When Mina opened his eyes again, he was back in the sick room, the golden light now replaced by the soft glow of a bedside lamp. Remy was still beside him, massaging his forearms with gentle, circular movements. The doctor stood nearby, reviewing notes on a clipboard.
"Welcome back, Mina," the doctor said, noticing his open eyes. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," he replied, surprised to find it was true. The fog that had clouded his mind seemed to have cleared. "I believe I can walk now."
"Let's try again," the doctor suggested, setting aside the clipboard.
They removed the restraints, and Remy and the doctor helped him to his feet. This time, the wave of dizziness didn't come. His legs felt weak, but steady enough to support him. He took a few tentative steps, Remy's hand hovering at his elbow, ready to catch him if he faltered.
"Very good," the doctor approved, watching his progress carefully. "But that's enough for now. Let's get you back to bed."
They helped him return to the bed, and he sat on the edge, reluctant to lie down again.
"Now it's time to eat something," the doctor announced. "You haven't had solid food for six days."
"Six days?" Mina repeated, stunned. The last time, they had said two days. Had he been unconscious longer than he thought?
"Yes," the doctor confirmed. "You've been in and out of consciousness for nearly a week now. The fever kept returning."
Mina nodded slowly, trying to process this information. Every time he had visited the tree in his dreams, time had passed differently in the waking world. What felt like hours in the dream realm translated to days here. The realization was unsettling.
Remy left briefly and returned with a tray bearing broth and soft bread. "Start with this," he suggested, placing the tray across Mina's lap. "We'll build up to more substantial food as your stomach readjusts."
As Mina reached for the spoon, something caught his eye—a thin bracelet around his wrist, made of what appeared to be black fur, tightly woven into a band. He stared at it, his spoon halfway to his mouth, forgotten.
"Where did this come from?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Remy and the doctor exchanged glances.
"You've had that since we found you," Remy said carefully. "Don't you remember?"
But Mina didn't remember. He had no recollection of a bracelet before his dreams of the tree and L. Yet here it was—physical evidence that perhaps his dreams weren't merely fever-induced hallucinations. The fur was jet black, absorbing light just as L's fox pelt had done.
The tree was real. L was real. And that meant everything else—the floating islands, the rivers that flowed through void, his own alleged non-humanity—might be real too.
A shiver ran through him despite the room's warmth.
"Mina?" Remy's concerned voice broke through his thoughts. "Are you alright? You've gone pale."
"I'm fine," Mina lied, forcing himself to take a spoonful of broth. "Just hungry, I suppose."
But as he ate, his mind raced. If the tree was real, what else was true? What had L meant about him sealing everybody? What was behind the tree that was so forbidden? Who were the two families L had mentioned? And most importantly—what role was he supposed to play in saving "a part of this human world"?
The days that followed brought gradual improvement to Mina's physical condition. The fever did not return, and he grew stronger with each passing day, able to walk farther, stay awake longer, eat more substantial meals. But his mind remained troubled, filled with questions that had no answers.
One night, when the doctor had gone and Remy dozed in the chair beside his bed, Mina carefully examined the bracelet. The fur was softer than any animal pelt he had ever touched, yet also strangely resilient when he tried to stretch it. It had no clasp or tie that he could find—it seemed to be a continuous loop that somehow had been placed around his wrist without being broken.
"What are you?" he whispered to it. "What am I?"
The bracelet, of course, did not answer. But as he stroked it with his finger, he could have sworn he felt a pulse within it, like a tiny heartbeat.
In the corner of the room, shadows shifted in a way that had nothing to do with the flickering lamplight. Mina watched, his breath caught in his throat, as the darkness gathered and deepened in one spot.
For just a moment—so briefly he might have imagined it—he saw the silhouette of a fox's head in the shadows, empty eye sockets regarding him with ancient wisdom. Then it was gone, the shadows normal once more.
Mina exhaled slowly, his hand closing protectively over the bracelet. Whatever game was being played, he was now undeniably a part of it. The question was—what were the rules, and what would winning or losing mean?
The return to health was neither smooth nor straight. There were setbacks—days when the fever would spike again, though never as severely as before, and nights when Mina would wake screaming from dreams he couldn't remember upon waking. During these episodes, Remy would be there instantly, his calm presence a counterpoint to Mina's panic.
"Breathe with me," Remy would instruct, taking exaggerated breaths that Mina could mirror. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Slowly. That's it."
Sometimes Mina would clutch at Remy's shirt, his eyes wild. "They're watching me," he would insist. "They're always watching. I can feel their eyes."
"No one is watching you," Remy would assure him, gently disentangling Mina's fingers from his clothing. "You're safe here. I'm watching over you."
"Not in this world," Mina would reply cryptically. "In the other one."
These nocturnal disturbances concerned the doctor, who suggested sedatives to help Mina sleep through the night. But Mina refused, afraid of what might happen if he were trapped in a dream with no way to wake himself.
"The dreams will pass as his body continues to heal," Remy assured the doctor. "I'll stay with him. I can calm him when they come."
And he could, with remarkable efficiency. There was something about Remy's voice, his touch, that could pull Mina back from the edge of panic. It was as if Remy possessed some power over Mina's fears—or perhaps over Mina himself.
This thought occurred to Mina one afternoon as he sat by the window, watching clouds drift across a perfect blue sky. Remy had gone to fetch lunch, leaving Mina alone with his thoughts for the first time in days.
What did he really know about Remy? The man had been there when Mina first woke from his fever, a constant presence throughout his recovery. But before that? Mina searched his memories, trying to place Remy in his life prior to his illness. There were fragments—a conversation here, a shared meal there—but nothing concrete. Nothing that definitively established their relationship.
"You're looking pensive," Remy commented, returning with a tray of food.
Mina started, guilty as if caught in some transgression. "Just thinking," he said vaguely.
"About what?" Remy set the tray down on a small table and pulled it closer to Mina's chair.
"About you, actually," Mina admitted, deciding honesty might yield more information than evasion. "How long have we known each other?"
A flicker of something—surprise? concern?—crossed Remy's face before his expression settled into a smile. "A long time. Since we were children, really."
"Brothers, then?" Mina pressed, remembering L's parting words: "Your brother waits for you."
"Not by blood," Remy replied, arranging the food on the tray with precise movements. "But as close as brothers can be, I'd say."
It was a non-answer, Mina realized. Carefully worded to sound like confirmation without actually confirming anything.
"And my actual brother?" Mina asked, watching Remy's hands still for just a moment before resuming their task.
"You don't have one," Remy said, not meeting Mina's eyes. "You're an only child, Mina. You know that."
But did he? Mina wasn't sure what he knew anymore. His memories before the fever were hazy at best, contradictory at worst. He remembered growing up alone, yes—but also flashes of a boy slightly older than himself, teaching him to climb trees, to skip stones across water, to read constellations in the night sky.
"Eat," Remy encouraged, pushing the tray closer. "You need to keep up your strength."
Mina complied, but his appetite had diminished with the conversation. As he picked at his food, he studied Remy surreptitiously. The man was handsome in a conventional way—strong jaw, clear eyes, broad shoulders. But there was something too perfect about him, as if he had been designed rather than born.
That night, as Mina lay in bed waiting for sleep to claim him, he made a decision. He would return to the tree, seek out L again, and demand answers to the questions that plagued him.
But how did one deliberately enter a dream? He had no control over where his sleeping mind wandered. Unless—Mina fingered the bracelet of black fur around his wrist—unless this was more than an ordinary token. What if it was a key of sorts? A connection to that other world?
Closing his eyes, Mina focused his attention on the bracelet, imagining it growing warm against his skin, imagining the fur expanding, enveloping him like L's fox pelt. He pictured the sacred tree with its impossible branches stretching toward other floating worlds. He visualized the rivers that flowed between islands in the void.
Sleep came gradually, then all at once—a sensation of falling that ended abruptly when his feet touched solid ground. Opening his eyes, Mina found himself standing in the meadow again, the sacred tree looming before him. This time, there was no transition from desolation to vibrance—the landscape was already alive with color and light.
"You came back," L's voice said from behind him.
Mina turned to find the fox-headed figure regarding him with what felt like amusement, though the skull showed no expression.
"I have questions," Mina stated firmly.
"Of course you do," L replied, gesturing for Mina to walk alongside. "Everyone does. But questions are dangerous things, Mina. They open doors better left closed."
"I don't care," Mina said, falling into step beside the strange being. "I need to understand what's happening to me. Who I am. What I am."
L was silent for several paces, the only sound the soft swish of fur against grass. Finally, it spoke:
"You are Mina. And you are not Mina. You are human. And you are not human. You are of this world. And you are not of this world."
"Riddles," Mina spat in frustration. "I didn't come here for riddles."
"Not riddles," L corrected. "Paradoxes. Your very existence is a paradox, Mina. A contradiction that should not be possible, yet here you are."
They had reached the base of the tree. L gestured for Mina to sit on one of the massive roots that breached the surface of the ground like the backs of sea monsters breaking through waves.
"Long ago," L began once Mina was seated, "before the islands were separated, before the rivers flowed between worlds, there was one land. One people. One reality."
"What happened?" Mina asked, drawn into the tale despite his impatience.
"Pride. Ambition. The usual human failings," L replied with a dismissive wave of its paw-like hand. "They discovered secrets they were not meant to know. They built machines to harness powers beyond their understanding. And in their hubris, they shattered reality itself."
L gestured upward at the floating islands visible in the impossible sky. "What was one became many. Each fragment a world of its own, with its own rules, its own time, its own fate."
"And these rivers?" Mina asked, pointing to the streams of light that connected the islands.
"The remnants of what once connected all things," L explained. "Now, they are pathways—dangerous ones—between the fragments. Few can travel them safely."
"And the gales?"
"Winds that blow between worlds," L said. "They carry sounds, scents, sometimes even objects from one fragment to another. Occasionally, they carry people."
Mina's mind raced, trying to connect these revelations to his own situation. "And where do I fit into all this?"
L turned to face him fully, the empty eye sockets of the fox skull somehow conveying intense scrutiny. "You were born on one island but belong to another. Your soul is split between worlds, Mina. Part of you exists here, part exists there, and the two have never been whole."
A chill ran down Mina's spine. "Is that why I feel... incomplete? Like I'm missing something essential?"
"Yes," L confirmed. "It is also why you can travel the rivers without being swept away, why you can hear the gales speaking while others hear only wind, why you can see me when most cannot."
"But what does it mean?" Mina pressed. "What am I supposed to do with this knowledge?"
L paced before him, the black fur rippling with each movement. "The islands are drifting farther apart. The rivers are beginning to run dry. Soon, the separation will be complete and permanent."
"And that's bad?" Mina guessed.
"It is extinction," L said grimly. "No fragment can survive on its own. They need the connections, the exchanges between them. When the last river dries up, the last gale dies down, the islands will begin to crumble. All will return to void."
Mina felt the weight of this revelation settle on his shoulders. "And I'm supposed to prevent this somehow?"
"Not prevent," L corrected. "That is beyond anyone's power now. But perhaps... mitigate. Create new connections before the old ones fail completely."
"How?" Mina demanded. "I don't even understand what I am, let alone how to save worlds!"
"The book," L said simply. "The one I mentioned before. The one you've read."
"I don't know what book you're talking about!" Mina cried in frustration.
"You do," L insisted. "You simply don't remember yet. But you will. When the time is right, when you are whole again, you will remember everything."
"And how do I become whole?" Mina asked, desperate now for concrete answers.
L reached out a paw-like hand and touched the bracelet around Mina's wrist. "This is part of me that exists in your world. It is a tether, a connection. Through it, I can help guide you. But the journey to wholeness is yours alone to make."
"You're not giving me anything useful," Mina said bitterly.
"I am giving you everything I can," L replied, and for the first time, there was a note of sympathy in its voice. "The rules that bind me are ancient and immutable. I cannot interfere directly. I cannot tell you exactly what to do or how to do it. I can only point the way and hope you are clever enough to find the path."
"Some guide you are," Mina muttered.
"Better than none," L retorted. "Without me, you would still be lost in fever dreams, unaware of your true nature, blind to the danger facing all worlds."
Mina couldn't argue with that. Despite his frustration, he knew L was right. At least now he had some understanding of his situation, incomplete though it was.
"What about Remy?" he asked suddenly. "Who is he really? He claims we're like brothers, but something feels... off."
L went very still, the fur ceasing its constant rippling movement. "Remy is... complicated."
"That's not an answer," Mina pressed.