On the ship, still.

Middle of the night.

I am awoken by a sensation I have not felt in a long time... Peace.

No, I am not waking up on an uncomfortable slab in a hidden military base. Nor the back of Francis’s car. Nor in the middle of a fierce battle.

Just the gently rocking ship known as the MS Zandaam.

I hadn’t quite noticed this while in Francis’s car on our trip back to San Fransisco. But... It’s extremely clear to me now.

Last night, I didn’t dream. Nothing appeared to me, just pure blackness that has now disappeared.

I am alone in my mildly comfortable but not excessively inviting bed.

With no dream. No time in Mystix, no ghost form. I could not see what transpired on South Spire since the last time I appeared there.

In my last dream, I made the fatal mistake that led to Rare and Mestopholees duking it out in an epic battle that left the latter seriously hurt, and the former sacrificing themself to end up in The Goddess’s Domain and allow the U.S. military to begin its invasion of Mystix.

It is a mistake that has led to every bad thing that has happened in the last few days. And I thought that perhaps by sleeping I could at least appear back in South Spire, that I could gather intelligence and report the situation of the war back to the rest of the Systemless Squad.

However, I was mistaken. Because now I can’t dream at all.

Did the military set something up to prevent multiversal astral projection? Has the war naturally caused too much interference for it to work? I do not know the answer, but I do find myself a little bit lonelier than I expected.

With my lack of sleep starting to weigh in on itself, I get out of bed and head down a few more doors to a different cabin.

Francis is sitting on his bed, using his smart phone, and waves to me when I enter.

“Yo,” he says. “Can’t sleep either?”

“I was sleeping fine, but I suddenly woke up and now I cannot go back. I realized that I can no longer dream, and my mind is too anxious about that fact to allow me to resume my sleep.”

“Mmm. Wanna stay with me tonight?” he asks.

“That would be swell.”

Francis pats the bed. “Here, I’ll scoot over. It’s a bit tight, but I think we can both fit.”

I climb in and get under the covers. Francis puts his phone down and does the same. “So you can’t dream anymore? No more ghost Eryk?”

“It seems so. I didn’t dream when we made our trip from the military base, either, but I was so overwhelmed by emotions then that I neglected to stop and actually think about it.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“There is nothing I can do. Not for the time being.”

“So then, nothing to worry about, dude.” He kisses me on the cheek and says, “Let’s just worry about the things we can change.”

“Like Destiny itself, once I become an S-Rank Hero, the first in a millennium,” I say.

“Sure thing, Eryk.”

“Perhaps I say too many stupid things in my sleepy stupor.”

“Eh, I’m hella tired too, don’t worry. It’s just a human thing.”

“Then perhaps we should cease with the words and cuddle.”

“Yep. Just what I was thinking. I call little spoon.”

“I did not know that there were spoons involved in cuddling on Earth.”

“Shut up, Eryk.”

We share each other’s warmth and allow our mutual worries melt away, at least for the time being. I really love this man. Very much so.

...

...

Although in the morning it becomes very clear to both of us that cuddling for the entire night in a fairly small bed would inevitably lead to sore limbs. A small price to pay for a nice distraction from the arduous events that are sure to come.