"You're a real idiot, you know that?"

"Huh?! Where the hell did that come from?"

The random insult was flung at him from the crimson-haired man sitting across from him, stretching his muscly, sweat-covered limbs after an intense session of training.

Why am I remembering this? Right now? I…Is this death?

A beautiful blue accompanied the sea of clouds during the heart of spring; the sight felt like a dream to him.

That's right…I remember this. This was a month before I left for Purgatory.

Just seeing Sora with his smile as radiant and calming as the spring itself was nourishment for his soul.

"Just a thought—an observation. You're tunnel-visioned, Ren."

"Tunnel-visioned?"

Sora responded with a nod, running his tan fingers through his vermillion locks as it was slicked back by his perspiration. The way the soft, orange rays of the sun danced upon his skin, making it glisten in the light, even Ren found himself ogling at the man.

"All you're focused on is getting stronger, putting on muscle, learning magic--it's not a bad motivation. But, it's not going to be able to solely fuel that will of yours. There will be times when you find your resolve cracking under an overwhelming force, finding excuses to give in...At that point, you can kiss your dream goodbye."

"...What's your point?"

Ren raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair as the two sat in the bountiful fields of the evergreen, honing his hazel eyes on the man.

"Pride."

"What?"

Simply put, he was utterly confused by the single word used by Sora as the man held one finger up, looking intently at him with those radiant irises of his.

"You're prideful, terrible so...But, you don't have anything to be proud of in the first place. It's just a surface-level facade you use to hide behind."

"...Ow, I didn't realize this was a therapy session…"

"Shut up and listen. If you're as much as a self-centered, egomaniac as I take you for--then you need something you're proud of to protect. Something close to you, in you."

As Sora explained this with a tone that left behind jest, he prodded the tip of his finger against the young man's chest.

"...Huh. I think I get it. Wait, ego?!"

"Don't pretend like we all don't know that you spend thirty-minutes each morning fixing up your hair. I'm the damn one you asked to cut it!…Which I still don't get; it's still a messy do."

"It's called purposeful bed-head! It's a trendy style, okay?!"

Defending his new hair style that he was still sensitive about as it was his first time taking some aesthetic initiative in years, Ren found himself steering away from the point of the conversation—set back on track by the man.

"Mm. Anyway, anything works, just latch onto something. Like, being able to lift four grocery bags in one-go, or carrying a case of water with one hand. That sort of stuff."

"I think you're shooting really low for me!"

"I'm kidding. There is just one thing you should cement your pride in, something about yourself you should love and cherish, never letting it dissolve--the fact you've never given up."

The moment those final words left Sora's mouth, it felt as if everything in his mind connected, rewiring itself as a fire lit itself anew within him.

Ah...I guess that's what this is...I've heard of this theory: your life flashing before your eyes, to find anything, one simple thing to save you.

Thank you, Sora.

Throughout my life, I've lived by the code of, "Don't make trouble for others". Living this way, there isn't much in the realm of love or hate to experience; so being pressured with this killing intent by another...I honestly don't know what to do with myself.

I fear it. I'm scared of it. Being a murderer.

The moment I use my own hands to take another life, I cease to be just "Ren Nakamura", but known as "Ren Nakamura, the murderer". Once that line is crossed, nothing can be done to retrace your steps. Forever past that defining moment, your hands will be stained with that blood, your mind will likely be consumed by regret and detachment until one day…

You find yourself afraid of the person you've become. As someone who had made the judgment to take another's life, you doubt your own thinking--spacing yourself from others out of fear of their own lives.

Every time my mind lingers on the option of retaliating, rending the flesh of my attacker, I imagine how Iris...How Meinhard would look at me. Would those eyes fear the man they saw? Would they be disappointed? Condemning me for my sinful actions? I don't want to experience it. I'm scared of that judgmental gaze.

That's what's stayed in my mind for so long. The hesitance to kill, the mental block I had forced onto myself subconsciously...For better or worse.

Still...I want to be their hero. I want my presence to make them smile, to make them forget their fears and only look upon my back with complete faith in me.

However, it's not just that--I have my own pride now. Something I must protect--just as you taught me, Sora. I haven't given up yet, that's the source of my pride, the one thing I can gloat about!

If that's the case...I can't fall here. Not yet.

It wasn't death, or at least not the pathway to the next life as he was used to. In fact, it felt neither like death nor life--it was truly something transcendent. Consciousness wasn't taken from him, yet it carried the same dreamlike haze that slumber brought upon.

The concept of pain diminished until it became completely erased within this enigmatic mindscape, replaced by an amplified sensation of comfort that forced its way past his skin. Upon opening his eyes to this unknown place between life and death, reality and dream--what he saw was a sight that invoked such nostalgia he felt like crying.

If you were to ask him if he had ever seen this place, he wouldn't be able to answer you. It was so distinctly familiar, yet no memory of it found itself into his mind.

He soared through these sepia skies, filled with golden, divine clouds without a body of his own. An endless sea that saw only tranquility, boundless in its freedom as it erased any stress from his mind. He didn't question the nature of this realm, nor did he have any worries of its nature. All he knew was that for this moment--he had achieved true humanity.

Despair, anger, death, anguish--none of those concepts existed in this realm of golden clouds, carried by gilded winds.

Walking through these clouds with his intangible step, knowledge seemed to flow into his mind naturally as if it had always been there. Normally such an intense barrage of wisdom and memories finding their way into one's mind would prove to be a head-splitting task, yet--it felt so very soothing, as if he was shedding away the ignorances he held, displaying a new, vibrant self.

For some reason, he wanted to speak these words--he had to speak them, bring them from his mind and into reality, to hear them for himself.

"Above heaven, below heaven...I alone am worthy of honor."