Malleus’s overblot had been unlike any of the others—immense in scope, crushing in pressure, and carrying stakes far heavier than anyone had ever faced before. It wasn’t just a fight against a monsterized soul; it was a trial of self. His magic pulled everyone into themselves, forcing them to confront the bare bones of their fears and ambitions. Insecurities they buried, desires they dared not voice, greed they pretended not to have—all dragged mercilessly into the open. And thanks to Silver’s influence, there was no privacy. Students glimpsed pieces of each other’s hearts they were never meant to see. At once it was them and not them, familiar yet alien, a mirror cracked down the middle that showed truths too sharp to look at directly.

Compared to that abyss, Ace’s fantasy had felt almost laughably simple. Lighthearted. Warm. A beach drenched in golden sun, waves lapping at the sand, the air heavy with salt. You had recognized it immediately. Home. Not Twisted Wonderland, but your world—the one you’d left behind.

In his dream, Ace had found the perfect compromise. You could go back whenever you wanted. You could visit Twisted Wonderland, laugh with him in the hallways, shove him off when he leaned too close, complain when he swiped the food from your plate. But you could also walk away—step out of this dangerous, unpredictable place and back into safety, with the promise that he could still reach you. Still follow. Still belong.

It nearly broke you to rip him out of that illusion. To see the way relief bloomed across his face when he realized you were alive, only to be drowned by heartbreak when he remembered the truth—that his imagined paradise wasn’t real. That you were still trapped here. That he couldn’t save you from that.

But there hadn’t been time for grief or comfort. There was a dragon raging against despair, and a world on the brink of shattering.

When the chaos finally ended—when the last echoes of battle faded, the danger was sealed, and the weary quiet of survival set in—Ace found his way to Ramshackle. He trailed after you like a stray cat that refused to admit it liked your company, plopping himself down at your dinner table while you stirred together a half-hearted meal despite your aching limbs. Grim clung to your side, tail twitching nervously, but Ace only ate in silence, crimson eyes flicking to you again and again as if memorizing every detail of your face. A ritual he had developed after the third overblot: make sure they’re still here. Make sure they’re still breathing.

It was a miracle you’d lived through them all. He knew it. You knew it. Neither of you said it aloud.

Ace raked a hand through his hair and exhaled, lips parting as if to toss out one of his usual snide remarks. But your eyes caught his, sharper than the ache in your bones, and the words caught in his throat.

“Care about me that much, huh?” you teased, lifting your glass to sip water, trying to mask your exhaustion behind a grin.

His mouth snapped shut, only to twist into a glare far too fond to carry any real heat. “As if. Didn’t you see? In my dream, I imagined you out of my world. You’re polluting it with your—your you-ness.” He huffed, looking away with false casualness. A beat of silence, then— “…Did you have a dream?”