As we moved through the skyland, I tried to take in everything at once.

  The golden trees stretched endlessly, their leaves shimmering like beaten metal in the light of the seven suns. The grass beneath my feet was soft but dry, and it gave off a faint glow at the edges, as if light lived inside each blade. Clouds drifted through the landscape at ground level—I actually walked through one, and it felt like cool mist against my skin.

  In the distance, small points of light floated among the trees. At first, I thought they were fireflies.

  They weren't.

  Sprites?

  ? Lesser spirits, most likely. Non-sentient energy manifestations. ?

  "Are you curious about those?" Athushar asked without looking back.

  "A little," I admitted.

  "They are lesser spirits. Beings without will or thought. They exist only to nurture the land and keep it fertile."

  AI was right.

  That's... actually reassuring.

  We walked in silence for a while. I kept glancing at Athushar, trying to understand what I was looking at. The celestial's body was translucent and constantly shifting, like a living aurora contained in a vaguely humanoid shape. It moved without walking—just drifted forward, a few inches above the grass.

  I wonder if it can read my thoughts.

  ? Unlikely. If it could, it would have already responded to your internal commentary. ?

  Good point.

  After another few minutes, a structure came into view—a small cottage nestled beneath a particularly large golden tree. The roof wasn't made of straw but of woven yellow grass and luminous leaves that cast a soft glow. The walls were built from the same golden wood as the trees, smooth and organic in shape.

  It's humble. For a celestial.

  "You may find my dwelling modest," Athushar said, as if reading my surface thoughts. "I find comfort in enclosed spaces. Vastness feels... empty to me."

  Relatable, actually.

  "I don't judge people by their homes," I said.

  Then I immediately winced internally. That sounded way too normal for someone who was supposed to have amnesia.

  Athushar didn't react. Or if it did, I couldn't tell.

  We entered the cottage, and I was surprised to find that the interior was larger than the exterior suggested. The space was clean, minimal, and organized with an almost obsessive precision. Every object had its place. The furniture—what little there was—looked functional rather than decorative.

  "We must also address your current state," Athushar said.

  State? What state?

  Then I remembered.

  I'm still naked.

  The realization hit me all over again. I'd been walking through a mystical skyland, having a conversation with a celestial being, and the entire time I'd been completely exposed.

  This is mortifying.

  "Do not concern yourself," Athushar said, drifting toward another room. "I have spare fabric. Please sit."

  I found the couch—surprisingly normal, surprisingly comfortable—and sat down immediately, crossing my arms over my chest even though there was nothing to hide at this point.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Athushar returned with a length of white fabric and, with surprising dexterity for a being without visible hands, wrapped it around me in a way that resembled a simple robe.

  "I apologize. I do not possess garments suited to human form."

  "It's fine," I said quickly. "Thank you."

  We sat in silence for a moment. Or rather, I sat. Athushar hovered.

  "So, child," the celestial began, "I am prepared to answer your questions. Especially given your claimed lack of memory."

  Claimed.

  The word hung in the air. I couldn't tell if it was a deliberate choice or just how Athushar spoke, but it made me uneasy.

  AI, did you catch that?

  ? Yes. Proceed with caution. But continue to commit to the story. Changing it now would be worse. ?

  Right.

  "Okay," I said, trying to sound earnest. "My first question is—what is this world?"

  "This realm is called Sphere." Athushar's voice was calm, measured. Each word felt carefully chosen. "There are six established continents: Avalornê, Eldrathar, Erio, Layloun, Visakha, and Ybará. Does this answer your question?"

  "Partially. What I really want to know is—is this world dangerous? Do powerful creatures or... superpowered people exist here?"

  "By your standard, yes. Everything here can be considered dangerous. From beasts of tremendous power to mortals capable of wielding Materia or manifesting an Archtype."

  Materia? Archtype?

  "What are those?"

  "Materia," Athushar explained, "is the ability to command existing elements within Sphere. Drawing water from the sea. Shaping stone from the earth. Bending fire from a torch. It is manipulation of what already exists."

  "So... magic?"

  "Not entirely. Magic, as you may understand it, is the creation of something from nothing. That requires an Archtype. Materia is merely... dominion over what is present."

  "Like borrowing," I said.

  "An acceptable analogy."

  "Then what's an Archtype?"

  Athushar paused—the first pause I'd seen from the celestial.

  "Archtypes are different. They cannot be taught. They cannot be bestowed by mortal means. An Archtype is a fragment of Bahavala's divine essence that manifests within an individual."

  Bahavala.

  "Is Bahavala the god of this world?"

  "Bahavala is the Creator of all things. The universe. The stars. The sky. Sphere itself." Athushar's tone shifted slightly—still calm, but with a weight that hadn't been there before. "Archtypes are... gifts. Pieces of the Creator's power, given to those deemed worthy."

  Gifts from a god.

  So it's not just fantasy. There's actual divinity here.

  ? This information is critical. Archtypes appear to be the primary power system in this world. ?

  Yeah, I'm paying attention.

  "Is there a criteria?" I asked. "For manifesting an Archtype?"

  "There are conditions," Athushar said. "First: your will and character must be matured. You must know who you are.

  "Second: your experiences must be sufficient to shape the nature of your Archtype. What you have lived through determines what power will manifest.

  "And lastly..."

  Athushar paused again.

  "There must be a 'switch.' A moment that awakens it."

  "A switch," I repeated. "Like... a trigger event? Something emotionally significant?"

  "That is one interpretation. The exact mechanism varies from individual to individual. But yes—a moment of profound impact. Joy. Grief. Terror. Revelation. Something that shakes the foundation of who you are."

  So it's like those anime where the main character awakens their power during a moment of extreme emotion.

  Except this is real.

  Or at least, real for this world.

  I was about to ask another question when a knock echoed through the cottage.

  "Who's that?" I asked, startled.

  "My attendant," Athushar said calmly. "Enter."

  The door opened, and another celestial drifted in—smaller than Athushar, with a lighter blue glow and two wing-like structures extending from its midsection. Its eyes were the same blank circles, but somehow softer.

  "I have returned, my Blue Luminary," the new celestial said, its voice higher and more melodic than Athushar's.

  "Sky," Athushar said, "this is an otherworlder who arrived through the waypoint. They will be staying with us for a time."

  Sky turned its gaze toward me, and I felt the weight of its attention.

  "Welcome," Sky said simply.

  "Thanks," I managed.

  "Sky," Athushar continued, "meet..."

  The celestial paused and turned toward me.

  "Child. Do you possess a name? Or do you remember one?"

  The question hung in the air.

  My name.

  I hadn't told anyone yet. Not AI. Not Athushar. I'd been avoiding it, even in my own thoughts—calling myself "I" and nothing else.

  Because saying my name meant admitting who I was. Where I came from. What I did.

  But hiding it forever wasn't an option. And more than that...

  A memory surfaced. Unbidden. Unwelcome. Necessary.

  "Father, how did you name me? It's for my schoolwork."

  A young boy looked up at his father, pencil in hand, waiting.

  His father smiled—the kind of smile that made everything feel safe.

  "That took me a while," his father said. "Your name comes from two ideas: courage and bravery."

  "What's the difference?"

  "Courage," his father said, "is facing challenges even when you're afraid. Not giving up, even when fear surrounds you."

  "And bravery?"

  "Bravery is doing what's right—or even what's wrong—with conviction. Protecting the people you love, even when it seems impossible."

  The boy stared at his father, watching the warmth in his eyes.

  "I like it," the boy said. "No—I love it!"

  His father laughed and ruffled his hair.

  "Good. Because it's yours."

  The memory faded.

  I sat in Athushar's cottage, wrapped in borrowed fabric, in a world I didn't understand.

  But my name—the name my father gave me—that was the one thing I could hold onto.

  The one thing that was still mine.

  I looked up at Athushar and Sky.

  "My name," I said quietly.

  "My name is Yuuki. Yuuki Ventura."