Morro felt his presence collapse inward, shoved violently into the depths of his own mindscape. His surroundings vanished—the mist, the forest, even Silbón—and were replaced by a warped, surreal plane of shadows and muted hues. It was the space within himself, his consciousness bound and cornered by the icy grip of the Ijiraq. He could feel the weight of it pushing him down, smothering his thoughts as its foreign presence took over.

From somewhere far above, muffled as though heard through layers of water, he heard his own lips moving—his own voice, twisted and not entirely his, speaking to Silbón. "It's fine," the Ijiraq purred, the words dripping with false warmth and soothing tones. "Everything's perfect. I feel better than ever."

"No, no, no," Morro's voice echoed within his mind, the desperate denial reverberating through the fractured space around him. He clawed at the walls of his mindscape, his presence straining against the icy barrier that confined him. "Silbón, don't believe it! It's not me—it's not me!"

Outside, Silbón stood frozen, his translucent form flickering erratically as he stared at Morro's unnaturally serene expression. The boy's sage-green and emerald-green eyes gleamed with a disturbing calmness that didn't belong, his movements stiff, his tone too smooth to be true. Silbón's dark gaze narrowed sharply, his skeletal hands curling into fists as suspicion twisted his features.

"Fine? Perfect?" Silbón repeated slowly, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't do perfect, kid. You do reckless, sarcastic, messy. And you don't sound like yourself, not even when you're trying to sound innocent."

The smile on Morro's face deepened, though the edges carried an unnatural stillness. "You don't need to worry about me anymore," the Ijiraq continued, still using Morro's voice, its tones carefully measured. "I feel whole, Silbón. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

Silbón's spectral form flared brighter, his translucent hands twitching as anger bubbled beneath his suspicion. "Whole?" he snapped, his voice sharp now, cutting through the unnatural calm. "Don't you try twisting this into something sweet. That's not Morro talking, and I don't know who—or what—you are, but you're not fooling me."

Within his mindscape, Morro surged forward again, his presence clawing at the icy grip holding him down. His voice echoed faintly in the void, frantic and raw. "Silbón, please!" he shouted, his words breaking against the barrier. "It's the Ijiraq! It's overshadowing me! You have to—"

Silbón stared at Morro's face, watching the unnatural smile and calm words spill from his lips. His dark eyes burned with anger, his spectral form flaring with determination. "You think you can fool me by stealing his voice?" he growled, his tone brimming with defiance. "You think I won't notice when my friend—my real friend—is screaming in the silence?"

The mist swirled around them, heavy with tension, but Silbón didn't move. His translucent hands clenched tightly at his sides, his stance unwavering as he glared at the boy before him. "I know Morro," Silbón said firmly, his voice steady and unshakable. "And you? You're not him."

A flash of light lit up the clearing like a moth-flame, and Morro crumpled to the ground as the icy presence of the Ijiraq finally released him, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His legs shook beneath him, struggling to keep him upright, the bruises on his knees and the blood from his scrapes a painful reminder of the ordeal. He pressed his trembling hands against the forest floor, trying to steady himself, his eyes flickering faintly as he struggled to stay conscious.

Silbón darted forward, his translucent form flickering as he dropped to his knees beside Morro. "Kid!" he called out sharply, his voice brimming with worry as his skeletal hands hovered over him. "You—are you back? Is that you?"

Morro tried to respond, his lips parting slightly, but before he could manage a single word, the mist shifted again. From the haze emerged a figure—another Morro. The Ijiraq stood tall, its glowing eyes now replaced with Morro's sharp green gaze, its false form mimicking him with disturbing precision. It wore the same tattered clothes, held the same exhausted posture, and even smirked in that faint, familiar way that only Morro could.

Silbón froze, his dark eyes darting between the crumpled boy on the ground and the figure standing in the mist. "What in the name of—?" he muttered, his voice low but laced with growing anger. "What is this supposed to be?"

The Ijiraq-Morro tilted its head, its lips pulling into a sly grin that didn't quite match Morro's usual mischievousness. "It's simple," the false form said smoothly, the voice perfectly mimicking Morro's sharp tone. "You care about him, don't you? You want to save him? Then... find him."

Silbón's spectral form flared faintly, his skeletal hands curling into fists as his frustration grew. "Find him? What are you—?" His voice cut off as the Ijiraq turned its glowing gaze back to the real Morro, who was still slumped on the ground.

Before Silbón could react, the Ijiraq stepped forward with blinding speed, its claws appearing for a split second as it grabbed the real Morro by the arm. Morro's cry echoed faintly as the Ijiraq yanked him up, dragging him into the swirling mist. "No!" Silbón shouted, lunging forward, his skeletal hands swiping uselessly at the haze as the Ijiraq disappeared into the dark forest, Morro in tow.

The mist closed in behind them, the echo of Morro's voice fading into the distance. Silbón stood frozen for a moment, his translucent form flickering wildly as anger and panic surged through him. His dark eyes burned as he clenched his fists tighter, his mind racing. "Kid," he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling. "Wherever you are... I'll find you. I promise I'll find you."

Morro's cries pierced the oppressive mist as he struggled against the Ijiraq's unyielding grip. His voice cracked under the strain, desperation dripping from every word. "Let me go!" he shouted, his body twisting as he clawed weakly at its spectral limbs. "What do you want? Why are you doing this?"

The Ijiraq's cold laughter echoed faintly, hauntingly, as it dragged him deeper into the dark forest. The mist thickened around them, swallowing all traces of light and sound, leaving only the suffocating silence and the shadow of the creature's presence. Its voice came low and calm, the chill in its tone slicing through Morro like ice. "What do I want?" it repeated, almost mockingly. "It's simple, little ghost. I want...Silbón."

Morro froze for a moment, his breath catching in his throat as the realization hit him. "Silbón?" he whispered, his voice trembling. "You want him? For what?"

The Ijiraq shifted slightly, its glowing gaze narrowing as it leaned closer. "Companionship," it said coolly, as though the answer was obvious. "A friend. An ally. A shadow to walk beside me through the endless mist. Your Silbón fits the role perfectly."

Morro's heart twisted painfully, rage and fear surging through him as he struggled harder against the creature. "He's not yours!" Morro spat, his voice breaking with raw emotion. "He's my—he's my friend! You can't just—"

But the Ijiraq tightened its grip, cutting him off with ease. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, little ghost," it said, its tone now laced with chilling amusement. "I can. And I will."

Before Morro could protest further, the Ijiraq yanked him forward, dragging him toward the heart of the dark forest. The mist swirled violently, its oppressive weight increasing with every step until even Morro's sharp senses struggled to comprehend his surroundings. The shadows twisted unnaturally, the air grew colder, and the silence bore down on him like a tangible force.

Then, abruptly, Morro felt himself shoved—not physically, but with a force that disoriented and overwhelmed him. His presence seemed to spiral away, his awareness flung into some unseen corner of existence. He landed hard within a space so deeply hidden, so unnaturally concealed, that even he doubted Silbón could ever find him there. The world around him felt warped and claustrophobic, a prison designed to isolate him entirely.

Through the haze of his panic, Morro heard the Ijiraq's voice again, cold and steady. It spoke not to him, but to the world outside, its tone dripping with cruel certainty. "When your Silbón finds me," it murmured, its voice sharp as frost, "he'll believe I am you. And he will forget all about this, about the real Morro. He'll forget everything that mattered about you."

Morro screamed into the void, his voice echoing hollowly within the confines of his prison. "No!" he cried, his chest heaving with the weight of his desperation. "He won't! Silbón will never forget me! He knows me—he'll know it's not me!"

But his words fell into the suffocating silence, swallowed by the oppressive darkness that surrounded him. The Ijiraq's cold laughter faded into the distance, leaving only the faint echoes of Morro's frantic cries in its wake.

Morro's breathing stilled as the crushing reality set in. His movements were gone—his limbs unresponsive, his voice swallowed by the suffocating silence of the mindscape. His body was completely inert, a vessel now under the Ijiraq's control. He couldn't feel the ground beneath him, couldn't sense the forest's damp air or the stinging pain in his knees from earlier. The connection to his physical form had been severed, leaving him stranded within the cold confines of his own mind.

His eyes flicked wildly across the warped plane of his mindscape, the muted colors and endless shadows making him feel smaller, more powerless with each passing second. "No," he whispered, his voice trembling as it echoed faintly in the emptiness. "No, no, no. This isn't happening."

The Ijiraq's icy presence lingered, taunting him without words, as though the mere act of pushing him down was satisfaction enough. Morro's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his frustration bubbling up despite the fear that threatened to paralyze him. He was trapped—trapped within himself, helpless as his own body moved and spoke under the Ijiraq's control.

His mind raced, clawing desperately for a solution, a way out, anything. But the icy barrier around him was unyielding, cutting off his connection to the outside world entirely. His thoughts spiraled, the memory of overshadowing Lloyd flashing in his mind as he realized the cruel irony of his situation. He had done this to someone else once—taken control, forced him down into the depths of his own consciousness. Now, it was happening to him.

Morro's voice cracked as he shouted into the void, raw and desperate. "Silbón! You have to know—it's not me! I'm still here! You have to find me!" The words reverberated faintly, swallowed by the vast emptiness around him, but he refused to stop. "Don't let it trick you! Please, don't forget me!"

The shadows of the mindscape pressed closer, coiling around him like invisible chains. The icy presence of the Ijiraq dug deeper, a cold laughter echoing faintly at the edges of his thoughts. Morro clutched at his head, his chest heaving as panic took hold. The realization of his helplessness settled over him, heavier than the mist outside.

The cold crept in slowly at first, a faint, nagging chill that Morro could almost ignore in the oppressive silence of his mindscape. But as seconds stretched into what felt like eternity, the chill grew stronger, more invasive, wrapping itself around him with unrelenting force. It seeped into his core, spreading outward like icy tendrils coiling through his very essence. His breaths quickened in panic, his chest heaving as he clutched at the empty air around him.

And then, he realized—it wasn't just the Ijiraq's lingering presence. It was gone. The suffocating weight of its overshadowing had vanished, leaving behind only the growing frost that now gripped him tightly. The creature had left his body, but it hadn't released him. Its influence hadn't disappeared—it had transformed.

Morro's eyes widened as the realization hit him. "No," he whispered, his voice trembling in the biting cold. His fingers, though only manifestations of his consciousness within the mindscape, felt numb, frozen, as though encased in ice. "No, this can't... this can't be happening."

The cold intensified, surging through him in waves that stole what little strength he had left. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled to the ground, the mindscape around him growing darker, quieter, as though it were being smothered by the frost. The very air seemed to solidify, heavy and sharp with an unnatural chill.

Morro clutched at his chest, his mind racing as the frost climbed higher. It wasn't just a physical sensation—this icy grip carried something deeper, something more insidious. It sought to snuff him out entirely, to bury him beneath its unyielding grip and silence him forever. He could feel it coiling around his consciousness, a creeping numbness that threatened to erase him.

"It's freezing me," he muttered, his voice barely audible as his teeth chattered. "It's... putting me into a coma. An icy coma."

His breathing hitched as the frost reached higher, spiraling toward his head with ruthless precision. He clawed desperately at the ground beneath him, his cries echoing faintly in the void. "No! No, no, no!" he shouted, his voice raw with panic. "Silbón! You have to find me! Please—don't let it... don't let it erase me!"

But the mindscape was silent, unresponsive. The frost climbed higher, winding itself around his thoughts, his memories, his very sense of self. It felt like daggers of ice piercing his mind, spiraling deeper with every passing moment, pushing him further into the darkness. His breaths came in shallow gasps, his vision blurring as the icy numbness began to take hold.

For a fleeting moment, he thought of Silbón—of the ghost boy's sharp sarcasm and unwavering loyalty. Morro clung to that thought, his last line of defense against the freezing grip that sought to consume him. "Silbón," he whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking as the frost tightened its hold. "Don't forget me. Please... don't forget me."

And then, the cold surged forward, drowning him in its icy embrace.