Once again, they passed through a corridor beyond the towering door — a monolith of cold silver stone that stretched some 20 meters high, ancient and silent, as if built for titans. Its opening had echoed like the yawning breath of a sleeping world.
As they walked into the long, mist-veiled corridor, Omegamon's voice finally broke the silence, soft and low — almost like a prayer.
"Are you alright, Kola?"
Kola's hands were still gripping tightly around the edge of Omegamon's shoulder, though his body now leaned heavier against the Digimon's neck. He felt weak. Not hurt, not sick — just… emptied. The battle earlier had not touched him physically, but it had pulled something from inside him, something heavy and quiet.
"…I feel strange," he admitted, his voice fragile. "Everything's so fast. All of this. It hasn't even been a day."
He reached into his pocket and checked the phone — the old secondhand model, cracked on the corner, with a battery that barely lasted.
3:12 A.M.
January 7th, 2015.
It was still real.
He blinked at the screen, half expecting it to disappear — but it didn't.
Omegamon walked in silence for a moment longer. Then:
"Do you wish to rest? We can stop."
Kola didn't answer immediately. Instead, his thoughts drifted — to Michael.
That boy — his best friend since those long ago childhood days — had always spoken like someone older than his age. Logical, thoughtful, strangely calm. He had a way of taking a mess and turning it into a thread, then weaving it into something with shape. Even when the world threw dirt in their faces, Michael's voice never cracked. He understood — even if he couldn't fix it.
Kola, on the other hand, only understood suffering.
He knew he was poor.
He knew his mother couldn't afford a hospital.
He knew the weight of broken dreams, but not how to carry them with grace.
But now…
Now, something had shifted.
Maybe it was this strange world.
Maybe it was the sheer violence he had just witnessed.
Or maybe — just maybe — it was finally his time to stop being afraid.
He spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper — but filled with something new: resolve.
"…I have a choice now."
Omegamon tilted his head slightly. Listening.
"I can either keep walking the path I knew — broken and scared," Kola said, "or I can open the door to something else. I don't know what's at the end… but I'm done running."
He paused. "This isn't just for my mom. Or Sella. Or anyone else."
He closed his eyes, picturing Michael's smile.
"I want to be able to face him again. Proudly. I don't want to be a burden anymore."
Then, more firmly this time — with fists clenched against Omegamon's armored back:
"I'm continuing. I've already taken the key… and I've opened the door. I have to see what's beyond it."
Omegamon didn't speak for a long moment. Then simply said:
"…Then I will walk with you, Kola. Until the very end."
Just as he finished those words, they reached the end of the tunnel.
And what lay beyond… was not what Kola expected.
The stone corridor opened into a vast sunlit garden — though there was no sky above them. Only a vaulted ceiling of glass and crystal, cracked and flooded with warm light that shimmered like filtered dawn.
It was a garden of ruins.
Flowerbeds of lavender, pale blue lilies, golden moss, and ghost-pink roses bloomed wildly through cracked marble tiles. Vines climbed up broken pillars of white stone. Small, clear rivers trickled between the overgrowth, singing softly. The wind here was gentle, as if remembering a lullaby it once sang for gods.
There were no beasts here. No war. Only stillness.
Kola gasped. "This place… it's beautiful."
At the heart of the garden stood a shattered throne hall, swallowed by roots and trees that had claimed the walls for centuries. And there — just beyond a cluster of broken archways — was a mountain of treasures.
Gold, silver, rare jewels, and relics that pulsed faintly with power. Ancient artifacts that looked like they were crafted by the gods themselves — tools of kings and warriors long gone.
Kola stared in silence. "That's… more than I've ever seen in my life…"
"Riches gathered for no one," Omegamon murmured. "This place was meant to be forgotten. Yet it still clings to beauty."
Kola was quiet again. Then he asked, "Why didn't they take it with them? The treasure?"
"Because hearts that seek only gold forget how to see what matters," Omegamon said. "And perhaps… because even they knew it couldn't save them."
"…Do you want it?" Kola asked suddenly, looking at him. "All this?"
Omegamon turned to face him.
"I have carried blades for ages. I have ended lives. But I have never known what makes something truly good," he said. "If I am to become your partner, Kola — then perhaps I must begin to learn not just how to fight… but how to choose why I fight."
Kola stared at him. Then, quietly, a small smile tugged at the edge of his lips.
"Then let's find the answer together."
The further they walked into the garden, the more surreal it became. Flowers in countless shades bloomed wildly, as if defying the eternal frost that ruled the world above. The soft whisper of streams flowed around them, weaving between ancient stone paths and broken marble, leading toward the heart of the forgotten palace ruins. Pillars lay shattered under carpets of moss. Statues half-swallowed by time watched them like silent sentinels.
But amidst this serene beauty, Kola's eyes caught something.
Between a bed of crystalline blue lilies, half-hidden beneath petals and vines, there stood a sword. It was slender—almost too thin for war—its blade gleamed with a chill silver sheen, untouched by age or rust. Embedded just below the hilt, where the guard and blade met, was a small sapphire gem, glowing faintly with an inner frost.
He approached slowly.
The sword pulsed gently, like it was breathing.
"It's beautiful..." Kola whispered, unsure why his chest tightened.
"It doesn't belong here," Omegamon murmured, stepping beside him. "No... that's not right. It belongs too much."
"What do you mean?"
"I can feel its sorrow. This blade is no ordinary relic. It's a fragment of grief, frozen in steel. I believe... it's the source of this land's eternal winter."
Kola stared at the blade again. It was strange. It looked so simple. Ordinary, even. But its presence demanded reverence. It didn't scream power, it echoed loss.
"Should I take it?"
Omegamon was silent for a time, then answered softly, "That is not for me to decide. But I know this—some relics choose their bearer. Some burdens demand a heart that remembers."
Kola didn't fully understand—but he stepped forward. Gripping the hilt, he pulled.
It slid free without resistance.
The cold bled into his skin, but it did not hurt. It accepted him.
"Guess I'll figure out later how to hide a sword on the way back to the kost... not like I have a scabbard in my pocket."
Omegamon chuckled, a rare sound, low and distant like wind over old snow.
But something else soon caught Kola's eye. Not far off, framed beneath the open sky and surrounded by flowers and shallow water, stood a single stone. A gravestone.
And resting atop it—a wide-brimmed, worn shepherd's hat.
Kola stepped closer, water swirling around his shoes. The grave was humble, but lovingly kept. Moss grew around it, but never over it. The air was still here, as if the world dared not disturb the soul resting beneath.
Klaus.
That was the name carved into the stone. Nothing more.
But Kola didn't need more.
He stood in silence for a long while.
"Do you think this was the boy?" he asked. "The shepherd from the murals?"
Omegamon's gaze was locked on the hat.
"I believe so. This was his garden. His sanctuary. And that sword... it may have been his gift or his curse."
"Why is the hat still clean?"
"Because memory keeps it so." Omegamon's voice was low. "Those who remember... preserve."
Kola wanted to touch the hat. But something told him not to. Some things weren't meant to be disturbed.
They left the grave as it was—quiet, sacred, watching over the hidden world.
---
The mountain of treasure shimmered like stars poured into a single place. Coins, gems, armor, trinkets from countless worlds—it was a hoard vast enough to collapse an economy.
But Kola wasn't thinking like that.
He was thinking like a boy whose mother needed medicine. Whose sister needed school. Whose life had been painted in shades of survival.
He didn't have his bag—but among the loot, he found an old but sturdy leather satchel, and without wasting time, began filling it with coins and light valuables. Gold, silver, and a few things that looked expensive even if he had no clue what they were.
Omegamon stood in silence, eyes scanning the ruins.
"I don't understand this world," he said softly. "Why was it forgotten? Why did the garden persist? What happened to the kingdom, to Klaus, to the monsters who loved him?"
His voice wasn't asking Kola. It was asking the world. The silence answered.
Nothing.
Kola finally stood, the satchel now heavy on his shoulder.
But the treasure pile—it hadn't changed at all. It was still impossibly massive, as if nothing had been taken.
"Let's go," Kola said.
They turned and began the walk back through the garden, toward the twin mango trees—the marker of the passage between worlds.
Just before stepping beyond them, Kola looked back once more.
"Do you think... we can come back here someday?"
Omegamon paused.
"There's no distortion. No collapsing gate or temporal decay." He looked at the trees. "If fate allows it... yes. I believe we can return."
Kola nodded.
The cold sword at his side pulsed again.
And they stepped into the unknown once more.
The world shifted.
It wasn't sudden—it was like waking from a dream where colors bled into one another and time no longer knew how to count. And yet, here they were.
Back.
The crisp chill of snow was gone. The frost-laced garden, the marble ruins, the grave of Klaus... all faded like mist burned away by morning light. Now, under the muted glow of streetlamps, they stood once more beside the twin mango trees—silent and familiar in their ordinary beauty.
The air was warm. Humid. Faint scent of asphalt and grass. Somewhere in the distance, an air conditioner buzzed behind the dorm buildings.
They were back in the university courtyard, just beside the empty basketball court. The world was still, blanketed in the gentle stillness of late-night hours.
For a moment, Kola stood there, unsure. Everything had happened... and yet, it all felt impossibly distant.
Was it real?
He glanced down at the leather satchel hanging from his shoulder. The weight of it was undeniable.
Yes. It was real.
Omegamon floated beside him, now reduced once more to his compact form—like a silver wisp, faintly glowing, his armored grandeur hidden away beneath quiet light. The long white mantle Kola had worn shimmered briefly, then dispersed into motes of light, like snowflakes dissolving in spring.
The spell was broken. But something remained.
The night was quiet—until a sudden soft meow broke the silence.
From beneath the hedge nearby, a black cat emerged, its tail flicking lazily, its golden eyes catching the light.
"Oren?" Kola blinked, surprised. A smile broke on his face. "Hey... aren't you supposed to be asleep somewhere?"
The cat trotted up and rubbed against his leg. Kola knelt and scooped it up, holding it in his arms like a small, fuzzy treasure.
"Udah makan belum? Gimana kabarnya? Kok tahu aku di sini?" he asked in a gentle tone, as if the cat could answer.
"You know it can't speak," Omegamon noted dryly, his voice hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.
Kola chuckled softly. "Yah, I know. Just kidding."
But as he scratched Oren gently behind the ears, a thought flickered through his mind. It was simple, but strangely emotional.
"I've always wanted a pet, you know..." he muttered. "But yeah... boro-boro peliharaan, buat makan sendiri aja dulu susah."
His eyes drifted toward the leather satchel at his side.
And for the first time in a very, very long time—he smiled with something that resembled freedom.
"Tapi sekarang... harusnya bisa kan?" he said, half-asking, half-affirming, looking to Omegamon.
The Digimon floated in thoughtful silence for a second, then nodded. "Yes. If you choose to care for it, then do so with all your heart."
Kola looked at Oren again. The cat blinked slowly, then let out another soft mrrrph as if giving its approval.
"Kasian juga sih, dia nggak punya siapa-siapa... kampus doang yang jadi rumahnya selama ini."
"Then perhaps it's time he found a home," Omegamon replied.
Kola gave one last smile and nodded.
And with a cat in his arms, a satchel of treasure at his side, and a sword of sorrow slung across his spirit, Kola walked back toward his kost.
Into a new tomorrow.