Sylvester snapped back to reality, a desolate existence. He got out his wings and flap them to test, but they still ache from yesterday's practice. After a stretch, he retracted the wings and climbed the steel scaffold of the partially destroyed manor. (The property used to belong to some random goddess a long time ago; now, she’s dead.) The dark morning air nipped at his bare back as he used his hands and feet to support himself on the cold steel beams. As soon as he reached the top, he laid down on the roof and groaned. Chance, a pale boy with shaggy black hair, appeared next to him.

“Dreams aren't going too good?” Chance stated.

“Yeah,” Sylvester said hollowly. No more words about them.

“Hmmmm. Hey, I know what'll make you feel better. We'll have a toast but with stream water.”

Chance got out two bronze goblets from the kitchen and poured some water from a jug.

“To living the Neverland dream,” Chance uttered and lifted up a goblet.

“To living the Neverland dream,” Sylvester mumbled.

The cups clinked together, and they drank.

Despite sleeping, exhaustion hounded him. It's not a physical exhaustion; it's more mental. He knew very well why: those dreams he had were real memories once. Living, dying, living, dying. There seems to be no end despite attempts at redemption, whatever that means anymore. He summoned a firebolt arrow and broke it quite vehemently. Sparks sputtered out from the broken ends.

Chance didn't say anything for a while, trying not to look at him directly. Sylvester can almost imagine what's he's thinking about, but it would likely add to his already glum mood.

“You know what? Thanks for the water. It helped me a lot. I didn't feel better right away, but I gradually did.”

Chance looked at him in askance.

“I'm serious.”

“Okay, whatever you say,” Chance replied, attempting to smile although a trace of doubt remains in his expression.

They leaped down together and raced toward one of the many streams around.

Things might be painful, especially with Chance, but they don't always have to be.

He wakes up, face flat against the ground before turning his head to the left. The land is raised above his body from what little he could see and is curved upward like the hollowed-out part of a bowl.

Alive. Huh.

The plant poison still gnaws on his muscles, but if he doesn’t move, the maggots might have a share of demigod flesh soon. Sylvester forces himself to stand up, and immediately, his knees shake uncontrollably. Stay still. You both don’t want to be useless, do you? He bends his knees and launches himself the minimum distance away from the crater.

The environment somewhat reminds him of Tien’s territory except with much less vegetation and rivulets to brighten the landscape. Instead of giant cherry blossom trees wrapping their roots around and into the mountains, a cluster of spiky trees settle down way below them. A naked rocky cliff imposes itself beside a concrete path with two lines down the middle. A pang in his abdomen strikes, and Sylvester coughs out blood, his lungs squeezing like crushed grapes. He looks around shortly after.

He notices one human staring astonished at him with blood dripping down his mouth. He has long black hair tied to a ponytail, and his facial features look smooth as if drawn by a skilled artist. A strange machine seems to be toppled not too far away. He glances to the left, and his eyes widen in horror.

A demon with dark energy, just like the one from before.

Instinctively, his hand touches the right side of his face where his eye went missing. His muscles stiffen, rendering himself weak and vulnerable. Although the demon doesn't appear to be fully attentive at the moment, she could strike any second.

The ground below Sylvester's feet teeters under his weight as if it's made of a thin layer of rope. The energy to scream broils under his skin, yet there's no power in him to do so.

Sylvester forces his feet to back away slowly from the demon before jumping down into the edge, quickly creating an arrow and jabbing it into the rocky precipice. As he slides down, heat hums from the contact between the rock and arrow. Soon, his feet touches the ground. His wrist strains from dragging down his own weight, but it's a small cost for escaping potential danger. As he massages his wrist, he looks up. The firebolt arrow had scorched a long ugly scar through the precipice. Further up, there's the gray sky, its color too diluted with light, and nothing of the stars can be seen clearly. Compared to here, the night sky at home had more bold beauty with perfect cirrus clouds lining through the dripping black and blue.

Home. He'd rather stand in that fresh familiar there rather than this dreadful here. Sylvester steps from the seams of reality and into that world. The soothing, dew-covered grass would almost be under his feet. Many steps more, and brown mud would almost infiltrate between his toes. Many steps more, and cold clean water would almost reach his calves. If he would wade further into this particular stream, the moss-covered, hollow tree log would almost be at his chest's level, refusing to budge from its place despite the years of current it endured. The once-lavish manor, grim garden ruins, and scraggly, snow-topped mountains would be further ahead.

This isn't the time to dawdle. I could be pursued any moment now.

Sylvester runs into the woods, his legs feeling like they're falling apart.

“What … did I just saw?” Dennis asks.

No human could survive a fall from the exosphere without some sort of protection. Perhaps he's a demon? How did he fall from space though? There's a number of ways it could plausibly happen like a ship accident, but investigations and speculation aren't his strengths.

Dennis rubs his eyes and rummages his smart device from his pocket. While it's cracked, it seems to operate well, well enough for calling in emergencies like this. He turns to Caihong.

“By the way, sorry about your vehicle. I should at least compensate —”

“Please don't. You paid me enough. I don't want you to sacrifice yourself over me when there's a mild inconvenience in my life.”

Dennis looks at her for a while. While it's Caihong's choice to accept any more help, he couldn't help but feel he should give more. Still, shoving what he sees as help could push her away…

“Okay then. I'll make sure to report the road obstruction and call for help. Just don't run away while we're waiting,” he finally says.

“I'm too exhausted to do any running, so don't you worry.”

What a day.