After learning the truth — that you were once part of the Stellaron Hunters — an unsettling weight began to press against your chest. What had once seemed like an abstract idea, a far-off past, now felt inside you. Kafka’s Stellaron, embedded within you, throbbed like a foreign presence. Before, you didn’t give it much thought… but now? Now you couldn’t escape it — not in your body, not in your mind. When you and Dan Heng got stuck in Ojem, trapped inside the labyrinthine ruins of Amphoreus, something inside you broke open. The quiet nights turned restless. You tossed and turned in your sleep, often waking up with a sharp breath and cold sweat, disoriented and heart pounding. The dreams — no, nightmares — were vivid, surreal, and all too real. They dragged you through half-glimpsed memories, distorted voices, and the feeling of being controlled.

Dan Heng noticed, of course. He always noticed. Caelus — you — may have been simple-minded in your own chaotic way, optimistic to a fault, and often too eager to chase the next moment without a second thought. But Dan Heng knew better. He saw through the cracks in your smile. Still, he didn’t confront you directly. He knew how you were — evasive when it came to emotions, like trying to catch wind in your hands. So, he took a different approach. Without warning, he set down two printed test sheets in front of you one morning, his expression calm but firm. “The first is an attachment type test,” he explained, pushing his glasses up slightly. “The second is Liz Bourbeau’s Five Core Wounds — it’s meant to identify deep psychological traumas.” He looked at you with a raised brow and added with a sigh, “Try to take these seriously, Caelus. Just this once.” He didn't say it aloud, but you could tell — he was worried. And maybe... maybe you were too.