Toji stood in a fog-laden field, unsure of how he had arrived. Everything around him was quiet—no sound, no wind, only the pale glow of an endless horizon. He had no sense of his body, no cold or warmth, only the vague awareness that he existed in some form. It was as if he was floating in some formless realm between worlds. He felt weightless, but his thoughts were heavy, confused and muddled. He remembered falling—darkness, then silence.

He tried to move, but felt no solid ground beneath his feet, no sensation of weight or resistance. Only an uncanny, disorienting lightness.

Through the mist, a figure approached. It was unlike anything Toji had ever seen—bright and ethereal, as if carved from the very light of the moon, they seemed to glide rather than walk, their presence both comforting and unsettling. Cloaked in flowing robes that shimmered like moonlight on water, and with their face shrowded in shadows—man, woman, or something in between, he did not know. They moved without footsteps, gliding through the stillness, drawing closer with an androgynous beauty. In their hands was a lantern, flickering softly, casting no shadow.

"Who are you?" He questioned warily, a look of warning on his face.

The question was met with silence. He was about to speak again but hesitated, looking down at his hands. They were pale and transparent, a memory of what they once were. The weight of what he had lost clung to him like a heavy cloak. And that's when the realisation hit him like a train.

He was dead.

Memories of his now gone life flashed through his head, causing a throbbing pain. His heart, or whatever remained of it, pounded. His chest tightened as memories surged—faces of people he loved and hated, happy and unhappy moments that felt so distant now, moments he had taken for granted. A sharp ache spread in his chest as regret gnawed at him, along with the fear of the unknown.

He swallowed.

"Am I… dead?" Toji asked, though he knew the answer. He looked around, feeling strange in the still air.