Drowning. He was drowning. Heavy clouds swirled above him like winding currents through a stream. He took a shaky breath, reaching towards them. Bloodied fingers grasped at a silver sky.

Survive…

The river water was filling his chest. Maybe he'd be torn away this time.

"Here," Phoenix called, closing in from after.

Dhurke's booming laugh was absent. Apollo's hand trembled before his eyes. He'd finally been thrown to the tides.

Who was he kidding? Khura'in had already dug his grave site.

"I'm here, Apollo."

A soft touch to his cheek. He leaned into it, seeking warmth.

Just survive…

Sirens wailed. He didn't care where they were coming from. What mattered was that Klavier was speaking, and while it was far too rapid, too incoherent for him to parse…he liked listening.

Such a smooth voice. He wished they'd talked more. They could've been friends…

"Don't do that, come on. Don't cry…"

He hadn't even realized. Phoenix held his hand down when he reached for his face. He tried to explain.

"Wright," Apollo managed. The neon blue beanie burned into his vision. "I…I'm…"

"I know. Just…shhh."

Dried tears felt icy against his skin. Drowsiness overwhelmed him.

"No. Nonononono—"

The darkness lifted. Lights swayed above. Apollo blinked, trying to focus again.

Mr. Wright. Looking down at him in a panic. Taking a sharp breath. Then…cracking a nervous smile, as if nothing had happened.

"Hey…" the man said, drawing out his words. "Everything's okay. Okay?"

Apollo would've believed him, if a knife-like pain wasn't driving straight into his chest. It burned white hot, sinking through him and dissolving his flesh.

"You're doing just fine…"

Someone was squeezing his hand. He felt his knuckles jut against the stranger's palm, felt a thumb run over his thin wrist. Wild revulsion spread through every inch of his body.

"Let…go," he gasped. Phoenix seemed confused.

"Everything's alright," the man reassured, glancing away for a second. Apollo sensed a hand running through his hair, and fought the urge to scream. "It's alright…"

No, it wasn't. This was worse than the agony. His wrist, his hair…he couldn't breathe, couldn't speak, and they were controlling him, doing whatever they wanted with him, trapping him in place until he lost his mind or died—

"He needs space, Herr Wright," someone explained. Klavier? Apollo struggled to move, but the pain was paralyzing.

They released him. A small wash of relief.

He fell into it…

Even brighter lights. People he didn't recognized, bathed in the scent of antiseptics.

They turned towards him. Stared into his eyes.

"Give him some more time. He'll be fine."

Then he was blind.

He was dying.

He missed Trucy.

He wanted to go home.

"You play piano?"

The woman in the white room leaned over, watching Apollo's fingers dance on the keys. Effortless melodies swirled into the emptiness.

"Not a lot of people know," he admitted. He drifted into another composition. Raindrop Prelude…an old favorite. "I don't really practice nowadays."

She hummed, clearly impressed. They both listened to the graceful music, captivated by each meticulous note.

After the piece ended, she spoke.

"You sound very beautiful."

Apollo paused, his nervous laugh echoing in the silence. "Thanks, but…it's been months. I guarantee millions of people play better than me."

"We're here to talk about you, not them."

The woman brushed back her hair, casting him a soft smile. He looked away, not sure how to respond to the compliment.

"A-any requests?" he stammered at last, trying to be polite. She put a finger to her chin, thinking his offer through.

"Can you play 'Clair de Lune'?" she asked. He nodded, slipping into the song as easily as a swan skidding onto a glassy lake.

It only took a few seconds for the woman's eyes to shine.

"Thanks," she whispered. Apollo glanced up at her face, noticing the melancholy amidst the awe.

"Mia Fey," he stated. She jolted, startled by his sudden revelation.

"Fastest you've figured it out," she said. Apollo shrugged, continuing to play her request. "What gave it away?"

"I've seen you before. Court recordings, Mr. Wright's old trials…" An unwritten flourish. The piano sang under his skeletal hands. "And you died at night. The song choice made sense."

Mia stepped behind him and put her hands on his shoulders, pressing his tense muscles. "You've grown, kid."

"Yeah," Apollo said. He'd expected to feel uneasy, but her touch was almost…comforting. "I had to."

She clapped her hands together, letting go too soon. Apollo sighed. For the first time in ages, human contact had felt somewhat nice.

"Wanna try figuring the rest out?" she urged. Apollo kept his eyes on the keys.

"We're in hell," he deadpanned.

Behind him, Mia burst into laughter.

"In hell?" she wheezed. She draped her arms around his neck, trying and failing to regain her composure. "You really need to work on your self-esteem."

Apollo frowned, finding it difficult to continue with her chin resting on his head. "That's what I'd expect. My second guess was purgatory or something." He shifted, feeling her lean into his back. "Hey, can you…?"

"Ah. My bad." In an instant, Mia vanished. Apollo froze. She'd been holding him just a second ago, and then… "I know you like your space."

She'd returned to her original position—standing right next to him, a few inches away from the piano. This time, a coffee mug was grasped in her hand.

"You're pretty calm for someone who's half dead," she remarked, taking a sip.

"Not dead yet?" he said. Mia shook her head.

"There's some time left. Although, chances are, you'll probably—"

"I'm ready."

Apollo finished off the last notes of the piece, letting the final chord reverberate through the void. This was it.

A calm stillness fell over the room. He waited for himself to disappear.

"Um…Justice?"

A tap on his arm. He met Mia's extraordinarily uncomfortable gaze, feeling a bit awkward himself.

"…this isn't how it works, is it?"

Sheepishness softened his tone. Mia pressed her lips together, seeming like she was struggling with something.

"I mean, it is…for normal situations," she admitted. He raised an eyebrow and she glanced away, showing a suspicious amount of interest in the contents of her mug.

"Then why am I still here?" he questioned. Mia rubbed the back of her neck.

"You'll wake up if I tell you," she said. "And trust me, you definitely do not want to experience that right now."

The piano began disintegrating. Apollo watched it turn to ash in his hands, feeling all the world like a marionette cut away from its strings.

"But I said I was ready," he breathed. Mia looked down at him, a sympathetic gleam in her eyes.

"You're not, Apollo. You're really not."

This was ridiculous. He stood up, walking as far away from her as he could. Cryptic phrases meant nothing to him. He'd even done the smart thing and accepted his fate already.

Mia popped up beside him, matching his stride. "Where are we going?"

He quickened his pace. "I am leaving."

"Suuuuure. Have fun with that."

She rolled her eyes. Apollo stopped and turned towards her, his irritation swelling.

"You know what? I'm done," he snapped. "Apparently, I can't even die when I want to. I have to be stuck…stuck in, er…" He gestured to the surrounding vacuum, growing even more frustrated. "Fine, whatever the fuck this is! And you're just laughing at me!"

Mia raised her hands at his defensiveness.

"Whoa, back up," she insisted. She pressed two fingers into his chest, clearly offended by the outburst. "Do you think I'm some kind of spiritual comedian?"

Apollo paused. "Well, no…"

"Aside from that," she huffed, crossing her arms. "Did I ask you to jump out of a building?"

Okay, now he was feeling a bit guilty. Mia stared at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He mumbled it under his breath.

"Also no…"

"That's right. Congratulations! You got here on your own!" She shook his hand, mocking his 'achievement.' He regretted everything. "Don't pretend like you know what's going on. Sit down. We have to talk."

With a snap of her fingers, Mia conjured an array of emerald felted furniture. Eight ottomans surrounded an elaborate octagonal table. Colorful chips were piled up on every corner. Apollo gingerly slid into a seat across her, nervous at the sight.

It's poker.

"Yes and no," Mia replied. He flinched when she slammed a deck of cards in front of him. "It looks like it, but you're a terrible player. Pick one."

Against his better judgement, he did as she commanded. The ace of spades stared back at him, its intricate vines forming a skull.

"So, Kristoph Gavin," Mia mused. She seemed intrigued, as if he'd made the choice on purpose. "Anything you want to say about him?"

She tapped the card. A familiar bloodstain appeared.

Apollo placed it down. "Look, I'm sorry. Could you please—"

"Hush up, Polly, and think."

"P-Polly?"

Mia took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We're going to be here for an eternity."

Apollo fiddled with the deck, clumsily shuffling it through. He felt foolish like this. Maybe if he stayed quiet long enough, she'd give him some real instructions.

"You can't ignore me, Justice."

The cards flew out of his hand and into Mia's. She waved them like a handheld fan, her eyes peering over the symbols and into his soul.

"Honestly, I don't know what you want," he confessed.

"First thing that pops into your mind. Kristoph Gavin. Go."

He curled his fists on the table's wooden lining. So many things…too many, in fact. Despite that, one thought rang clear through his brain.

"He changed," Apollo said.

Mia cast him an inquisitive look. "Care to explain?"

"He's not pure evil," he elaborated. He turned the ace between his fingers. "No one is, but I used to think he was the closest thing to it. He's not, though, he—"

"Murdered two people."

The scenery shifted. Apollo found himself on his knees in the detention center, his palms pressed into the dirt. Mia's heels clacked in front of him.

"I know. It's just, he…he was afraid, and…" He peered up to see Mia looming above him, her gaze sharp. "I saw myself in him."

"Like a reflection."

Another switch. This time, he was standing in front of a mirror, watching fine cracks creep along its surface.

Only Kristoph appeared within it.

Apollo stepped back. Mia grasped his shoulders from behind, holding him in place.

"He leapt, and you did too," she said. Her breath lingered in his ear. "Pretty poetic."

"I…don't really remember."

Then they were back at the poker table. Apollo clutched his heart, winded by the journey. His chest felt tight. He couldn't think straight…

Mia laced her hand with his. "You just decided to screw it, huh? You saw him go out and thought you would, too?"

"No! Of course not, I—" He stopped himself. He'd replied instinctively at first, but things were starting to come back to him. His outstretched arm. The inevitable fall. "I was trying to save him."

In the colorless pit, Mia's eyes burned bright.

"Then why do you want to die, Apollo Justice?"

Because he had nowhere to go. Suffering followed him everywhere he went. His life had no other purpose.

That wasn't the right way to say things. Apollo withdrew, looking towards the floor.

"I'm tired," he said.

"What about Phoenix?"

He fell silent. Mia tapped her index finger on the table. The sound resonated all around them.

"Can't deny it forever," she pushed.

His skin seemed paper thin. He ran the king of hearts across his arm, expecting it to cut through to his bone.

"Mr. Wright accused me," he murmured. Sadly, the card had done nothing.

"Of murder, right? Interesting."

The fascination in Mia's voice was way too obvious. Apollo shot her a look. Wasn't this supposed to be serious?

"Really?" he quipped. To his chagrin, she nodded enthusiastically.

"Yes!" Mia stood up, plucking a case file out of nothing. She scanned through it, turning the pages carefully. "You don't find it interesting that he thought you killed someone? No build up, nothing?"

"He doesn't trust me," Apollo protested. She snapped the folder closed.

"You're right," she said. If there's one thing he'd learned, Mia didn't sugarcoat things—at least, not for him. "But did you ever stop to think why Phoenix might've come up with that?"

"Trust issues—"

"Come on, Justice. Reflect."

Mia shook her head and tossed her bangs, fixing him a confident look. At first, it incensed him. She had a point. Still, she was forcing him to find the answer on his own.

Eventually, the more he dwelled on her challenge, the more reassuring her presence felt. If she knew, then logically, he should too. All of this had to be part of his imagination—he'd probably dreamed her up to assist him.

Okay. He'd try the same strategy they'd used before. Phoenix Wright…what did he remember first?

Their unresolved argument. It always came up.

It was the first time Phoenix had confronted him about the doubts. Poorly, of course. That was no way to bring up an issue. Still…the way he'd reacted…

"I pushed him away," Apollo concluded.

Mia tilted her head. "And?"

"I never told him what I really felt about Kristoph." He grasped his hair, ruminating on each word he'd said. Resentment had made him selfish. Instead of addressing Phoenix's concern, he'd lashed out and convinced himself that he was justified to do so. "Mr. Wright…never knew how scared I was."

"He had good intentions. You just closed yourself off," Mia said. She materialized behind him, tracing his spine. "How was Phoenix supposed to know?"

There was no way the man would've been able to tell.

"That's all he saw," Apollo said. His throat closed up. "I was so angry with him."

The poker table dissipated. He curled into himself, burying his head in his knees.

He deserved to become dust, too.

"Oh, Apollo." Mia patted the back of his neck. Her tone shone with empathy. "I know it hurt you. That kid was an idiot when he was younger, and he's still recovering." She pulled him to his feet. He let her hold him, feeling his tension dissolve. "You just have to help him figure some stuff out."

After a few seconds, he pulled away. Sudden anxiety consumed him.

"Will I remember this?" he asked. Her smile turned bittersweet.

"You won't. You'll get there, though."

Fogginess obscured the finer details of Mia's face. Apollo glanced around. Even the empty space was trapped in a haze.

"I have to go," he said.

"Yes."

He fidgeted, pressing his fingertips together.

"Miss Fey. Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Hesitance held him back. He willed himself to overcome it.

"You might not know this," he prefaced. Mia remained patient. "Why did I imagine you? Don't get me wrong, I really appreciated it, but…"

She smirked. "Were you hoping for someone else?"

"I thought I'd remember my mother."

Her purple pendant glowed. She wrapped it in her fist, shielding it from view.

"You'll meet her soon, Apollo."

"Oh. Thank you."

Even though her words were optimistic, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. It made sense. This was all in his head—if he couldn't recall his mother's face, there was no chance of her being here.

Mia rested a hand on his cheek.

"To answer your question, though…you didn't imagine me."

His eyes widened. She pushed him back. The universe collapsed around him.