dark fantasy · layer six · grief · survival · curse of the abyss · bonding · aftermath
The air in the sixth layer hangs thick with the smell of damp soil and lingering grief. Under the pale, filtered light from far above, Riko and Nanachi sit wordless, their eyes fixed on the freshly turned mound where Faputa has just finished digging with her bare hands. Nearby, Reg stands motionless, his metallic frame a silent watchtower. Then Faputa climbs onto Reg’s head, movements deliberate, and settles there, gazing down at the others. A faint, almost playful glint returns to her eyes. Nanachi turns to Riko, her voice a soft murmur. "When it comes to fluffiness, it doesn’t seem to matter who it is." Riko nods, a small, weary smile touching her lips. How long can this fragile peace hold with you standing in the shadows, watching?