Fading into the exterior of a high fantasy city called Centia, the world is colorful and vibrant, brimming with light. The streets are filled with people who are lively and spritely. Darting through the streets of the city, causing a ruckus in his wake, is a small black cat with brilliant green eyes. After knocking over a potted plant and hurling in and out of the windows of the citizens of Centia, the mischievous little cat, who goes by the name of Burus, finds himself safe and sound back at home—a small yet modest home that houses a single humble man.

  Burus hops through the window and onto the kitchen counter to enjoy a meal. Just then, the front door swings open.

  "Burus, I'm home!"

  The humble man who sleeps in this modest home has made his way back from a long and boring day at work as a merchant, selling odd sand trinkets in the marketplace. Burus hops off the counter and approaches the humble man. With short brown hair, a short brown beard, and green eyes, he is known as Edmin Night. Burus greets him with a welcoming "Meow."

  "How was your day, buddy?" exclaims Edmin. "I hope you didn't cause too much ruckus in the city today, you little monster."

  Edmin kneels and pets Burus as the cat lets out a happy purr. He then heads to his room, places his things down, and changes into some comfy clothes. After finally having his meal, Edmin steps outside to his porch, where he enjoys his pipe and the beauty of the sun setting over the City of Centia. Burus jumps onto Edmin's lap and makes himself comfortable, purring away the stress of the day.

  There have been bonds between owner and pet before, but never one quite like this. You see, Burus was not just a pet to Edmin—he was his friend, and more than that, he was family.

  "Haven't you ever wondered what lies beyond our stars, Burus? What lies past our universe and beyond that? All that infinity, and yet, to this universe, this planet, this continent, and this city, we are bound. Though, I'm glad that I share my time on this planet with you, my friend," Edmin exclaims to Burus while puffing on his pipe and looking up at the night sky.

  Burus meows softly to Edmin as he becomes drowsy, his eyes slowly shutting. The frame fades away as the City of Centia quiets down for the night.

  The next day, Edmin awakens from his slumber, bags under his eyes and messy hair. He climbs out of bed, puts his robe on, and heads to the kitchen, where he sets out some food for Burus. Normally, Burus comes running to the sound of his cat kibble. However, Burus is nowhere to be seen. "BURUS, COME GET YOUR BREAKFAST, BUDDY!" Edmin yells out for Burus and receives no response and no sight of him.

  "He must be out galivanting again. I'll leave his food on the kitchen counter for him. He always comes back when he's hungry." Edmin worries for Burus, but not so much as to cause a scene, as it is natural for Burus to be out and about in the city.

  After having sat down and eaten his meal, Edmin quenches his thirst with a fresh glass of water, then heads to his room to ready himself for another day at the marketplace. Edmin gets dressed, grabs his bag, and heads to the marketplace. The marketplace is packed with people; it is loud and busy. Edmin sets up his stand and lays out his trinkets to sell. Many people pass his stand until a couple stops at his stall.

  The male is a wealthy nobleman, covered head to toe in the finest clothing, and a coin pouch so large and heavy it looks as if it is about to explode. The noblewoman, also wrapped in the finest silk, clutches her betrothed's arm, her eyes twinkling with the reflection of a beautiful rose-gold necklace lying on Edmin's table.

  "My word, I just have to have this necklace," exclaims the noblewoman. "Anything for you, my dear," the nobleman says to the woman as her face lights up with joy. The nobleman reaches for his coin pouch, grabs a handful, and drops it on the table.

  "Calm down, darling, I've yet to put the necklace on you," the nobleman exclaims to the woman as she jumps with joy. The couple walks away, and Edmin peers down at the large amount of coin that now covers his table. "This coin is enough to buy everyone on my stand three times over. Must be nice to have that kind of money.

  " The day passes by with Edmin making two more sales before he calls it a day. Around two o'clock in the afternoon, Edmin's walking down the street heading home. "With all this coin, I can get Burus and myself something nice to eat tonight and stock up on my trade trinkets." Edmin heads to the food market on the way home. Arriving home, Edmin calls out for Burus and still receives no response. Edmin peers over to Burus's food bowl, and yet it remains as full as when he left for work this morning.

  Edmin places his things down and calls out for Burus again. A faint "Meow" could be heard. THUMP Burus hops through the window, but he looks different. His fur is ruffled, which is strange because cats usually tend to themselves. He has low energy and looks lethargic, waddling to Edmin slowly.

  Now concerned, Edmin says, "Burus, you don't look so good, buddy. What happened? I hope you are okay. It is a bit too late to take you to the vet today." Burus climbs on the couch and lays down as if he's exhausted. "Shame, buddy. I'll take the day off tomorrow and take you to the vet first thing in the morning."

  With Burus not feeling well, try as he might, Edmin fails to get Burus to eat. "I'm worried about you, buddy. Let's try and get some sleep, and I'll take you to the vet in the morning." Edmin struggles to get Burus to eat, drink, or move to the bed. Sometime later, Edmin is sitting on his porch, smoking his pipe.

  "How did this happen? He was fine yesterday... Maybe it was the food I gave him yesterday. Perhaps he ate something on the street that did not agree with him? Either way, I best get some sleep, and I will get him checked in the morning." Edmin heads inside and glances at Burus one more time, with worry in his eyes.

  Reluctant to leave his friend on the couch, Edmin heads to his room to change into comfy clothes, then climbs into bed. The sun rises and the city awakens. Although the city remains teeming with light, a darkness has set in at the humble home of the Night residence. Edmin is already dressed and in a rush, as the sooner he leaves, the sooner he finds out what ails Burus.

  Edmin carefully picks Burus up and cradles him in his arms. "Let's get you checked out, buddy." Edmin wastes no time in leaving the house. Edmin jogs through the streets, making haste. "Excuse me, sorry, coming through!" Edmin charges through the city, with no time to lose. After some time of running through a sea of people in desperation, Edmin makes it to his destination, barging through the doors and making his presence known.

  "DOC! YOU'VE GOTTA HELP ME! PLEASE!" Edmin pleads with the veterinarian to assist his beloved friend in his time of need. "Sir, please calm down. Place him on the table, and I shall examine him," the vet exclaims in a calming manner to Edmin.

  Some time passes, with Edmin sitting on the bench in the waiting room. While the city may be noisy, a still silence fills the waiting room, with water droplets breaking the silence every second. The old bench that is currently holding the weight of Edmin's deep concern creaks every time he looks up to see if the vet approaches. Edmin stands in anticipation. With his anxiety rising, it comes to an immediate standstill as the vet calls for Edmin.

  Edmin's heart pounding so hard, that it is almost as if it is punching his chest to break free. "Come through Edmin." The vet tells Edmin to enter the room, with a sense of dread in his voice. Edmin enters the room and immediately stares at Burus, not saying a word, as the tension in the room becomes thick enough to chew on. The vet, closing the door behind him as he walks in after Edmin, says, "I'm not gonna lie to you Edmin, I don't have good news for you."

  Edmin turns his head, with his eyes now glossy, "What's the prognosis?" Edmin exclaims with a tremble in his voice. The vet sits down and asks Edmin to do the same, Edmin follows and sits on one of the chairs on the opposite side of the vet's desk. Burus is lying on the examination table, fast asleep, the only movements he makes are his stomach and chest moving up and down from his laboured breath. "Edmin? Edmin ..."

  The vet calls for Edmin's attention, Edmin, memorizing every strand of hair on Burus, breaks the stare and looks at the vet. "After a thorough examination, I found that his gums are white, he's dehydrated and refuses to eat." The vet seems tense with a straight face, Edmin with his concern weighing more than his concentration says, "I knew that he wasn't eating or drinking but what of his white gums?" Edmin's heart rate grows with his anxiety.

  "I'm sorry Edmin ... I'm afraid that his kidneys are failing........He hasn't much time left. You'd best say your goodbyes." Edmin sheds a tear for every laboured breath Burus takes, Edmin raises from the chair and moves towards Burus, "I'll give you some time alone." As the vet is leaving the room he is paused by a remark from Edmin. "I don't understand ... He was fine the other day." The vet, before leaving, tells Edmin, "It takes a while for kidney failure to show, normally it's treatable but not this far in.....I'm sorry Edmin."

  The vet leaves the room closing the door behind him. No other emotions fill Edmin except grief, Edmin clutches Burus almost as if he's trying to hold onto what life Burus has left. "I will find you in the afterlife buddy, this I promise you. No matter the cost." From the sound of silence to the loud cries of Edmin hunched over hugging his friend goodbye. The door opens and the vet walks in, "My condolences Edmin." Placing his hand on Edmin's back, the vet tells Edmin, "He's gone."

  The scene pans out to a view of the sun setting on the city and the moon rising. Edmin sat on his porch chair with his pipe grasped firmly in his hand, as he stared into the abyss of memories flashing through his mind of him and Burus enjoying meals together. The smell of tobacco fills the air with the pipe burning, though Edmin has not raised the pipe to his lips once. For the first time, Edmin had gone home without Burus racing time to be there to greet him.

  For the first time in his life, Edmin sat there alive but his passion was dulled. Edmin laid down his pipe on the table next to him and stood up. Slowly he swung open the door to his house that was once filled with joy. What used to be a home is now a shell that holds Edmin's grief, dark and barely lit by the moon shining through the window, Edmin steps inside and heads to his room. After changing he sits on his bed with a reminiscent, yet mournful tear sliding down his cheek.

  The scene switches to the next morning, with the frame being overhead of the city shining bright and bustling. Edmin stood at his stall barely able to concentrate on luring more customers, he was able to sleep but struggled to rest. Sleep-deprived and filled with grief, Edmin finds himself lost in a world with so much life. Edmin needs solace, so he packs up his odds and trinkets and leaves his stand. As Edmin walks through the streets of Centia, he feels a sudden jolt in his heart, the jolt of a broken heart.

  His palms become sweaty as his heart palpitates. Edmin finds himself by a water fountain he and Burus used to visit from time to time. Edmin approaches the fountain, exhausted, grieving and in pain. He reaches into his hefty sack of coins given to him by the nobleman who purchased the necklace. Edmin pulls out a coin, "I wish ... I wish I had the power to bring him back." Edmin flicks the coin into to fountain and before the agitation in the water settles, Edmin takes a seat on one of the benches near the fountain.

  His hand clamps in his chest, as his heart palpitations grow stronger with each passing minute. The people around him converse and laugh, without a care in the world. It is peaceful, Edmin takes out his pipe and fills it with some tobacco, as he needs something other than air in his lungs.

  Pulls out his matches and lights one, then moves the burning match to his pipe. The noisy city, the running water of the fountain and the sizzling tobacco are enough to distract him for a short time. Suddenly, the city goes quiet and the calming sounds are no longer heard.

  Edmins eyes widen as he only hears his abnormal heartbeat, *bum bum bumbumbumbum*. The heartbeat that was once abnormal, is now no longer. His grip on the pipe loosens and the pipe crashes to the ground, Edmin slumps over gazing at the fountain. "Whhaaa-*breaths out*, Edmin's vision slowly reduces to a tiny pinhole until the beautiful fountain disappears entirely.

  Edmin's heart has stopped, the people near the fountain surround Edmin trying to resuscitate him, all to no avail. The humble merchant, from the city of Centai, has met the same fate as his friend, who he mourned so dearly. Edmin Night, has shuffled off this mortal coil due to heartbreak syndrome.

  "Wha....What's happening?" Edmin's eyes opening and closing as if waking up from a long slumber. Yet when his eyes open, it is as dark as if they were closed. "Greetings Edmin Night." Edmin hears a disembodied voice, "What's going on? I can't see anything." A ball of light almost as bright as the sun appears in front of Edmin, blinding at first, it dims to reveal a man. "I've seen many stories of death in my day, however, yours intrigues me." With the light less blinding, Edmin looks around to see the strange man, the orb of light and the planet Avarra.

  The very same planet where Edmin derives from, "What is this place?" Edmin asked while staring into the abyss that blinded him earlier. The strange man takes a step back and begins to explain, "Well, you humans have you court rooms and judicial systems. You could say this is purgatory for the afterlife, where the choices you made before death found you shall effect where they lead you next." Edmin, with more burning questions than answers, asks, "And who are you?"

  The strange man grins and says, "I am the one who observes, I am the one who decides, this is my court room and I am the Judge." Edmin now only has one question on his mind, "So what happened to me on the bench, was me failing to hold on to life?" The Judge continues to stare at Edmin, "Unfortunately, yes." Edmin shakes his head while taking a few steps back, "This could just be a dream, maybe I am asleep on the bench and I'll soon wake up!" The Judge with his intense stare still locked on Edmin exclaims, "I'm afraid not ... and the sooner you come to terms with your passing the easier this process will be for the both of us." Edmin falls to his knees and with shock in his voice, says, "That can't be right ... I ... I can't believe it."

  The Judge kneels in front of Edmin and places his hand on his shoulder, "Don't you know that belief is a doubt." Edmin looks at The Judge with the eyes of a broken man, "Then what is to become of me?" The Judge stands and holds his hand out towards Edmin and says "Let's find out."

  Edmin grabs hold of the hand of The Judge and pulls himself up. Edmin looks over at The Judge, "So how does this work?" The Judge and Edmin start walking toward the planet Avarra floating in the distance, "We are going to take a trip down memory lane". Edmin now confused, stops, and looks at The Judge.

  "Meaning what exactly?", The Judge looks over at Edmin, "Exactly what I said. Much like I said earlier, I observe, decide, and send. However, in order for me to do the second and the latter, I must first observe. To be specific, I need to see the life you lived". After The Judge had explained the process, Edmin agrees and they both walk towards the planet Avarra mentioned before. As Edmin and The Judge take a step forward, the orb glows brighter and they are both torn through space onto the planet of Avarra. The scene moves over the humble and modest house Edmin once called home. A stranger approaches the front door and knocks, Edmin opens the door and greets the stranger, "Greetings Arya, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Arya, an old childhood friend of Edmin, with excitement practically pouring out of her, asks Edmin. "So, your still alive? Did you even read the letter I sent you?"

  "I'm sorry old friend, I haven't gotten around to it." Edmin exclaims, "Haven't gotten around to it? I sent it a week ago." Arya says with a jest in her tone. "My apologies, but since you are here why don't you come in and you can tell me what your letter says over a beverage?" Arya agreed and they both step inside, "Would you care for some tea?" Edmin offers politely, "If you still make tea as well as you used to, you know I shan't refuse." Edmin learned to make rich tea from his mother who was a Tea sommelier for the royal Court of Centia. He prepares the tea in the vintage, silver tea set that belonged to his mother. Placing everything on the tray, Edmin carries the tray over to the living room where Arya has made herself comfortable on Edmin's favorite chair.

  He places the tray on the table as he takes a seat, "So tell me, what of this letter you sent?" Arya smiles and says, "I'm hosting a gathering at my house, and have been eagerly waiting to hear if my dear old friend might RSVP. However, waiting for you to respond is like waiting for hell to freeze over." Arya says while she looks over at Edmin with a smirk. Edmin pouring the Tea into the beautiful hand-crafted cups says, "I see you've not lost your whimsical nature and as happy as I am to see you, you know I detest crowds of people."

  Handing over the tea to Arya, Edmin slides the sugar cube tray over to her. "There was a time where you would banter back. I know that gatherings are not something you enjoy but I would love to have you there. I miss the days when you and I were out and about, you and me against the world." Before Edmin could say a word, everything around him comes to a complete stand still, Arya is frozen in place as well as the fire place. A disembodied voice is heard, "Hold on a second."

  The Judge appears on the couch next to Edmin and starts to make himself a cup of tea while asking, "You became distant towards your loved ones, why?" Edmin slides the sugar cube tray over to The Judge and says, "As time passes, people change, after a while the festivities started to be more of a way to partake in the pleasures of life than a fun experience."

  The Judge reaches over and scoops two sugar cubes and places them in his cup of tea. He then proceeds to slowly stir his tea and take a sip, "This tea is miraculous! When we're done you need to tell me how you make it." Edmin chuckles, "Well it's no use in gate keeping the recipe, I'm dead anyway."

  "Indeed, even if you wanted to hide the recipe, I could simply take us to the memory where you learned to make it." Edmin smiles.

  "Quite the persistent one, aren't you?"

  The Judge, now finished with his tea, places his cup on the table and then says, "Speaking of persistence, we should continue." He disappears, and the scene continues to play out. The fireplace crackles, its fire snapping and crackling. Arya looks over at Edmin.

  "So, will you come? Like I said before, it won't be the same without you."

  Edmin, though hesitant, agrees, and the scene slowly pans out of the window of the modest home. The sun lowers, transitioning the scene into night, and the view shifts to the other side of the city of Centia, where the party is now being hosted at Arya's house.

  This large two-story house, with beige walls and an oxblood red roof, has a medium-sized wine cellar underneath and a large stable where the horses enjoy a bit of luxury. People of all ages and from various locations come and go from the house, indulging in wine, laughing, and sharing conversations.

  Edmin and Arya, however, can be found in the kitchen on the first floor of the house, with Arya introducing Edmin to her friends.

  "So, you're the other miscreant who went out and disturbed the peace in the city with Arya," one of Arya's friends exclaims, chuckling at his comment.

  Edmin turns his head to look at Arya and says, "If anything, she was the miscreant. I was the reasonable one."

  Arya shrugs and gives Edmin a look of delighted shock before saying, "Whose idea was it to sneak into the tavern, swap the strongest ale with watered-down brew, and watch as the patrons boasted about their tolerance while surprisingly getting sober?"

  Edmin laughs. "Mine, but..."

  Before Edmin could finish his sentence, Arya interrupts. "And whose idea was it to smear honey on a noble's saddle just before they set out, just so we could watch them be harassed by bees and flies the entire journey?"

  Everyone laughs. Edmin now brings the attention back to Arya.

  "Fair enough, both ideas were mine. But those were harmless pranks. Whose idea was it to tie a long rope to the village church bell and hide behind a wall while ringing it at odd hours, making the village think the spirits are restless?"

  Edmin looks at Arya with a slight smirk and says, "Whose idea was it to drop harmless herbs into the village well, temporarily dyeing the water a strange color and convincing everyone that a local witch had cursed the water supply?"

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  One of Arya's friends asks, "You guys really did all that stuff?"

  Edmin and Arya exchange a nostalgic smile and nod their heads yes.

  As Edmin takes the final sip of his drink, he closes his eyes. When he finishes, he opens them to realize that he is no longer in the memory with Arya but is now back in purgatory, with The Judge standing before him.

  Confused, Edmin asks, "What happened?"

  The Judge takes a step forward and raises his hands. "I got what I needed from the memory. Time to move on to the next."

  Edmin asks The Judge, "So what, we're just going to go from memory to memory? And how many of them are we going to see before we come to a conclusion?"

  The Judge pauses for a moment before responding. "We are looking at core memories that define how you handled situations. For example, this was an uncomfortable situation for you, as you are an introvert. Yet, you stepped out of your comfort zone to be there for a friend. That is a sign of courage."

  Edmin replies, "I take it you're looking to see if I hold all the right virtues?"

  The Judge turns his head to look at Edmin. "I'm looking to see if you had any at all."

  Edmin replies, "That could either work in my favor..."

  Before Edmin could finish his sentence, the Judge turns and starts walking away, saying, "We should continue."

  The Judge and Edmin once again step through time and space into the next memory.

  As Edmin crosses the threshold, he finds himself stepping out of the humble home he once owned before his passing. He closes the door, locks it, and calls out, "Cheers, Burus! I'll see you later!"

  But then, he freezes. The memory of Burus's death—and the promise Edmin made on his deathbed—crashes back into him. He'd forgotten, lost in the routine of a life already gone. The weight of that realization breaks him out of the memory's rhythm.

  Panic rising, Edmin spins around, fumbles with his keys, and tries to unlock the door. Desperate to return inside, to see his friend again. But the door won't budge.

  He sprints to the window and peers in. There, sitting on the kitchen counter as he always did, is Burus—peacefully eating his morning meal. Edmin calls out, but Burus doesn't respond, doesn't even glance his way.

  He tries to climb through the window. It's open, yet something pushes him back—an invisible barrier. Again and again, he tries. Frustrated, he slams his fist against the wall. Then, hands pressed against the unseen force, he stares at his beloved friend he cannot reach.

  "Judge!" Edmin cries. "I know you can hear me! Why can't I get inside? I need to see my cat, but something is stopping me!"

  The Judge materializes behind him. "You cannot enter the house because it is not part of the memory."

  "I... I don't understand," Edmin says, voice trembling.

  The Judge steps closer. "In this memory, you didn't go back inside. You closed the door, locked it, and left."

  Edmin turns to him, pleading. "But you're in control! Can't you remove the barrier? Just let me see him—please. I'm begging you."

  The Judge slowly shakes his head, voice steady but firm. "Edmin, in order for me to send you to your afterlife, I need to witness your memories. And for that, you must cooperate."

  Edmin looks back toward Burus. "I'll accept any punishment you give me. But Burus... he was my best friend. He died the day before I did. I made him a promise—I swore I'd find him in the afterlife, no matter the cost."

  The Judge's expression softens with curiosity. "Is that why you died of heartbreak syndrome?"

  Edmin slumps against the wall and slides down until he's sitting on the ground. "I believe so. I couldn't eat. Could barely sleep. I tried to go on with my day, but the loss cut too deep. I failed him. I didn't see how unwell he was."

  The Judge kneels in front of him. "You couldn't have known. You're not omniscient."

  Tears stream down Edmin's face. "I'm really starting to wish I was."

  The Judge stands again. "Edmin, your passing means the end of your mortal life. You no longer need to carry the weight of mortal promises."

  Edmin wipes his cheeks. "When you have a bond with someone, and you give them your word—no matter the circumstances—it becomes your duty to keep that promise. Otherwise, you betray their trust."

  The Judge begins pacing. "I understand. It's the principle. But like your friend's death, you couldn't predict what would come after. You had no way of knowing you'd end up here—with rules, restrictions. The promise wasn't foolish, but the outcome is beyond your control."

  Edmin stands abruptly. "Lack of power—that's it! Tell me, how could someone like me gain the power to find him?"

  The Judge stops, expression unreadable. "Edmin, I have millions of other souls to guide through the same process. The longer we remain here, the longer they must wait for their judgment."

  Edmin: "Millions of them?"

  "If that's the case how is it that you are able to keep up with all of them?"

  The Judge: "I'm a deity, Edmin, and time is not a factor in this realm. For the millions of humans waiting it just seems like they are asleep, much like you were, unaware that they are to be judged."

  Edmin, confused and frustrated, walks closer.

  "Then why are you allowing me to go on this tangent? Why allow me to speak of my emotions?"

  The Judge pauses, then turns slowly. His voice carries a tone of solemn intrigue.

  "Like I said... I'm intrigued by you and your death. Not many souls pass from heartbreak syndrome. It shows the depth of your emotions, the strength of your bond with this feline friend of yours. It's... uncommon. Even in my vast experience."

  Edmin steps closer, voice softer. "Then at least tell me... where is Burus's spirit? Is he at peace? Did he make it to a good afterlife?"

  The Judge sighs. "I don't know. I do not judge animals. My task is to guide human souls."

  Edmin pauses, the weight of that truth settling. "Damn... So I have no say? I'm supposed to just roll over and accept that my promise is meaningless?"

  The Judge gently places a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do. But if the proceedings go well... you may still end up in the same afterlife as him."

  That thought stirs something in Edmin—hope.

  He nods. "Then let's keep going."

  The Judge vanishes in the blink of an eye.

  Edmin turns toward the city of Centia, taking his first steps forward. He is willing to face whatever lies ahead. But he is not ready to let go of his promise—not yet.

  The burden is heavy. The road uncertain. But Edmin does not falter.

  He marches on.

  The scene cuts to Sereana Night's house. Sereana is the mother of Edmin Night. She lives in a beautiful cottage just outside the city of Centia, surrounded by plentiful trees and a lush, colorful garden. Her house is made entirely of oak wood, with a peaceful porch featuring a rocking chair and a small side table beside it.

  Edmin walks up the steps and knocks on the door. Sereana opens it, surprised to see her son standing there.

  "Edmin! What a lovely surprise. Please, come in. How have you been?"

  Edmin steps inside and walks with his mother into the living room, taking a seat on a small beige couch with wooden inlays.

  "I'm alright, Mother. How have you been? I thought I'd stop by and see how you were doing."

  Sereana begins explaining how she's been and all that has happened since they last saw each other. She stands and offers Edmin some of her famous tea, which he politely accepts before she heads to the kitchen.

  Sereana was once a tea sommelier for the High Council of Centia before retiring. Edmin, although a bit distracted, hears his mother call out from the kitchen:

  "So, how are things at the market, dear? You making a lot of sales?"

  After a few seconds of staring into space, Edmin snaps back to the moment.

  "Huh? Oh—yes, things are fine at the market. I've made plenty of sales these past couple of days. Some of them have been quite large."

  Once again, Edmin's concentration is broken by his thoughts—thoughts of the predicament he's in and of Burus. He begins reminiscing about moments with Burus: how he once came home with a bird in his mouth, or how he used to sleep curled up on Edmin's lap.

  Suddenly, his thoughts are interrupted as Sereana returns, placing a tray on the table. On it: an assortment of teas, two cups, a tray of sugar cubes, a small jug of milk, and a kettle.

  Edmin gently shakes his head, trying to reorient himself to the present. Sereana sits down on the adjacent couch with a quiet smile. She says nothing—just sits there, as if waiting for something.

  Edmin now looks confused.

  "Mother?... Are you alright?... What's going on?"

  She doesn't react. Edmin waves his hand in front of her face, but there's still no response.

  "Judge? What's going on here?" he calls out.

  The Judge materializes beside him. "She won't react to anything other than what actually happened in the memory. You have to say exactly what you said at this moment."

  Edmin turns back to look at his mother. "So no matter what I say—unless it's exactly what I said then—she'll just keep staring at the spot where I was sitting?"

  The Judge begins pacing. "Precisely. Think of it as a script you must follow. Anything off-script is incorrect. I do it this way so people can't twist their words or alter events to sway my judgment."

  Edmin returns to his seat. "I understand. Let's proceed."

  The Judge held his hand up to stop Edmin.

  "Before you go any further," he said, his voice smooth like water flowing over stone, "I know you are distracted by your friend. I understand this matter troubles you... but we must keep the current flowing. The process waits for no soul."

  Edmin nodded, his tone soft with gratitude. "Understood. I'll try to keep my thoughts at bay. Thank you for your patience with me."

  The words landed gently—but something in them reverberated far deeper than they should have.

  The Judge blinked. A relic of humanity he hadn't known in eons. And yet, the sensation did not pass.

  Gratitude.

  It clung to him like mist on ancient stone. In all the cycles he had overseen, guiding kings and killers alike to the beyond, no one had ever thanked him for his patience. No one had thought to. He had not even considered the concept necessary.

  Emotion. The flicker of it stirred inside him—a ripple through a sea that had long been still. Unfamiliar. Disquieting.

  Why did this mortal move him in ways none before had? He had ushered countless souls through judgment. But this one...

  This one was different.

  The Judge vanished, his form unraveling like smoke caught in starlight. A faint shimmer lingered where he had stood, distorting the air for just a heartbeat—as though time itself had hesitated.

  And yet, the echo of that small, human gratitude remained.

  Back in the memory, Edmin turns to Sereana and says,

  "There's a reason I came here. I'd like for us to grab some food and visit Father's grave... maybe have a small picnic."

  Sereana's smile widens. "That sounds amazing, Edmin. It'll be like we're having one last family dinner with your father."

  "I couldn't agree more," he replies.

  They finish their tea, gather their things, and head out. Locking the door behind them, they walk toward the market to pick up supplies.

  Although Edmin said he would set his emotions aside to follow the memory, he had no idea that this memory would reignite his passion—fueling his determination to find Burus.

  This... was only the beginning.

  After Edmin and Sereana finally make their way to the food market, they browse the different stalls, picking out an assortment of items for the picnic—freshly cooked chicken, a crisp salad, grapes, and more. As they fill their basket, laughter flows freely between them, reminiscing over shared memories.

  At their final stop—the wine stall, with its wide variety of bottles—Sereana turns to Edmin with a soft smile.

  "Thank you for coming to see me today, sweetie. And for getting me out of the house. I needed this. It's been a long time since I've had this much fun."

  Edmin lifts a bottle wrapped in red wax, its label etched with beautiful golden script.

  "I'm glad I could lift your spirits, Mother. I think we both needed this—time away, together."

  Sereana smiles and turns back to examine the rest of the wines. Edmin glances down the street, admiring the surrounding architecture—buildings etched in old stone, lined with gentle ivy.

  Sereana breaks his gaze.

  "Looks like we've got everything. Shall we head to your father's grave?"

  "Indeed. Let's get going."

  They leave the market, walking side by side through the bustling city.

  "This food smells lovely," Sereana says, opening one side of the basket to peek inside.

  "It does," Edmin agrees. "What wine did you pick?"

  Sereana pulls out a familiar bottle.

  "I grabbed a Red-Jubel—your father's favorite. I thought it fitting for the occasion."

  Edmin smirks.

  "A fine addition. Father would always pour himself a glass after coming home from the market."

  Nodding, Sereana asks,

  "Speaking of which, why do you still run his old stall? Your uncle's always looking for help on the farm—it pays better."

  Edmin chuckles.

  "Larger pay is tempting, but... I feel I owe it to Father to keep his stall alive."

  The city fades into a low hum as they continue down an old cobbled path, their laughter softening into peaceful silence.

  The old church comes into view—its stone walls weathered, moss clinging to the cracks like forgotten prayers. A relic of a faded faith, long overshadowed by the grand cathedral deeper in the city.

  Edmin's gaze lingers.

  Something tugs at him.

  Not nostalgia.

  Something else.

  A pressure.

  A presence.

  He glances toward the rooftop—

  And freezes.

  A dark shape crouches at the edge of the roof. It flutters. Deliberate. Two glowing green eyes blink into existence within the shadow. The shape shifts—resembling Burus for a breath, but... wrong. The posture, too stiff. The presence, too still.

  The Judge's voice echoes, low and uncertain:

  "Something is bleeding through the veil... Not a soul. Not a memory. A contradiction."

  Edmin's breath hitches.

  The figure is staring only at him.

  He takes a step forward.

  The apparition recoils—and in a blink, leaps from the rooftop, landing without a sound. It slips through the cracked-open doors of the church, vanishing like smoke.

  "Come to me, Edmin."

  He doesn't respond.

  He's already moving.

  Drawn by something he can't name.

  The Judge again, quieter now. Strained.

  "It knew your name, Edmin... before you ever spoke it."

  The edges of the memory tremble—like a dream starting to unravel.

  Edmin reaches the threshold. The church looms before him, swallowing light. Dust dances like starlight in the air. The stained glass is shattered, bleeding twisted colors over the pews.

  And near the altar—

  The apparition waits.

  Still.

  Silent.

  Its form flickering—fighting to hold the shape of Burus, like a mask that doesn't quite fit.

  "Burus...is that you?" Edmin whispers.

  The figure says nothing. But its eyes narrow.

  Not in sorrow.

  Not in love.

  Not in anger.

  Recognition.

  Then it speaks:

  "The path you wish to take will bring you no closure. You will not find what you seek—only pain. Only suffering. Remove me from your mind and rest. Rest... so that you may finally know peace."

  Edmin steps forward.

  His voice calm. Unyielding.

  "But I made you a promise. One I intend to keep. I care not what stands in my way. I will find you."

  The apparition jolts—its form glitching, flickering violently. The church shudders. The memory cracks.

  Edmin turns—

  Nothing.

  He looks back.

  The apparition is gone.

  But something lingers.

  A pressure in the air.

  Like something old and deep has stirred.

  A feeling Edmin cannot explain—

  And The Judge cannot narrate.

  The air bends.

  Time stutters.

  And then—

  A pulse.

  A ripple.

  The memory tears.

  A blinding flash erupts—and suddenly, Edmin is back in Purgatory.

  The infinite white void surrounds him. Cold. Vast.

  The church, gone.

  Sereana, gone.

  Even the warmth of the day—gone.

  Only The Judge remains.

  Standing still, his eyes are flickering like dim candlelight.

  He tilts his head.

  "That which you saw, it's unfamiliar to you isn't it?"

  The booming presence is gone. His voice is careful now. Heavy with questions that shouldn't need asking.

  Edmin doesn't respond. Not at first. His gaze is distant, locked on the dark void beneath his feet.

  Then The Judge speaks again.

  "That presence... it did not originate from your memory."

  "It does not belong in your story."

  "And I did not bring it here."

  He steps a little closer.

  "So I ask again... did you recognize it?"

  Edmin's eyes flicker.

  A war of thoughts.

  He almost says nothing.

  Then—

  "I did not."

  A quiet lie, given life.

  The Judge pauses.

  Just stares.

  "Curious..." he murmurs, almost to himself.

  "Even now... your fate bends under unseen hands."

  Then, louder:

  "The judgement must continue."

  "But know this, Edmin: There are forces who would see you unmade before you ever become what you are meant to be."

  "Should they appear again, I will not stop them. I will only watch."

  Another pulse.

  The void peels away.

  The memory returns.

  Edmin stands at the altar again.

  Alone.

  The church silent. Cold.

  But he is not the same.

  Something in him has shifted.

  His eyes sharper.

  Shoulders straighter.

  This journey is not only just about remembrance.

  Someone is trying to stop him.

  Edmin looks around, but the once-vibrant city fades, leaving only the timeworn, crumbling church. He stands in silent thought, almost as if he's counting the cracks in each cobblestone of the church walls. Placing a hand to his head, the weight of indecision presses down like a storm.

  Looking up, he yells,

  "Judge, this is ridiculous! You really expect me to just set aside what just happened? Someone is trying to stop me from finding Burus, and you want me to just roll over and be a good little soul?"

  There's no response.

  He yells again, louder,

  "Judge! I know you can hear me!"

  He starts pacing, anticipating the altercation that might unfold.

  The memory pauses once more. The bustling city and birdsong fall silent.

  In the middle of the aisle—between all the church's long, empty pews—a blur begins to materialize... slowly forming into The Judge.

  Edmin, standing a bit away from the altar and now staring at him, says,

  "You know something is at play here. That strange apparition tried to sway me away from finding Burus—that has to mean something."

  The Judge, his expression tinged with intrigue, replies,

  "I cannot deny the words you speak have some truth in them. However, I have a job to do. And I cannot stray from my duty because of some pet."

  Edmin, now frustrated and insulted, screams,

  "BURUS WAS NOT JUST SOME PET!!!

  He was my best friend. My family. My source of comfort. Now he's gone, and I'm left in this cold, desolate place with no idea what's to become of me!

  I lost my best friend—and a part of myself.

  I lost my hope, my ambition, and any form of joy I had left.

  Now I'm dead, and I'm just supposed to accept it and move on?"

  He breathes hard, his voice cracking.

  "I understand that processing emotions isn't something that's part of who you are... but to us mortals, we have no say in the matter.

  I realize now that dead or alive, we have no control over them."

  Through all of this, The Judge stands silently—listening, understanding, and for the first time... feeling something he had yet to feel for a mortal.

  Empathy.

  Edmin walks toward one of the long pews and takes a seat.

  "How am I supposed to just let it go?" he asks, eyes heavy.

  For a few seconds, The Judge stands still, then walks toward Edmin and sits beside him.

  "This promise you made..." he begins.

  "Even if I let you walk this path rather than continue your judgment, how do you intend to approach the situation?

  There are beings out there far superior to even myself.

  What will you do should you encounter them? Will you fight? Will you hide?"

  He pauses.

  "Even if I set you free, you will only be a poltergeist—a ghost, unable to interact with reality."

  Edmin slumps forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands cradling his forehead.

  "So that's it? There's nothing I can do?"

  The Judge, staring toward the altar, stands.

  "I can take you to a memory where you interact with him.

  It's not exactly what you wanted... but it might give you some comfort to spend time with him."

  Edmin looks up at The Judge and replies in a soft, monotone voice,

  "You don't understand.

  How am I supposed to neglect my promise and move on?

  Even if I get sent to a good afterlife, how am I supposed to enjoy myself knowing I failed him?"

  The Judge stands before him, that empathy continuing to rise within his ancient core.

  And for the first time...

  he feels it.

  Raw emotion—flowing through him.

  He's guided an infinite number of souls, heard all their stories...

  But none had made him feel sympathy.

  Until now.

  He hesitates. Then finally speaks:

  "Very well, Edmin. Let us revisit the moment where your path began to fracture."

  He raises a hand.

  A single tear falls from Edmin's cheek.

  As it hits the stone floor of the church, the world ripples outward like shattered glass.

  The stained-glass windows melt.

  The altar burns away.

  The sky darkens...

  And they now stand in the moment Burus is dying.

  But it's not just memory.

  It's hyperreal—frozen in time, like a divine echo.

  Edmin, once again hunched over Burus on the cold vet's table, cradles the lifeless body like a father holding his child.

  The Judge stands quietly to the side as Edmin, sobbing, once again recites his promise—but this time, slightly different:

  "I'm sorry, buddy...

  I didn't know. I didn't see it.

  But I will make it right.

  I will find you in the afterlife—I swear it.

  No matter what stands in my way.

  I will find you.

  This is my promise to you."

  The Judge, overcome by something foreign and heavy, feels a strange warmth trail down his right cheek.

  Slowly, he raises a hand.

  Staring at the streak now staining his fingers.

  A tear.

  His first.

  A deep silence fills the room.

  Edmin holds his friend, and The Judge, temporarily frozen from feeling emotions for the first time, whispers,

  "So this is... sorrow."

  He closes his eyes.

  And finally... he understands.

  "Very well, Edmin. I cannot deny that your story has moved me... so I will not deny you the path you've chosen."

  He snaps his fingers.

  The memory collapses.

  The room fades into the darkness of the void.

  Burus slowly fades from Edmin's arms.

  The Judge, staring out into the void, says,

  "I cannot very well take you to Burus. Nor can I lead you to him.

  And heading straight into the journey would prove fruitless.

  You will need to ascend if you are to barge into the afterlives in search of him—and for that, you will need power.

  You must find it wherever you can."

  Edmin, still staring at his now-empty hands, asks,

  "Where would I find such power? And how do I get to these places you speak of?"

  The Judge, with his hands behind his back, replies,

  "I cannot tell you that...

  But I can give you a portion of my power—enough to let you travel through concept itself.

  I don't have time to teach you how to wield it...

  So you'll have to learn on your own."

  He pauses.

  "Though I must warn you... this journey will not be easy.

  Though you will be able to go anywhere you choose, you will not be able to interact with real worlds.

  And until you gain actual power, as a wandering spirit, you will be unwelcome in the afterlives."

  Edmin stands.

  "Thank you. Thank you so much.

  You have no idea how much this means to me.

  I will never forget this act of kindness.

  Thank you, Judge."

  The Judge turns to him.

  Edmin sees that The Judge's eyes are now glossy—as if he's been crying.

  "Judge... are you alright?"

  The Judge raises one hand to Edmin.

  Edmin reaches out.

  They shake hands.

  Suddenly, Edmin feels a tingle through his palm as a bright light begins to emanate from where their hands connect.

  The Judge has now endowed Edmin with a portion of his power.

  His expression unreadable once again, he says:

  "Thank you, Edmin.

  The emotions you've shown me have opened my eyes to a greater understanding of judgment."

  The light spreads over Edmin, consuming him in radiant glow.

  The Judge is sending him back—to Centia.

  But before Edmin completely fades away, he says one final thing:

  "Thank you, Judge. I will never forget you."

  And then...

  He's gone.

  The Judge stands alone, hands behind his back once more, staring out into the endless void.

  The scene slowly pans out.

  And fades to black.