***
A flying soul looked away from the two and flew back inside the palace.
It was Malik.
He didn't want to hear any more.
He couldn't bear hearing anything more.
Once inside, above the crowd, or at least a mass of moving flesh that attempted to mimic a crowd but failed miserably, he turned to the floating projection beside him.
[Would you like to end your break? Your life's fifth volume, 'Second Sun,' has its preparations complete.]
A beat.
'Give me another minute.'
Ding!
That stupid, familiar sound repeated, reenacting his first and second 'break.'
Last time, he didn't bother with a 'break.' He wanted to move on...
He needed to move on.
But now...
Now he needed a break.
Malik almost missed seeing that weird Script in his mind's eye, the one that took over everything, repeating the same word, the same damn congratulations in all those lost languages.
Though if he were honest, such a feeling disappeared the moment he returned to this... soul form.
