Fox staggered down
a pitch-black tunnel.
Sometimes he ran,
sometimes he stumbled,
sometimes he crawled.
He groped his hands
along the slimy
walls, feeling his
way through the
inky blackness—but
every few feet the
path split, and he
never knew which
branch to take.

The walls closed in
around him. The
hollow, cavernous
passages tangled
and twisted in a non-
Euclidean maze.
It branched off in
infinite fractals,
like tree limbs—
though "roots" was
the more appropriate
comparison, as,
while they veered off
in many directions,
they always seemed
to lead him down,
deeper, no matter
which way he chose.
Parting, diverging, but
never re-converging,
they funneled him along
the same path:
constricting,
confining,
choking.

The maze felt familiar,
but these specific
tunnels were alien to him.
While he'd been here
many times before,
night after night,
he never recognized
where he was at
any given moment.
Lost again, he realized.
Every path he chose,
he chose wrong.

Was
it his imagination,
or was the cave alive?
These
weren't tunnels; they were
intestines. These weren't
caverns;
they were organs. The girders
which spanned the ceilings
were
structures of bony ribs. He was trapped
in the carcass of some giant leviathan,
unable
to escape. At least the beast lay still. Fox
assumed it was dead; he remembered
killing
it, but he couldn't be sure. In his paranoia,
everything seemed to be a sign it was still
alive:
every time a breeze raised the hairs on
the back of his neck, he thought it was
breathing;
every misplaced step of his own, he
blamed on the monster shifting its
bowels.
But it was all in his imagination,
right?
The monster was dead.
That realization quieted his
fears
—at least, for the
moment.

Then he found the
heart at the center
of the monster.
Though twisted and
rotten, the organ
lived on. It persistently
beat, dashing away
any hope he had of
having vanquished it.
He'd failed, the voice
inside of him cried.
He never defeated it;
only chased it into a
slumber. Any day it would
rear its ugly head
and strike again…

Fox collapsed on the cavern floor,
holding his head and weeping. He
was never done. He could
never sleep or rest. He
must always watch
his back. It was
too late to slow
or prevent it.
Once again,
the walls
began to
constrict
around
him.

Then

a voice

cut through

the thick silence

of the rotten tunnels.

It was melodic and sweet,

loving and kind. It sang a song

he hadn't heard since his childhood.

Every word seemed to make the cave

widen, alleviating the claustrophobia that

threatened to strangle him and his future. It

filled his heart with courage: his lungs with air.

Was… that someone crooning his favorite lullaby?

Fox stood up, searching each tunnel entrance for the source. There, down that one! He raced down the correct passage, each footstep he took filling him with new hope and courage. The song was a beacon in the darkness: a thread to guide him through the labyrinth.

He rounded the first corner, but the voice grew further away, teasing him—leading him. Every time he turned down another passage, the story was the same:

right

left

right

left

right

right

left

left…

Then, Fox rounded the final corner. At the end of the long tunnel was a brilliant, circular light: the exit! After a year of fruitlessly searching in his nightmares, he'd found it! But he wasn't alone, for in front of the light raced a shadow covered in wispy clothes: the source of the voice?

"Wait, where are you going?! Don't leave me here!"

The figure stopped, waiting on the tunnel lip with her head slightly turned back to Fox. For a moment, it seemed like she was beckoning him. Then she continued on, disappearing into the light.

The vulpine took off in a sprint down the tunnel, desperately reaching his hand out. If he could just reach her before she left him again—

Fox burst into the blinding glow, eyes struggling to adjust as it burned every remnant of darkness away. The shadows shrank back, leaving colors and shapes revealed by the light of the sun. When the new world finished materializing around him, it appeared more real than any dream he had ever had before.

Harp chords of light struck the ground like waves breaking on the shore. Wherever the sunlight fell and reflected off the landscape, it played a visual symphony of colors. The grass was fresh and colored like lavender: the sky above a soft pink, dotted with pale, feather-shaped clouds. When he focused, Fox was able to make out every individual blade of grass, and every pebble that lay in between. He knew that it was only a dream, but it certainly felt like no ordinary one. Everything about it had a lucid quality and an alien nature that his mind alone couldn't invent.

His ear pricked; he heard a faint melody rising above the breeze that rustled the grass. There was that voice again!

Fox set off through the purple-hued landscape, eager to thank the singer who had led him out of the nightmare. Soon he came upon a forest full of purple, blossoming trees. With each gust of wind, flower petals swirled off the branches and pirouetted to the ground.

Scanning the path ahead, Fox spotted a figure clothed in white robes. Her back was turned: her face, hidden—but her ears were unmistakably vulpine. Could she be the source of the singing?

Cupping his hands to his mouth, Fox called out, "Hello? Can you hear me?"

When the figure didn't turn, he raced into the forest towards her.

"Hey! Turn around!"

He skidded to a stop behind the other vulpine and placed a hand on her shoulder. He spun her around, but as soon as her face came into view a bright light flashed, and Fox found himself rising thousands of feet into the air, pulled by some invisible force.

He gasped as the violet landscape shrank beneath him, until he could see for miles and miles in every direction. By the time he had finished rising he had ended up in space, the whole planet visible beneath him. It resembled a vibrantly-colored disk, filled with blue, pink, and purple hues, while a set of glimmering rings encircled it. Altogether, it was like no planet Fox had seen before; it didn't match any he knew in the Lylat System, and he'd visited them all.

But the force started to pull him back again. The planet shrank further and further till it was merely a bright speck surrounded by familiar stars. Other planets and asteroids whizzed by until the alien system's star came into view. Then, in the blink of an eye, every star winked out at once, leaving him in total blackness.

Mission No. 25

Sector Y
Bolse Station Fallout

"Dream Theme"

Σ-γ

Fox's eyes fluttered open; he was greeted by the dim lights of the Great Fox's living room.

Ugh. What a bizarre series of dreams—and it wasn't caused by any spicy peanuts or migraine pill overdose. He'd experienced that exact nightmare many a night before. He thought killing the ape would put his memories of his parents to rest, but apparently not. He was cursed to chase them through Andross's tunnels, never understanding why they were running from him, and never able to escape or catch up to them. At least, not until last night…

Sitting up, Fox let the blanket fall away from his chest and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was only then that he remembered the bandages around his hand, at which point he grew curious and unwrapped them. The final length came away stained with red beads arranged in the shape of a jaw, but when he examined the back of his hand, the bite marks had vanished.

That was… awfully fast.

The disappearing wound wasn't the only recent oddity. He thought back to the surreal images from the dream he had, all of them crystal clear and detailed.

Crystal clear…

Fox glanced beside him, but he found the foldout bed empty: the covers turned down and one of the sheets missing. Concerned, his eyes darted around the room, but Krystal wasn't there. When had she left him?

A voice drifted to his tufted ears. He rubbed them with his fingers to see if he was imagining it, but the sound wouldn't go away. He wasn't dreaming it up this time; someone aboard the ship was definitely singing his mother's lullaby.

And it wasn't Karaoke ROB.

Fox slid off the couch and threw on some clothes, swiveling his ears to identify its source. It sounded like it came from far outside the room, so he left for the hall.

After following the voice through the Great Fox's corridors, he eventually traced it back to the observation room atop the dreadnought. Poking his head up the flight of circular stairs, he found the source of the song, and the Cerinian.

For they were one-and-the-same.

Krystal sat atop a stack of supply crates—the same one she had before. She hugged the missing bedsheet tightly to her front, but it had fallen down in back to expose her tattooed shoulders and flicking tail. She rocked herself to-and-fro, singing the lullaby while staring out the window at the emerald glow.

"Fall into my arms where you can sleep; where ne'er a more joyous tear you'll weep…"

Rarely did Fox hear Krystal use her real voice like this. Unable to speak Cornerian, she only ever communicated through her mind, so this moment was an absolute treat. Her fragile voice sounded lovely: thin and delicate like ornamental glass, and just as sparkling and bright. She sang the words with a slight Venomian accent, which somehow added to the charm of the song because of how earnestly she fought to get it right.

Fox felt himself drawn to the vixen, her voice soothing, yet hypnotizing like a siren. Almost in a trance-like state, he crept up the remaining steps and padded to her side, making sure not to interrupt her as he approached.

"But whether I am far or near," she continued singing, "may your dreams be ever…"

The girl trailed off, looking up at him with wide eyes when she realized he was there.

"…Crystal clear," he finished for her, finally remembering the lyrics after all those years.

The vixen cocked her head, greeting him with the same confused expression Fox must have worn.

"Where did you learn that song?" He perched on a similar stack of crates beside her. "My mother used to sing it to me. I thought she made it up, but I guess it must have been common. Did… did someone sing it to you when you were younger?"

Krystal nodded slowly, switching to her thoughts. 'I… do remember someone, in my past. She used to sing me that song to help me sleep. Now that I think about it…' she narrowed her eyebrows, studying him. 'She looked an awful lot like you.'

A feather of hope fluttered in his chest. There was no way it could have been, he told himself. It would be too much of a coincidence—but he had to be sure…

"Show me," Fox begged. "Show me who sang to you."

Krystal wrung her hands. 'Well…'

"It's a good memory, isn't it?" he prodded. "Not like the others? I think I'd enjoy this one. Please, show me."

She clenched her fists, eyes growing determined. 'Alright, I'll show you.'

Krystal hopped over to Fox's crate, then scooted close beside him. Taking his paws in hers, she looked him in the eye. Fox screwed his mouth shut and returned her stare, feeling slightly intimidated by the resolute look in her sapphire gems. Then, when she closed her eyes and bowed her head, he followed suit, knowing what to expect. She leaned in till her forehead brushed against his, and soon their minds did likewise.

Fox found himself flooded by an array of images. All of the feeds of memories were stained with age and fuzzy from years of decay. Only a few scattered fragments surfaced, but they were clear enough to focus on what mattered.

Through Krystal's eyes, he saw an orange-furred vixen dressed in a white lab coat. She stared through homely spectacles down at Krystal with tender, blue eyes. He gasped, clenching Krystal's paws in his.

'M-Mom?!'

For a moment he completely forgot Vixy was singing to Krystal and not himself. The memory faded in-and-out of the darkness, and it was clear that the bits of the lullaby he heard were being collaged together by Krystal in real time. For Fox's benefit, she wove all the similar memories she could into a single, continuous experience.

It was a bizarre sensation for Fox, like discovering new songs by his favorite childhood musician—the lost ones he'd never heard before. Old, genuine, and familiar—but also alien and new. It was the same person, but from a different angle: a different set of eyes. Part of him hungrily ate up the new memories, while the rest of him had a hard time stomaching them. It wasn't until the memory faded completely that he knew he needed—

'More,' he begged.

Eager to please him, Krystal dug deeper for other memories. She unearthed a new one from the fuzzy sea of flashing images, but when Fox reached out to take it she held it back.

'What's the matter?' he asked.

Krystal clutched the memory tightly to her chest. 'It's not one of my favorites. It's not very happy, though Mother… I-I mean, Vixy… kept it from being worse.'

The mention of that name excited Fox, though the slip of Krystal's tongue perplexed him. 'Please! I want to see it.'

Reluctantly, Krystal gave up the memory and played it for both of them to see.

His mother was present, holding Krystal's small hand and once again singing the lullaby.

Fox felt the sensation of lying flat on his back, arms restrained, and something painful and unpleasant sticking into the crook of his elbow. All around stood the "Watchers" as Krystal called them. Her faded memories distorted them, giving them exaggerated eyes that jutted like insect lenses from their skulls, long flowing white robes, and needle-like claws for hands.

Krystal held nothing back. As Fox demanded more, she continued to freely share memories, no matter how painful they were to herself. She found comfort in the fact that the bad things that happened in her life could somehow bring relief to someone else, though Fox's attention was purely focused on the woman in her memories and not on the small, blue child whose fur he was in.

Slowly, a picture began to form from all the scattered pieces. Krystal was a lost little girl who underwent experiment after experiment at the hands of cold scientists. Vixy was the only one who ever showed her parental love, doing her best to ease her suffering and see her through the relentless tests. She was the closest thing Krystal had to a mother, and soon she began to call her by that name.

Fox gorged himself on the memories like a drug, ready to lose himself in them. They reminded him of all the times Vixy had nurtured him, comforting him when his father was away for long periods of time. It was like rediscovering his own lost childhood after so many years…

…Then HE resurfaced among all the memories.

Fox gasped. He tore himself out of Krystal's head with such force he nearly fell backwards off the crates.

'What's wrong?' she asked, eyes widening.

Fox shook his head, steadying himself. "It's… it's nothing. He's dead now, s-so it doesn't matter."

Krystal's ears lowered sheepishly. 'I know my past isn't a pleasant sight—'

Fox breathed heavily for a few seconds. But once he recovered and sensed her sadness, he took Krystal's hand again, squeezing it. "Maybe not all of it, but there certainly were moments that were pleasant—especially whenever she was with you. So, thank you for showing those to me. I… I'd like to see more sometime."

Krystal smiled at his reassuring words, then cocked her head at him. 'I'm curious. Why do you love this woman so? Why are you so hungry for my memories of her?'

Fox breathed in deeply, trying to summon his strength back. "Well—"

Before he could start, Krystal dove into his memories. Fox resisted at first, but he realized she meant no harm. In fact, it was only fair; she had bared everything to him, so now she expected him to do the same. He owed it to her.

The girl curiously skimmed through his old memories, some of which even Fox thought he had forgotten. She saw picnics and birthdays and dinners with his mother, all of them moments Fox dearly cherished.

'You have many memories of her!' she exclaimed.

Fox could tell it made Krystal beyond happy to see more of Vixy—especially outside of the labs. So why wasn't he happy to see those memories, too?

'Oh,' Krystal said in a disappointed voice. 'I see she disappeared for you, too.'

'What do you mean?'

'I don't remember when, but after a time she never visited me again. Do you know why?'

He did—his horrified eyes betrayed a glance at the brilliant green fallout outside the window—but he didn't want to remember.

'No, please don't ask—'

But Krystal plunged in again without asking, expecting the same openness she'd given Fox. One-by-one she glimpsed his life's memories, working forwards from when he was a small child. Finally she closed in on the one memory Fox was dreading.

He was only eleven at the time.

His father came into the house, babbling incoherently through the tears.

He was alone.

He grasped Fox's shoulders and tried to tell him something but couldn't form words.

His moist eyes as they trembled at him, red staining the edges of the green.

He clutched him to his chest and sobbed over his shoulder.

Finally he was able to whisper into Fox's ear—

"NO!"

Fox shot up from the stack of crates and stumbled away from Krystal. He held his head in his hands and gasped for breath, trying not to cry again.

Their connection was completely severed this time, leaving Fox alone in his head. No one could see his true self; no one could feel what he felt; no one would learn his secrets, the things that made him Fox McCloud and the things that made him weak.

"Gomenshuld!" Krystal cried. "Tashich nīe holleshī—"

He sighed and waved his hand. "N-no, it's fine, Krystal. There are some things I just… don't want you to see. I think you should avoid looking into my mind too deeply. Sometimes, it hurts…"

Krystal folded her paws and looked down at her lap, ears flattening.

Fox realized it was probably a good thing that not everyone could read minds. Sometimes, ignorance was bliss. Krystal had so many things weighing her down, he didn't need to add his own burdens to her. If he couldn't be that strong foundation Krystal needed, they both would crumble like castles of sand.

As he'd learned during the Lylat War, a leader's strength was bred in solitude. He was supposed to carry the burdens of others; not expect them to carry his. But after the war he'd made the mistake of dropping that façade once—to Fara—and she'd only rejected him when it became too much. No, he couldn't let that happen again. He couldn't open up.

Fox couldn't meet Krystal's eyes. He felt uncomfortable getting so close to her like this. Now he was somehow even more scared of Krystal than when he had first found her in the labs. She wasn't really the violent monster he'd thought her to be. In fact, in many ways, she seemed like a totally normal girl. But to him, with the advantage to pick through his mind at will, she was the most dangerous girl in Lylat; and right now he was trapped on a ship with her.

No matter what, he couldn't let her dig deeper and see what really lay inside him.

Still, Fox regretted his outburst. He wrung his hand, remembering the bite marks that had vanished. He had hurt Krystal once again, and was probably making her more reluctant to share her precious memories with him, too.

Krystal began to slide away from him as the silence dragged on.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'It's hard to resist looking. I'll try not to do it again—'

But Fox sat down beside her and grabbed her paw, keeping her from leaving. "Wait! I'm… sorry for that outburst. I'm glad you showed me those memories of my mother; I've missed her for so long."

She settled back beside him, squeezing his hand in return. 'I've missed her, too. She's the only one I can remember who was ever kind to me. I pretended that she was my mother, but… it was another lie.'

She tilted her head down, hair falling over her eyes. 'Just like the lie that I'm Krystal. I took that name from the song she used to sing.'

Fox's eyebrows raised. "'May your dreams be ever crystal clear,'" he quoted, making the connection. His eyes drifted down to the white #28 branded on her thigh, and Krystal likewise stared at it dejectedly, hair hanging in front of her face.

'I'm not Krystal,' she reiterated. 'I'm 28—the 28th Cerinian to be experimented on. I don't have a name like Fox, or Vixy.' She shifted, looking up at the ceiling panels. 'There are 436 squares on the ceiling.' She pointed to one near the corner. 'I would be that one: number 28. It shares my name.' She pointed down at the floor. 'There are 144 squares on the ground. I'm the same number as that one.'

Fox swallowed a lump forming in his throat. He realized calling her 28 for so long had probably hurt her, even if "Krystal" wasn't really her name, either. Carefully he lifted her sheet from where it had fallen in back and wrapped it around her torso again—then wrapped her up in his arms as well.

The vixen looked up at him, eyes wide.

"I don't care what you were to them," he told her. "To me, you're Krystal, and that's what I'm going to call you from now on. Krystal's your real name; 28 is the lie. Do you understand me?"

Her eyes shimmered as they searched his. Then when she found what she was looking for, she closed her lids and leaned forward, gratefully accepting the hug he gave. 'Yes, Fox.'

For a full minute they embraced atop the crates. It reminded Fox of how they'd drifted off together…

"How were your dreams last night?" he asked, finally pulling away. "Did you have any nightmares?"

"Mm-mm," she hummed with a smile. 'When I woke up you were still holding me, just like you said you'd be. It was… hard wiggling out,' she giggled. 'I did have dreams, but they were nice ones. I remember a world full of purple: purple trees, purple grass, and purple flowers. It was so beautiful, like nothing I've seen before.'

His eyes widened. "Wait, you saw it too?!"

She laughed. 'Strange; I have never heard of two people sharing the same dream before. I thought that's what made them fake—that only you see them. If we both saw it, I guess it can't be a dream, can it?'

Fox grinned, unable to fight her logic, but he thought he understood. They must have fallen asleep with their minds still connected—but had the strange planet originated from her mind, or his?

'It's out there, somewhere,' Krystal continued, turning to look through the window. 'It doesn't say any words, but somehow I feel like it called to me last night.'

Fox followed her gaze to the green nebula outside. For whatever reason, he didn't feel half as anxious seeing it anymore.

"I… feel the same," he realized. It was calling him—she was calling him, with a lullaby across time and space. When he first found Krystal, he had been disappointed it wasn't his mother beneath the labs. But perhaps she and Vixy were more connected than he might think. Wherever Krystal had come from, perhaps Vixy was waiting there—alive.

The todd set his teeth, squeezing Krystal's hands.

"Look, Krystal, I've… I've decided. I'm not going to take you back to the labs. I want to help you find that planet; I don't know why, but somehow I know it's the place where you and the other Cerinians were born. If you'll help me, we'll find your home."

She stared at him in disbelief, jaw slightly agape. Then her face brightened till she practically beamed. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

'Oh, thank you, Fox!'

They shared another embrace, till Krystal's stomach interrupted with a growl. She pulled back, laying her hands on her stomach and smiling sheepishly.

Fox raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess: hungry?"

'I… I think I've always been hungry…'

"Well, if you want to be alive by the time we get there, you need to make an effort to eat again. Think you can do that?"

'I will!' She nodded her head vigorously. 'I'll try harder! I'm sure I can do it.'

Fox sighed in relief, patting her knee. "Alright, it's settled. I'll tell ROB about our change of plans, then meet you in the kitchen for breakfast."

After heading to the bridge to notify ROB, Fox returned to the rec room. He heard noises, but couldn't immediately spot Krystal anywhere—that is, until he noticed the tips of her blue ears and tail poking above the counter.

"Krystal?"

He rounded the partition into the kitchen only to find the vixen on her hands and knees. Once again dressed in one of his shirts, she scrubbed the floor with a clump of paper towels in either hand—but when she heard him call her name, she accelerated her cleaning pace, desperately trying to finish.

"What are you doing?"

Ears perking, she jumped off the floor and rushed over to him, meeting him before he could enter the kitchen. She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back, trying to block his view of the interior.

'Please, don't come in yet! I-I was tidying up and I wanted to finish before you came back—'

But it was too late; he'd already seen over her shoulder and noticed the mess she'd made the previous night. Mashed cake and other food debris still lay smeared over the walls, floor, and ceiling—but since he'd last seen the mess, she'd cleaned it up substantially.

Gently Fox took her hands off him. "It's okay Krystal, I already saw."

He stepped into the kitchen, but Krystal raced back in front of him. She attacked the floor again, scrubbing away with paper towels and grunting slightly as she worked on the last of the mess.

"Hey, it's fine! You don't have to do that; Sanitation ROB will take care of it once he rolls around."

Ears flattening, she paused and glanced over her shoulder at him, knees and elbows dirty with icing. Then she returned to her work and continued wiping. 'It's my mess—I should be the one to clean it up. Please just let me do it!'

"Well, I won't stop you…" He trailed off when she stood and looked up at the ceiling, where red icing had been smeared over the panels. She gripped a paper towel in one hand and hopped, swiping her arm at the dirty tiles, but it was in vain; her paw fell far short.

"You uh… sure have a good throwing arm when you're mad," he commented.

Krystal's ears folded back. She jumped a few more times, then gave it up. Instead she went for a chair and climbed atop it. Worried, Fox rushed to support her before she inevitably fell off, but she shrugged off his help, nimbly balancing on one foot as she scrubbed at the ceiling.

'It's fine; I can manage, thank you.'

Rather than force his help on her, Fox stood back. As she cleaned the ceiling, he set about cooking "breakfast": a mild soup to start Krystal off slow again, but filled with chunks of vegetables and synthmeat to give her something more substantial to digest. But all through his cooking, he kept glancing back at Krystal as she worked, ready to rush to her side the instant she lost her balance.

Soon, a wonderful, savory odor filled the kitchen, causing both the vulpines' hungry stomachs to growl in desire. Once he finished the concoction, Fox dished out a pair of bowls and brought them to the table.

"Well, it's finished. Ready to eat now?"

'Almost done,' she promised. Agilely, she leapt from chair to table, carefully placing her feet between the bowls. She stood over Fox, biting her tongue as she wiped the last of the cake from the ceiling tiles. Rather than stare up her shirt, the todd averted his eyes downwards, blushing as he watched the steam rise from his soup.

'There!' Krystal hopped off the table and deposited the last of her dirty paper towels in the waste bin.

"It's… very clean!" Fox told her.

Krystal placed her hands on her bare hips and surveyed her work. She nodding in satisfaction. Only then did she sit down at the chair adjacent to Fox's. She stared at her bowl and inhaled the delicious fragrance—but she hesitated before taking a spoonful, still worried.

"Would you feel more comfortable if I didn't watch?" he offered. "I could go somewhere else and you could eat at your own pace—"

'No, it's fine. I want to eat with you like we did before.'

Fox watched anxiously as Krystal picked up her spoon and dipped it into her soup. But she paused, looking over at him.

'Aren't you going to eat?'

He blinked, realizing he'd forgotten about eating his own soup. "Oh, right. It-it's just more important that you eat. You need it more."

'I've noticed you haven't been eating, either,' she pointed out. 'You keep urging me to eat, but you hardly eat anything yourself.'

Fox huffed a little through his nose, but eventually nodded. "Look, I'll make a deal. For every bite I eat, will you take one?"

'Sure. I think that's fair.'

Without hesitation, Fox slurped up his first spoonful, not caring about his unsettled stomach. The anxiety upsetting his belly wasn't for himself, but his worries about Krystal being able to keep her food down.

"Alright, your turn."

Grinning at the challenge, Krystal dipped her utensil into her soup and scooped out a spoonful—but she grew a little worried upon seeing the cube of synthmeat floating inside it. Taking a breath, she closed her eyelids and popped it into her mouth. Once it was down, she opened her eyes again and sighed with a smile.

"There, that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Fox effortlessly took his next bite, getting his part out of the way as fast as possible so Krystal would eat more. They traded back and forth several more times, till eventually Krystal got into the hang of eating and didn't care about taking turns. She got so caught up in it she began gulping down spoonful after spoonful, unable to chew and swallow fast enough. Fox had never seen her eat so ravenously before this morning.

But it wasn't to last, for she came to a sudden, screeching halt.

Eyes widening, Krystal gagged and bent over the table. Fox dropped his spoon with a clatter and rushed over. He reached out his hand to help, ready to clamp it over her mouth again—but he stopped himself this time. Instead, he decided to massage her shoulder gently while she struggled to hold her food in. He finally understood he couldn't force Krystal; he had to let her overcome this herself.

Come on, come on, he repeatedly begged. Please, you can do this! Keep it in…

Krystal's eyes screwed shut as she doubled over the table, brow furrowing. She clamped her mouth shut, stubbornly refusing to give up her food. Unable to breathe for the time being, she choked on the food. She fought the urge so long that her eyes began to water, but still she didn't give in.

Then, with one last grimace, Krystal swallowed the bile back down. She gasped for air, breathing deeply and smiling.

'I… I did it!'

Fox sighed, sinking back into his chair. "You won! Whatever was holding you back, you beat it!"

Hungrily, and with newfound confidence, Krystal attacked the rest of her soup. She kept eating until she'd swallowed every morsel; and when all that was left was broth, she upended her bowl and slurped every last dreg.

Setting her bowl back down, she wiped the stew from her lips. When her wrist came away, it revealed a smile plastered across her face.

'Thank you for making this, Fox. It tastes delicious, and…'

She lay a hand on her stomach.

'It feels warm.'