Nearly eight hours had passed since Arlon had taken his first step that day.
The end of the floor was close now.
He could see it—what looked like a crooked old building stitched together from mismatched architecture.
Jiroeki's house.
Or at least, what passed for it.
Calling it a house still felt wrong.
It wasn't a proper structure, not in the way most people thought of one.
It was chaotic, warped in shape, patched together like a dream someone forgot to finish.
Floating stairs, disconnected hallways, windows that opened into nothing.
But even so, Arlon's heart beat faster as he drew near.
This was the place. The destination he'd gambled everything on.
His pace didn't change, but his breathing quickened. Every step hummed with anticipation.
And finally—after a full year of relentless, measured movement—he reached the door.
Without a pause, he raised his hand and knocked.
And at that very moment, the creature appeared beside him.
