

…tell her he loved her…

"Goodbye, Roll-san." At that, Imi's fingers tensed, and she shoved Roll into the choir.

And Roll treaded through the web of pain. She stumbled and backpedaled as shadows lurched at her. They wrapped themselves around her elbow until she beat them off and ran. She ran, but the sea was everywhere; the light of the hall dare not reach here. The only light was her own, and it faded, faded. She curled into a ball and sat on the invisible floor, and as her light flickered and wavered, the shadows swallowed her. It was painless, serene; she heard many voices, as if she had split herself into two—no, four—no, eight or more—and eavesdropped on dozens of conversations. That's when she realized the shadows were not something to be afraid of: they were like her, after all. Some angry, others sad, but they all consoled one another and shared their grief, their loss. She could stand to be like them; she could stand to be one of them…

"Wait."

A light pierced the darkness; a girl with silver streaks in luscious dark hair waded through the shadows and stood before Roll.

"You're…Masuyo-san?"

The girl nodded. "That's right."

"What…what are…" The words clung to her lips; the shadows pulled on her, ever-so-gently, but she spread herself far too thin for this. To collect her thoughts, to form them into words and sentences—it was a hefty burden, too much of a burden. Hadn't she endured enough?

"You can stop her," said Masuyo. "She listens to you; she respects you. Help me."

But the voices of the others clouded Roll's thoughts, and she drifted, scattered. "I'm…sorry," she said. "I just want to rest…"

"You mustn't!"

"Meiru-chan, Rockman…"

"Stop!"

But Roll's light fizzled out.