I don't do much anymore. Once, my days were filled to the brim—waking up at dawn, clocking in, sweeping floors, cutting hair, massaging backs, lighting candles, washing clothes, singing, preparing food. The tasks were endless. I worked tirelessly from sunrise to sunset, pausing only briefly. I prided myself on being diligent.

My sister worried it was too much, always trying to shift the heavier tasks away from me, but I refused her help. After all, we lived in paradise. A warm bed, good meals, weekends off—all of it felt like a dream. Every day here was a vacation compared to what came before. We didn't have to run anymore. No more hiding in freezing, abandoned buildings or begging for scraps. It wasn't grand or extraordinary, I know that, but for someone like me, it was a good life. A life where I worked hard, but happily. I made friends. I met fascinating people. There was magic in the small things, in everything. I wouldn't have traded it for the world. And for the first time, Hylla could smile.

Now, I wake up in darkness. I no longer sleep in the servants' quarters. My bed is vast—so large it could be a room of its own. It's impossibly soft, tingling against my skin, but colder somehow. Vain. The only light comes from the flicker of the fireplace in a room far too grand for me. An elite suite, reserved for godly clients. To my left, a massive window stretches from ceiling to floor, offering an unmatched view of the island. It's beautiful, breathtaking even. From here, I can see the waves brushing the shore, the swaying palms, the moon casting its silver glow across the ocean. The reflection dances on the water, serene yet somber.

I glance at the clock—it strikes midnight. Why do I even bother? Time has stopped here. The island is caught in an eternal night.

I struggled to find a reason to get up. Instead, I lay there, staring at the wall, lost in thought for far longer than I cared to admit. It all happened so quickly—half a day, and everyone was gone. For days, I searched for them. Braving dark caves, hiked through the tangled jungle, swam the cold lagoons, and climbed the mountains. I pushed myself to the brink, exhausting every ounce of strength I had.

And then Hylla told me.

She had known all along where they were. The truth broke me.

I… For the first time, I yelled at her. I tried to hurt her—my own sister. The thought alone made me sick for days. The anger festered inside me, bubbling up like poison, only to amount to nothing but screaming at walls that never answered.

Eventually, the anger burned out, leaving only exhaustion. I tried to escape—from this place, from her. But no matter how far I went, the waves always brought me back. Over and over, until the last boat lay shattered on the beach.

I even tried starving myself, desperate to end it all. But hunger clawed at me, gnawed at me, until I gave in. The temptation was unbearable. Then, Hylla spoke to me. She looked at me and said she forgave me. Just like that.

And then she told me something that broke me all over again: if she could go back, she would do it all again.

I don't know what's happening anymore. Each day feels darker than the last, like the light is being drained from everything. Hylla… She's changing—or maybe it's me. She's less and less like the sister I remember, the one who protected me, the one I trusted.

Or was she always this way? Was I too blind, too naïve, to see it?

I forced myself to walk. The hunger pains only grew worse if I stayed still for too long.

The clothes I wore were things I could never have dreamed of owning before—silks with gold trims, elegant ballroom gowns, celebrity brands, the kind of outfits only Hollywood stars would wear. My wardrobe was endless, each piece more breathtaking than the last. But none of it felt real. None of it felt like me. Today, I had thrown on a robe far too big for my frame. It dragged along the floor as I walked, and every step took effort, just to keep from tripping over the hem.

I opened the door to be greeted by an empty hallway, once there would have been hundreds of maids, servants and clients. Now there is only the echo of my footsteps. As I walked to the kitchen I stopped by a door, despite being two inches metal I could still hear mumbles coming out of it. Well, at least it would be a nice distraction.

I made a small opening in the door and peered inside.

"Trash! Absolute trash!" I heard him yell, hurling yet another book against the wall.

"Dated! Simplistic! Formulaic! Who writes dialogue like this?! It's garbage!"

"Are you… okay, Mr. Anderson?" I squeaked.

He didn't respond, too caught up in his tirade. Furniture was already broken—million-dollar busts lay shattered on the floor. Somehow, he'd managed to overturn an entire stone couch. Now he was flinging custards and forks at a growing pile of books in the corner.

Cautiously, I stepped into the room, trying to avoid the sea of crumpled pages and scrawled criticisms scattered everywhere.

"Curse that woman!" he roared. "She didn't even have the decency to give me a laptop!"

With a guttural scream, he tore a book apart with his bare hands, the sound of ripping paper making me wince.

"Mr. Ander—"

"What do you want?!" he bellowed, still not looking at me as he furiously stuffed shredded pages into a garbage can. "Can't you see I'm suffering ?"

"I was, uh…" I faltered, realizing I didn't have a good reason for being here. I just didn't want to be alone.

"That cow !" he spat, holding up a book in his trembling hands. Its title read Son of Neptune . He tossed the book into the trash with a feral snarl. "I wouldn't touch this trite in a million years, and yet she expects me to—"

His words cut off abruptly as he bit his lip, hard enough to draw blood. The crimson smear on his face only deepened the wildness in his eyes.

He was a strange boy. Men weren't allowed on the island—those who ended up here in the past were quickly turned into guinea pigs. But that was before. Now, he was the only new addition to the island. Not that it felt like a fair trade. As soon as he arrived, he drank half our supply of alcohol in one sitting. I ended up making him martinis and cocktails just to keep him from raiding the reserves further. I wouldn't say he was agreeable, but he was definitely a bit nicer when he was drunk—if only a little.

At first, I hesitated, refusing to serve him anything due to his age. But his voice was so deep, and the way he spoke was so self-assured, so adult-like, that I thought maybe he was one of the godly clients.

He laughed at that, loudly and bitterly, before declaring himself the god of deadlines and poor wages.

Then the hangover hit.

He cursed like a sailor, shouting in a language I didn't understand. I think I learned thirteen new swear words just from that exchange alone. And when the anger passed, he broke down, crying as he lamented his fate. Apparently, he'd been forced to rewrite a series of terrible books. Those weren't his exact words, of course—there was much more swearing involved. But the bitterness in his voice made it clear: he despised every moment of it.

Since then, he's been stuck in a relentless cycle: reading, writing, drinking, swearing—a lot of swearing—and then hours of breaking anything within reach. I've had to bring in extra furniture just so he wouldn't run out of things to destroy. Now, I think I've caught him in one of his rare in-between stages—right after a session of screaming his lungs out, and just as he's slipping into the drinking phase again.

"Uuuuuggggghhhhhhh." The boy groaned, wiping his face with one hand. "I need a drink."

And there it was. Up close, he looked even more exhausted than usual. Dark bags sat heavy under his eyes, and his blue hair was a frizzled mess, sticking out in all directions.

"Now where is…" He trailed off as he staggered over to a nearby stand. Instead of reaching for a glass, he grabbed the entire bottle and chugged half of it in one go. When he finally lowered the glass, he looked worse than before—like he'd just walked through a hurricane. His bright blue eyes, usually sharp with irritation, were dull and lifeless.

"Girl," he spat, his voice hoarse, "never become an author."

Then, without missing a beat, he tilted the bottle back and drank again.

I could see why my sister called him a drunkard.

"I don't intend to." I answered back.

"Good. The world needs more bartenders," he said, taking another sip. "And with your talents, you'll go far." He paused, staring into his drink for a moment before shaking his head. "Actually, forget I said that. A young woman like you shouldn't waste her time with drunks."

His tone turned somber, almost reflective. "Just promise me this: if a man ever confesses his love to you, drop him faster than you can breathe. Better to break his heart right away than let him stew over for half his life." The bitterness in his voice lingered long after his words had faded.

I have no idea what he's talking about.

"Ahhh, damn," he groaned, rubbing his temples. "I didn't even get through two pages." He paced around the room, muttering to himself. "And that woman wants me to finish eight more books in a week? She's worse than a slave driver—she's a damn publisher with insane deadlines!"

He stormed over to his desk, holding up what looked like a stack of pages.

"I haven't even finished one. Tch. I'm so tempted to throw this in the garbage, just to see the look on her face."

"I… I don't think she'd appreciate that."

"That's the idea." He grinned wickedly.

I couldn't help but ask, "Why are you telling me this?"

His eyes flicked to me, his smile stretching wider. "Isn't it the bartender's job to listen to drunks?"

I'm not… Actually, now that he says it.

"That woman needs to have realistic expectations," he muttered, throwing the manuscript onto the desk with disgust. "And this…" He flopped the pages down dramatically. "I wouldn't use this to wipe my ass, let alone call it mine. If I ever did get it published, it would be under a pen name, with a ghost author far, far away from me."

"I'm sure it's not that bad?" I said, the words slipping out awkwardly before I could stop them.

"Hoh. Would you like to read it?" he teased, beckoning me closer.

"I…" I immediately regretted saying that. I don't know what he does, but my sister always insisted it was important. I wasn't sure what kind of relationship he had with Hylla, either. Their conversations always reminded me of an old married couple—not the affectionate, charming kind, but the type who should've divorced ages ago.

"Go on, there's no harm." Before I could move, he shoved the manuscript into my hands. "As much as I hate letting out unfinished work, I wouldn't care if it flushed down the toilet. Hell, I'd do it myself if I could."

I'd held the pages in front of me, the first page was blank with no title. I haven't read anything in a long time, the last time I could remember was when I still went to school. I didn't have time in the spa, and reading didn't interest me before.

"What's it about?" I hesitated.

"Ugh. It's just a poorly written fanfic, exactly what that woman imagines should happen."

That didn't inspire much, but I turned the first page anyway. What I found were paragraphs upon paragraphs of handwritten words. The first sentence read:

"Hello, name's Percy~"

I don't know how long I sat there, but at some point, I found myself engrossed in the manuscript. It immediately pulled me in and never let go. It felt like my soul was trapped in the pages, as if I were afraid to look away for even a moment, lest it be stolen.

It was about a boy named Percy. And for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had a friend. He joked, laughed, screamed, cried—he was real, right there with me. He went on adventures to save the world, struggling, suffering, feeling everything. I felt his pain. This wasn't anything like I'd ever read before. I didn't know what was real anymore, or if it even mattered. If it wasn't, I almost wished I wasn't, either—just so I could be part of his world.

"I've raised the sword high just as the Titan turned, plunging down between his neck." I quickly turned the page to see what happened next, but there was nothing. The manuscript was over. That's when it all came crashing down on me, and for the first time, I could finally breathe.

What was…

"See? Complete garbage. My worst work yet. That's what happens when you rush the author."

"What happens next?" I blurted out, the words slipping from my mouth before I could stop them.

He looked at me, puzzled. "Eh? Nothing. I haven't finished it yet."

"Then when?!"

"Why do you care? It's trash."

"Then tell me! What do you think is going to happen?"

His eyes locked with mine, empty blue staring back. For the first time, I saw something other than anger or spite in them. Was it pity?

"What happens? Only a hack gives away the ending, but honestly I couldn't give two shits about this story."

"Huh?"

"What do you think this is?" He tapped the manuscript.

"A book?"

"Have you even listened to a word I've said?" He scoffed. "That isn't a book. It's a poor counterfeit. I'm no fan of plagiarism, especially towards a subpar work. But that's beside the point. This isn't just a book—it's a tool she'll use to end the world."

"But, how can–?"

"Do not underestimate the power of fiction. Especially here... Here, it can do more than inspire. It can be used for terrible things. Once it's finished, that woman will use it to completely rewrite everything, all to her hideous design. That's the ending." He clicked his tongue in disdain.

"Hylla would never..." I trailed off. Would she?

"Oh, she would," he sneered. "Her personality isn't just immoral; it's a cesspool of everything wrong with humanity. No, scratch that—she revels in her depravity like a pig rolling in its own filth. She's the vilest, sickest, most depraved, disgusting woman in existence. She should do us all a favor and apply to the slaughterhouse—that's where they put mad cows. Not that I'd eat it. I'd probably catch some godforsaken hybrid of syphilis and the plague."

"Don't talk about Hylla that way!" I screamed, fists clenched so tightly my nails dug into my palms. "Hylla is amazing! She's kind, she's beautiful, and she's… she's my sister! Don't talk about her like that!"

For once, he was silent, his sharp tongue paused as he stared at me, his expression unreadable.

"She's… she's the strongest person I know," I continued, my voice trembling. "Sa-She protected me from our dad when no one else would. When we were homeless, she gave me all her food, even when she was starving. She ka-kept me safe all by herself. I don't care what you think of me but—don't you dare insult her!"

He put down the bottle with a heavy clink, then carefully placed the manuscript back on the desk. His expression softened, his usual venom replaced with a weary sadness.

"…I'm sure she is," he said quietly, almost to himself. He let out a long sigh, his gaze distant. "You don't understand the gravity of how tragic this all is. Of all the people…"

I glared at him, the heat rising in my chest. I'd dealt with rough clients before, but him? He was worse than all of them combined—a walking storm of bitterness and self-loathing. To my surprise, he actually smiled under my glare, a genuine expression, though it was tinged with weariness. For once, he poured his drink into a glass instead of drinking straight from the bottle.

"If you stared any harder, I bet you could laser my brains out," he said, raising his glass in mock toast.

"I was thinking of your mouth," I shot back.

"Even better!" he exclaimed, grinning wider. "But make sure I'm dead first. I'll finally be free of deadlines."

He took a shot, then another, swirling the liquid in his mouth as if savoring it. We sat in silence for a while, the tension hanging in the air like a storm cloud. Eventually, I pulled over a stool and sat down, letting my gaze wander around the room. Books. So many books. Stacks towered high into the ceiling, their shadows bending across the dimly lit walls. More books cluttered the floor, scattered around piles and piles of loose pages. At the center of the chaos was a massive clipboard, filled with names that branched out into intricate webs. I frowned. I didn't remember bringing so many books here. Heck, I didn't even think the spa had this many books. The sheer number was absurd, more than anyone could possibly read in a lifetime.

This wasn't a library. How did they even get here?

Curiosity gnawed at me. I reached down and picked up a book from the floor. The cover was plain, nondescript, but when I flipped it open, the pages were filled with… ones and zeros.

What kind of language is this?

I glanced back at Anderson. He was completely ignoring my presence, lounging at his desk, staring up at the ceiling with a drink in hand. Is this what he does all day? He didn't look happy or sad, just... empty. The quill on his desk lay untouched. How could he remain so calm after saying something like that? Even if it were true, why would he help her?

"She wouldn't, you know. She won't destroy the world," I muttered, mostly to myself.

I didn't think he was listening until he slowly turned his head toward me. His gaze was heavy, like he could see straight through me.

"Hylla is a good person. She would never—"

"Why are you still here?" he interrupted, his tone sharp and cutting.

"What?"

"You don't believe that," he said flatly. "You can lie to me, but you can't lie to yourself. I see it in your eyes—you know what she is." His voice dipped lower, laced with mockery.

"I don't know what you mean," I snapped, my words dripping with spite.

He scoffed. "We're playing that game now? Fine. Go ahead, live in your little fantasy. Better to believe the lie than face the truth, right? Tch. Children." He turned back to the desk, dismissing me entirely.

"It's not a lie!" I shouted, standing abruptly. But he didn't even flinch.

"She is Hylla! I know it! If she wasn't, why did she spare me? Why didn't she eat me like the rest!?" My voice cracked, but the words kept spilling out. "She… she still loves me! She's my sister! She told me we'd always be together!"

He didn't react. He didn't even look at me. He just sat there, staring down at the desk like I wasn't even worth the effort.

"She would never hurt me!"

"But she did," he replied softly. His tone wasn't raised, but to me, it was deafening. "And she will do it again. So why are you still here?"

I stood there, dumbfounded. My lips moved, but no words came out.

"She hasn't been your sister for a long time," he continued, his voice steady but heavy with finality. "It's all that woman now. She's dead. Bury her."

I didn't realize I was crying until I felt the warm salt trailing down my cheeks.

"That's why you have to leave," he said, his gaze piercing. "What she is now is the most dangerous person you will ever know."

"But I… I can't anymore," I whispered, my voice cracking. All the ships were gone, destroyed. I didn't know how to build a boat, let alone survive at sea.

"I can," he said, stepping toward me. "I can take you away from here. But only if you want it."

For the first time, I really looked at him. His eyes—those piercing blue eyes—they seemed to glow, almost unnaturally pure.

"Just say the word, and I'll send you away," he offered.

"Ba-but…" My voice faltered, and I tried to find some excuse, any excuse.

"There's nothing for you here but death," he said, cutting me off. "Your life is no different than a pencil to her. What makes you think she cares about you?"

"Because… because she…" My voice wavered. I knew, deep down, he was right. I knew she wasn't Hylla anymore. I didn't know what had happened to her, or why she'd changed. But… I saw her eyes. I clenched my chest, torn between fear and regret. Call me the biggest idiot in the world, but I knew she was still in there.

"I have no proof," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "But this feeling in my chest… I know it. I know she's still in there."

His eyes widened—a flicker of genuine surprise breaking through his usual indifference.

"And as long as there's even a little of her left… She's my family. I'll never abandon her," I said, my voice trembling.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. "Not another one," he mumbled, irritation creeping into his tone. "All I can see is a bad end, just like my own books. But if you wish to play the fool, go ahead. Just don't come crying to me when the emperor has no clothes," he snapped, his words dripping with spite.

"Tch." He clicked his tongue, turning away as if disgusted. "That cow… What does she want now?"

I blinked, confused. "Huh?"

"She 'summons' me," he mocked, his voice full of venom. He rolled his eyes dramatically, then grabbed the bottle again as if preparing for the ordeal.

"Hylla?" I whispered.

"Who else!?" he shouted back, his voice sharp as he stormed out of the room, grumbling under his breath.

Hylla? He's going to see Hylla ?

I froze, the thought sending chills down my spine. I haven't seen her since… since she locked herself in the old mistress's room. She turned it into her workshop, though "workshop" feels like the wrong word for what I saw in there. The last time I ventured close, I was met with things that still haunt my dreams—the moaning, the screams, the grotesque shapes moving in unnatural ways. I couldn't tell if they were in agony or ecstasy.

But worst of all, I couldn't recognize her anymore—the Hylla I remember and the one who inhabits that room now are two entirely different people. I've avoided her like the plague since then. I couldn't bear it.

And yet... I miss her. I miss her face, her touch, her laugh. I know it's foolish, I know I'm clinging to rose-tinted memories of a sister who may not exist anymore. But still, I want to see her. I need to look into her eyes and find even a fragment of the Hylla I knew. I know she's in there.

"I'm coming too!" I yelled, hitching up my robe and chasing after him.

The two of us moved through the resort's empty hallways. Some were so dark I couldn't even see my own hands in front of me. The power flickered weakly, casting eerie shadows against the cobwebs and dust that had overtaken everything. This place—once pristine and full of life—felt like a ghost of itself.

I sighed. I used to care about this place, used to try to keep it clean and alive. But no matter how hard I worked, I could never hope to maintain the entire island on my own. I wouldn't miss it. I couldn't .

As we approached the door, the sense of dread inside me grew, clawing at my chest with every step.

"It's still not too late," he groaned beside me, his voice heavy with exasperation. But I stayed silent, my thoughts too tangled to form a response. I wasn't sure I could answer him, not yet. He sighed, his steps slowing as we reached the massive door.

With a grumble, he reached for the handle, standing on his toes to pull it. "Ridiculous," he muttered under his breath. "Who makes a handle this high? Overcompensating for something, no doubt."

I swallowed hard, mustering what little courage I could as the tension pressed down on me. "...How can you do it? How can you stand by her?" The words spilled out.

Anderson paused, his hand resting on the handle. For a moment, our eyes met, his looked dead. Then, he slowly raised his alcohol, took a sip, and let out a deliberate burp.

Without a word, he turned back to the door and pushed it open.

The smell of lilac hit me like a wave, overwhelming and familiar, pulling me back to a time before all of this madness. It reminded me of Hylla's perfume—the one she'd always spray before bed. The memory was so vivid, so pure, it sparked something in me. Hope. Maybe… maybe there's still a chance.

My legs moved before I could think, carrying me forward into the room. Anderson followed behind, stomping like a sulking child caught doing something wrong. His sour attitude barely registered; my attention was stolen by what I saw inside.

The room had changed.

Lotus flowers bloomed across the floor, their delicate petals shimmering like they were made of glass. There were no cracks, no decay. It was as if the room itself was healing, shedding its old wounds and transforming into something ethereal. The long drapes of silk cascading from the ceiling swayed gently, ghostly white banners that seemed to pulse with life.

And then there was the mist.

A thick, pink mist filled the air, swirling lazily, yet it felt deliberate, like it had purpose. It reminded me of the mists the old mistress used to summon, but this one was different. It felt alive, aware.

It felt like…

Hylla.

"Reyna? Is that you?" Her voice shattered my thoughts like glass, yanking me out of my daydreams. My heart lurched as I turned toward the source.

Her hair, long and impossibly black, flowed around her like liquid silk, cascading down her back in a way that seemed almost otherworldly. It shimmered faintly in the pink mist, framing her face like a crown. She wasn't the girl I remembered anymore—she was more of a woman now, her skin flawless, glowing with a radiance that made her seem untouchable, almost divine. Her eyes sparkled with warmth, but there was something else, something darker, hidden in their depths.

"My Rein's." My old nickname, so small and intimate, spilled from her lips like the sound of wind chimes.

She raised her arms slowly, her hands open, inviting me closer. Her voice softened, rich and familiar, weaving through the air like a melody I never wanted to forget.

"Hermanita," she said, her Spanish wrapping around me like a warm blanket. "Ven aquí con tu hermana mayor."

I froze. My chest tightened as a wave of emotions crashed over me. She looked so much like the sister I knew, the one who held my hand through storms, who laughed with me, who protected me from everything. But at the same time, there was something else about her now—something I didn't recognize, something that set my every instinct on edge.

"Have some shame, woman! There's a child here!" Anderson barked, grabbing a nearby pillow and tossing it straight at my sister's face.

Hylla didn't even flinch, standing there as if she didn't care one bit about the scene she was causing.

Before I could react, Anderson slammed his hand over my eyes, nearly knocking me off balance in the process. "Avert your eyes!" he hissed, his voice sharp. "You've just witnessed the most desperate display of a wanton whore!"

"Ohh," Hylla purred, the sass in her voice dripping thick. "I didn't take you for a virgin, Mr. Author."

"Hardly," Anderson shot back, venom lacing every word. "I just prefer my whores disease-free. The waters of London are cleaner than you."

I couldn't see anything, but I heard the soft exhale of a sigh from my sister. But I could understand what he was doing, after all she was naked. I mean completely naked, it didn't register to me until he covered my eyes. I could feel my cheeks blush.

"You've just ruined a perfectly normal reunion," she said, voice dripping with irritation.

"Normal?" Anderson scoffed. "Are you really that diseased that you think this is normal? Oh, wait. Of course, you do. You're physically and mentally ill, I wouldn't be surprised if you'd sleep with a chair if it had a pulse."

"What are you implying!?" Hylla shot back, her voice genuinely shocked.

"You know exactly what I mean."

"You... Uh-you… I… I would never!" she sounded outraged.

"You know you would," Anderson countered. "Not that they will, no one wants someone so obviously easy."

"Oh, and you don't?" Hylla quipped, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

I heard Anderson shift, his voice sharp and biting. "Please, I'd rather stick my cock in a volcano, and even that would be less warm than you."

What is going on?

"Language!" my sister snapped, her tone suddenly stern. "The last thing I need is for my Rein's to be influenced by your potty mouth."

"And you're a role model? Maybe if there's an Olympic event for pole dancing, you'd take home gold," Anderson shot back, his words dripping with mockery. "Where's the money, huh? I'll be the first to throw."

"You mean my money, you useless—" Hylla interrupted, but her words got lost in another sarcastic sigh.

The exchange kept going, insults and barbs flying back and forth. I honestly thought Anderson's hand might never leave my face. I could feel the pressure, and my vision remained completely blocked, leaving me to hear the chaos unfold.

Finally, Anderson let go. My eyes adjusted slowly, blinking away the aftereffects of the pressure. When I could see again, I was greeted by the sight of Hylla, now fully clothed and lounging on a chair, looking like she hadn't a care in the world. She was wearing her old secretary uniform, but with a noticeable difference: it was much more revealing than I remembered. Doesn't she get cold?

"Rein's, Hermanita. Can you get me the aspirin? Your Oneesan has a headache," Hylla said casually, rubbing her forehead and pointing to a nearby table. She seemed almost… normal. For a moment, it felt like I was talking to the old Hylla again.

"And get me one too," Anderson added, his voice dripping with annoyance. "This woman makes this impotent." He poured the alcohol onto the floor dramatically before slouching down on a couch that definitely wasn't there before.

I blinked, confused, but Hylla's calm demeanor put me at ease—almost too much.

"Oh, ahhh. Of course," I said with forced cheer, rushing off to fetch the pills. It wasn't exactly what I expected, honestly. I thought this whole thing would be terrifying, but now? It felt like I was walking a tightrope between something unsettling and... normal. I could feel my hands tremble as I handed them both their pills, watching as they swallowed everything without a second thought.

The room felt too still for comfort, but for now, I played along, trying to hold it together.

"We should have died. Maybe it would have been for the best," Anderson said, his voice exhausted.

Hylla turned on the couch with a lazy smile, her fingers tracing the leather. "You would like that, wouldn't you?" she purred. Then, her eyes narrowed slightly. "How's the book coming along?"

Anderson scoffed.

"Useless indeed," Hylla muttered before looking back at me. Her golden yellow eyes almost predatory as she asked, "Rein's, how was the Drunkard? Did he treat you well?"

I froze for a moment, not knowing how to answer. "Heee… He was okay."

Hylla's smirk deepened. "Better not be giving her any ideas, Anderson. I would hate to see my beautiful Reyna corrupted by your cynicism."

Anderson, never missing a beat, responded with a sneer. "The girl doesn't need me for that. You're doing just fine on your own."

"Really?" She moved closer to me, my face just inches from hers. "Rein's, my sweet Rein's." She cupped my cheeks, her hands so soft they felt like butter. The scent of her was intoxicating—flowers in full bloom, sweet like candy. I could almost taste it.

"Is it true Rein's? Do you hate me?" Her eyes pulled me in, like I was falling into another world. She was so beautiful, I couldn't resist her words. Any resistance I had disappeared in an instant. I wanted her. I needed her.

"Na-No…." I stammered.

"Do you love me?" Her voice brushed against my soul, and I froze, completely under her spell. All I wanted was for her to focus on me.

"Ya-yee. Yeaa." I couldn't say yes, if I did then it would end.

"Do you. Want me?" She whispered, the words sending a shiver through me, and my mind was lost in her completely.

"I… Ah." Tears welled up, slipping down my face. I couldn't control it. She leaned in closer, her lips parting, just enough for me to see her teeth. It felt like she could swallow me whole, just like everyone else. "I… I can't."

Her eyes darkened, like black holes pulling me in deeper. My soul was slipping away.

"Hill-Hylla…." I weeped and she paused. It was fleeting but for a moment I saw it, the light in her eyes. "Hylla, please…"

I thought she would stop then light was snuffed out and she continued to–

"Shit, cock, fagget, asshole, motherfucker, dick, bullshit, piss, cunt, jackass, holy-fuck, bastard, twat, fuck, fuckersaurus, fuckerella, fuck off, verdammt, kraftedeme, skide, luder. Du er en ulækker syg luder, skred," Anderson spat.

That… That completely ruined the mood. I blinked, I could finally move. I quickly backed away, huffing all the while. That, my heart is racing by a mile, I don't know what just happened but it felt like I was an inch from death.

"Anderson," Hylla growled, her voice low and dangerous. "I should use a command spell to mute that mouth of yours."

"Ha! Good luck with that! Go ahead, waste your one command spell. You'll never silence me." Anderson grinned, clearly unfazed. I doubt he was even worried—he could still write. "Well, at least it'd be a challenge. You ready for round two?"

Hylla stormed, sulking back on the lounge. "This. Is. Not! Why I called you here," she grumbled under her breath.

"Hoh? The luder has standards? Is the world ending?" Anderson taunted.

"You know exactly what I mean. Did you find anything?" Hylla shot back, her words laced with sharp spite.

Anderson rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed.

"Anderson," Hylla pressed, her tone sharper now.

"If you couldn't find anything, what makes you think I can? I'm not a coder. That language? All Greek to me. It'd be easier if it was." Anderson's voice carried a hint of seriousness and scorn.

What are they talking about?

Hylla seemed to sense my confusion, her gaze flicking toward me. I froze. Was she going to try that again?

"Hermanita. Refill my glass." She held up her shot, expecting me to take it. I was too nervous to hold it steady.

"Don't worry, I won't bite," She crosses her heart with her fingers, exactly what Hylla would do before."Cross my heart." Her voice hummed, soft yet somehow comforting. I searched her eyes, there it was, the same light is still there.

"Oh-okay." I quickly poured, my hands shaking. I overfilled the glass, then hurriedly handed it back to her.

"Gracias. Now, watch carefully." She tossed the glass down onto the floor, and it shattered with a sharp crack, water spilling across the room. "Do you see it?"

"Se-See what?" I stammered, still trying to catch up.

"Look at it. The way the light reflects off the glass, the texture, the color, the cracks, the way the liquid moves… It's all beautiful, like real life."

I nodded slowly, trying to understand.

"Now, imagine that," she continued, "across the entire planet. A world filled with all those textures and animations, constantly changing, morphing in real-time. Even the smallest details hidden from sight are being simulated down to the atom. Think about the processing power needed to create that. It would take a god, right?"

"I don't understand... Do you mean the godly clients?" I asked, still lost.

Hylla closed her eyes, humming in thought, as though savoring the idea. "That would be delicious, but no. Remember Toy Story ? That was made with computers, right? Now, imagine a computer so powerful it can simulate the entire world. A computer so advanced it can copy anything in perfect detail. The computers we had back then were slow, right? Because they lacked the processing power."

I still didn't quite get where she was going with this.

"You saw those old things. They could barely process one webpage. Now, do you think one computer could simulate the entire world?"

"I… I think not," I replied, my voice uncertain.

"Exactly," she said, her eyes sharp with conviction. "I know she hasn't reached the core yet. No way one AI could simulate the whole world. Maybe a few pieces, but not everything. Not with people who have free will, constantly changing things with every little choice. Every tiny detail simulated perfectly? No way. I don't care how powerful she is, it's impossible. So did you find out why Anderson?"

"Nope, not a thing. Maybe she can," Anderson shot back. "We don't know what BB's capable of. After all, didn't she immediately see through your plans?" Hylla glared at him, but his expression stayed playful. "If that homunculus hadn't made a hole, we'd be dead. And BB? She tore you apart, final boss my foot, she turned you into a dollar store wraith." I don't know why but that really got into Hylla's skin.

"Then, the second she was distracted, you ran off like a rat. Honestly, you're lucky. Why is it always the worst ones who get the best luck?"

Hylla raised an eyebrow. "I guess that includes you too, then?"

Anderson shrugged. "I wouldn't call this lucky. If anything, our luck's run out. The second your bounded field drops, she'll know exactly where we are. Then, poof. Everything goes up in smoke."

"I wasn't the only one who went through that hole," she shot back. "There are other ghosts. She'll be too distracted with them. Besides, I hid my tracks well."

"Hid? You call this hiding? You're prancing around, leaving your stink everywhere. All she has to do is follow the smell." Anderson shook his head.

"Well, maybe you should hurry up and finish those books, then," Hylla shot back, her tone sharp.

"If you wanted a counterfeiter, you got the wrong servant."

"No, I got a fanfic writer who cranks out doujins for a living."

"And I got a whore who'd spread her legs for an entire stadium."

"And I got a foul-mouthed shota who drinks himself into women's clothes."

"I never get that drunk, you diseased cow!"

"At least it'd be more entertaining than those trashy scripts you call books."

"You think I've done porn? That's just another Tuesday for you !"

"The weakest dog barks the loudest, little man."

"Don't you dare call me a dog, you cancerous bitch."

"Drunk has-been."

"Cow from the sewers."

"Impotent man-child."

"Disgusting woman."

"Waste of a human being."

"That's you too!~"

Their argument spiraled into chaos, each insult louder and more biting than the last. It didn't seem like it would end anytime soon.

I still had no idea what was going on, but... I saw it. Just a sliver, but it was there—a piece of Hylla, the real Hylla. And until I could bring her back, I'd endure this. Through the storms, through the fear, through all of it. That's what Hylla would've done for me. I couldn't do anything less.

So I prayed. I hoped. I waited.

Their voices rose to full-blown screaming, the room practically shaking with their rage. Well, at least it wasn't quiet anymore.