Ark Simulator, don't I have no physical form?

Su Rui seemed to sense their gazes, and he opened his eyes again with great slowness and difficulty. His gaze was somewhat unfocused, but he still tried hard to search against the backdrop of the sea of ​​flowers, and finally, it landed on Enya, Enshia, and Jian.

His gaze lingered for a moment on Enya's tear-streaked face, a face etched with endless sorrow and reluctance, a flicker of guilt and tenderness seeming to cross his eyes. Then, it moved to Enshia's blue eyes, filled with fear, despair, and disbelief, eyes that seemed to say, "Don't be afraid." Finally, his gaze met Jian's icy blue eyes, filled with complex tremors and a kind of pain that Su Rui had never seen before, and his eyes curved slightly, almost imperceptibly, as if in a silent farewell.

Having done all this, he seemed to have exhausted his last bit of strength. He turned his gaze back to the sea of ​​flowers he had created, blooming eternally in the snow and ice. His eyes reflected the boundless, dazzling colors, and Yera's calm, serene golden eyes, which seemed to contain the entire world.

His body began to emit a faint glow. It wasn't the icy blue divine radiance of Yera, but a softer, warmer, silvery-white light that seemed to emanate from within.

The light was initially faint, like a firefly. But it quickly grew brighter and softer until it enveloped his entire body.

In the light, Suri's body outline began to blur, as if it were dissolving and transforming into the purest particles of light.

"No—! Brother Suri! No!" Ensia finally broke down. She cried out, trying to break free from the invisible restraint, but Yera's calm and dignified gaze kept her firmly rooted to the spot. She could only watch helplessly as tears streamed down her face like a burst dam.

Enya bit her lip hard, oblivious to the taste of blood. She reached out, as if trying to grasp something, but grasped only emptiness. Her tears rolled down silently, large drops falling onto the cold ground beneath her feet, quickly freezing. Her world, at that moment, seemed to collapse and freeze completely as that warm silver light spread.

Her fist clenched tightly, her knuckles turning white from the force, making a slight cracking sound. Her icy blue eyes were fixed on the increasingly bright, blurring light, and for the first time, they clearly reflected the emotions of "pain" and "helplessness." She seemed to have returned to that snowy night many years ago, a night when she was powerless to save the situation. Only this time, she didn't even have anyone to swing her knife at.

Yera stood silently, cradling the humanoid figure that was gradually dissolving into light. Her face remained expressionless, as if the heartbreaking scene before her was no different from the petals falling in the wind. Only in the depths of her golden eyes did the trajectory of the dissipating light seem to be reflected, and that... the eternal sea of ​​flowers he left behind.

The light reached its peak. Su Rui's physical outline completely disappeared. In its place was a warm ball of light, constantly radiating silver dust.

The luminous dust, like living fireflies or the gentlest starlight in a winter night, floated lightly and swirled from the core halo. Instead of rushing into the sky or disappearing into the snow, it lingered, circling Yela a few times, gently brushing against her silver hair and exquisite face, bringing a fleeting, faint warmth.

Then, more dust particles drifted towards Enya, Enshia, and Jian. Like the gentlest snowflakes, they landed on Enya's tear-streaked face, bringing a cool touch, yet strangely, as if carrying the last breath of Su Rui. They landed on Enshia's red cheeks and her outstretched, futilely clenched hands, bringing a subtle itch, like a final comfort. They even landed on Jian's clenched fists and her cold cheeks, bringing a barely perceptible, fleeting warmth.

Volume 19, Chapter 1267: The Lonely Eyjafjalla

Finally, as if bidding a final farewell, all the light dust began to rise. They converged into a soft, silvery-white stream of light, like a galaxy flowing against the current, slowly ascending towards the sacred mountain's clear blue, heartbreakingly high sky.

Upon reaching a certain height, the light stream suddenly dispersed, transforming into countless tiny specks of light, like the grandest, most silent fireworks, blooming silently under the clear blue sky, and then slowly and completely dissipating and melting into that boundless blue.

It's as if it never existed.

Only the faint, lingering scent of Suri, a unique fragrance that seemed to blend ice and sunshine, remained in the air, and the boundless sea of ​​flowers before them, blooming proudly and dazzlingly in the cold wind, as if destined to bloom to the ends of the earth, proved that the silver-haired boy had truly existed, had brought warmth, and then, in this way, had chosen to bid his final farewell to this land where he had briefly stayed, and to the people he loved (and perhaps loved him) in this way.

In Yera's arms, only the empty white fur blanket, still retaining a trace of her body heat, remained. She slowly gathered the blanket and held it close to her chest. Her golden eyes silently gazed at the eternal gift that Su Rui had left behind with her last breath—for her, for Enya, for Enshia, for Jian, and for this cold, sacred mountain.

The cold wind still blew, carrying a rich floral fragrance, brushing past Yera's beautiful and serene face, past Enya's blank and tearful eyes, past Enxia's face as she broke down in tears, and past Jian's tightly pursed, bloodless lips.

At the summit of the holy mountain, beyond the temple of Jeragund, a legendary sea of ​​miraculous flowers, said to never fade, came into being. The boy who brought the miracle, however, had turned into dust, scattering beneath the cold yet warm sky he had ultimately chosen.

As the light and dust dissipate, consciousness rises and falls.

It was a strange feeling that couldn't be precisely described in words. It was as if I had broken free from a long and deep sleep, or as if I had plummeted from a great height, and finally landed in a warm, soft "water" with subtle, turbulent fluctuations like electric currents.

There is no bodily sensation, no sight, no touch, no smell... all experiences based on the physical senses are stripped away in an instant. What remains is only a pure, planktonic sense of "existence" and a clearer perception of the surrounding "environment".

This "environment" is not the material world, but an ocean of consciousness, a vortex of thoughts, and ripples of emotions.

Suri's (if this name could still be used to refer to the consciousness of this being) "perception" slowly "opened" in this unfamiliar sea of ​​consciousness. The first thing she "felt" was an intense emotion mixed with anxiety, fear, helplessness, and deep sorrow. This emotion, like viscous ink, permeated every corner of this space of consciousness, making what could have been a bright and warm "water" appear oppressive and dark.

Then came countless fragmented, flickering images and sound snippets, like scrambled puzzle pieces, bobbing and swaying in this sea of ​​emotions:

—A warm fireplace, a Caprini couple (parents?) with gentle smiles whose faces are obscured, soft caresses, the rustling of pages turning, a young, clear voice reading something aloud…

—A cold, rainy night, urgent knocking on the door, a stranger in uniform, a serious and formulaic voice: "...last communication was two weeks ago, at the northern border of Letania...currently considered missing..."

Thick letters, covered with cold numbers and terms, were piled up like snowflakes on the simple wooden table. “Payment reminder,” “Overdue taxes,” “Bank ultimatum”… those glaring red stamps and bold fonts seemed to carry an ominous malice.

—In the dimly lit room, outside the window lay an unfamiliar, industrially-tinged cityscape at night. A slender figure with soft pink hair and baby horns curled up at the foot of the cold bed, her shoulders trembling slightly, and suppressed, fragmented sobs, like the whimpers of a wounded animal, drifted out intermittently.

Suri's "consciousness" stirred slightly. He "recognized" this feeling, this state of being like an uninvited guest intruding into someone else's mental world. However, this time, the "host" seemed completely different from Enya. The emotions here were more intense and outward, filled with the weight of reality and despair, rather than the restrained loneliness that Enya possessed, enveloped by faith and responsibility.

He tried, just as he had done in Enya's mind, to carefully condense his "presence" into a gentle, unassuming "thought," and lightly touch the core of this ocean of consciousness.

"How are you?"

A gentle, calm voice, carrying a hint of imperceptible weariness and a cool quality, resounded directly in this space of consciousness filled with sadness and anxiety, not through the ears, but directly affecting the "host's" thought process.

The pink figure curled up at the foot of the bed trembled suddenly, like a startled fawn. The soft sobs stopped abruptly.

"Who? Who's speaking?!" A girl's voice, thick with a nasal tone, trembling and wary, rang out simultaneously in reality and in her consciousness. Eyjafjalla (Suri instantly "read" this name) jerked her head up, her eyes blurry with tears as she looked into the empty room. In the dim light, only her lonely shadow remained. There was no one else.

Fear, like an icy tide, instantly overwhelmed the previous sorrow. Was it a hallucination? An auditory hallucination caused by excessive stress? Or... what new methods did those debt collectors use?

“Don’t be afraid, I’m here.” Suri’s voice rang out again, this time clearer and gentler, with a strange soothing power, trying to calm the sudden ripples of fear. “In your… mind. You can’t see me, but I can ‘feel’ you.”

"In...in my mind?" Eyjafjalla's voice was filled with disbelief and a deeper fear. She instinctively clutched her head, her soft pink hair disheveled from tears and the earlier rubbing, her baby horns gleaming faintly in the light. "This is impossible! You...what are you? A ghost? Originium Arts? Or...or am I going crazy?"

“None of those,” Suri replied calmly, with a strange power that compelled people to believe her. “I am just… a temporarily homeless ‘consciousness’. I came here by accident. Your emotions… are very strong, and I cannot ignore them.”

Volume 19, Chapter 1268: He's about to be executed.

Suri paused, sensing the turmoil, fear, and a faint glimmer of curiosity churning within Eyjafjalla's consciousness. He "saw" the flickering fragments of images, the mountain of bills, and the cold, empty house about to be lost.

“You seem to be in a big problem,” Suri continued, a hint of concern in her voice. “It’s about your parents, and… those taxes and bills.”

Mentioning her parents and bills, Eyjafjalla's attention, which had been briefly diverted by the strange event of the "voice in her head," was instantly pulled back to the harsh reality. Sadness and despair, like a deeper shadow, enveloped her. Tears welled up uncontrollably once again.

“They… Mom and Dad… disappeared at the archaeological site in Letania… It’s been weeks, and there’s still no news…” Eyjafjalla’s voice choked with sobs, broken and intermittent, as if answering the mysterious voice in her mind, or as if talking to herself, venting long-suppressed pain, “The Messenger’s Guild, the Explorers’ Guild in Columbia… they all say they’re still searching, but… but the hope is slim… Waaah…”

“Then…then the letters, the bills came…” Her voice was filled with helplessness and anger. “Property taxes, health insurance, the final payment for Dad’s research project…so many…I simply…I couldn’t understand those complicated terms, and I didn’t know where Mom and Dad had put the money…They only left a little bit for living expenses, saying they’d be back soon…but, but they didn’t come back…”

“The bank people came yesterday… said if I don’t pay the overdue property taxes and late fees next week… they’re going to… they’re going to take the house away…” Eyjafjalla buried her face in her knees, her thin shoulders trembling violently. “What am I going to do… I have no money… I can’t find a job… I… I haven’t even graduated high school… Where can I go if I leave here…”

Despair, like a tangible darkness, nearly engulfed the young Caprini girl. The disappearance of her parents, the heavy financial burden, and the fear of the future—any one of these would have been enough to crush a child not yet an adult, let alone all of them coming at once.

Suri listened quietly, sensing the turbulent pain and helplessness churning within Eyjafjalla's consciousness. This feeling, unlike Enya's restrained loneliness enveloped by faith, was more direct, more acute, filled with the coldness and cruelty of reality. It was the despair of a child suddenly thrown into the adult world, unprepared and powerless to resist.

He thought of Enya, Yela, Enshia and Jian, and the eternally blooming sea of ​​flowers on the holy mountain that he had traded his last breath for. A complex emotion welled up within him, but it wasn't sadness; rather, it was a sense of responsibility that was almost conscious, or rather, a peculiar continuation of the way of being that belonged to "Suri".

He lost his body, lost everything in Shelag, yet in this way, he came to the side of another soul in need of help. Perhaps this is what Yera meant when she said, "Consciousness will find another person's mind and settle down. Parasitism, or symbiosis."

He didn't want to "parasitize." After experiencing everything in Sherag, feeling the warmth, sadness, and final farewell, he no longer wanted to exist as a simple, passive "ghost" that drained the host's emotions or energy.

He wanted to "coexist." To help this crying, desperate girl. Just like... Yera and Enya had done for him. Though in different ways, in different circumstances.

"Eyjafjalla." Suri's voice rang in the girl's mind again, this time with a clear and reassuring calm, like a stabilizing stone thrown into chaotic waves.

Eyjafjalla's sobs subsided slightly. She still buried her face in her knees, but her consciousness was involuntarily drawn to the clear and calm voice in her mind.

“Look at the bills and letters I left behind,” Suri continued, her tone calm, as if stating a simple fact, “and I’ll organize them and bring them to you.”

Eyjafjalla hesitated. The instructions from the mysterious voice in her mind sounded somewhat inexplicable. But for some reason, the calming power contained in that voice brought a slight reassurance to her chaotic and fearful heart. She slowly raised her head, her eyes blurred with tears, and looked at the simple wooden table piled high with papers not far away.

She hesitated for a moment, then finally stood up and walked to the table. Her trembling fingers picked up the cold letters and bills, each one printed with glaring red lettering, and arranged them neatly according to Suri's instructions, spreading them out in front of her.

Property tax overdue notices, overdue medical insurance notices, bank reminders regarding the mortgage loan (it seems her parents didn't pay for the house in full initially), various municipal fee bills, and even several vaguely worded official letters from an archaeological association in Letania concerning the follow-up matters of her parents' involvement in a project...

The thick, cold sheets of paper felt like a small mountain, pressing down on Eyjafjalla and making it hard for her to breathe. The cold numbers and deadlines on each sheet were like swords hanging over her head.

"What...what should I do?" Eyjafjalla's voice trembled with tears, filled with helplessness. "So much...I simply can't afford it...I'm almost out of money for food next week..."

“Don’t panic, Eyjafjalla.” Suri’s voice was like that of the calmest commander, beginning to analyze the situation. “Let’s take it one step at a time. First, the most urgent thing is the property tax, right? The bank’s deadline is next week.”

“Yes…yes.” Eyjafjalla sniffed, trying to concentrate on the most glaring “ultimatum” stamped with the bank’s bright red seal.

“The outstanding amount, plus late fees, totals…” Su Rui’s “consciousness” was like the most sophisticated scanner, quickly “reading” the information on the document and performing rapid, complex mental calculations that Eyjafjalla couldn’t comprehend at all. “Based on the current tax rates in Cumberland County, Columbia, and the valuation range of your property, this amount seems to include unreasonably high penalties. In addition, there are at least three questionable ambiguities in the format and cited clauses of this notice.”

Eyjafjalla was stunned. She stared blankly at the letter before her; the numbers and terms were like gibberish to her. Yet this voice in her head had pointed out so many problems in just a few seconds?

"How...how did you know?" Eyjafjalla asked instinctively, forgetting her fear and replaced by an incredulous curiosity.

Volume 19, page 1269 contains a few rules that are slightly more humane, but not many.

“That’s not important,” Su Rui said calmly. “What’s important is that we have reason to question the reasonableness of this collection notice and the validity of some of the amounts. The first thing you need to do is not to rush to raise money—in fact, you can’t—but to file a formal appeal and review application.”

"Appeal? Review?" Eyjafjalla was even more confused. "But... how do I appeal? I know absolutely nothing about these things... and will they even listen to me? I'm just a..."

“Your parents are missing, and you are their only legal guardian and person with assets. Before you reach adulthood, relevant institutions have an obligation to consider your special circumstances and provide necessary legal aid channels.” Su Rui’s voice was calm and methodical. “I know you don’t understand the procedures. But that’s okay, I can help you.”

"Help me?" Eyjafjalla's heart pounded faster at the faint but real hope.

“Yes,” Suri’s voice carried a convincing certainty. “First, you need to find copies of your parents’ identification documents, your birth certificate, and all the property ownership documents. Then, as I instructed, draft an appeal letter. Emphasize the special circumstances of your parents’ disappearance, question the unreasonable fines, and request a possible tax deferral or reduction based on humanitarian and minor protection clauses. Also, point out the format and terms issues in their notification letter and request written clarification and correction.”

Suri's words were clear and organized, like a seasoned lawyer or accountant offering professional advice. For a teenage girl on the verge of collapse, this was nothing short of a lifeline.

“But… how do I write a letter? Those legal articles and terms…” Eyjafjalla was still somewhat hesitant.

“I will tell you how to say every word.” Suri’s voice was calm yet firm. “You just need to find a piece of paper and a pen, and then write down what I tell you. Remember, be clear and organized, state the facts, and cite the relevant legal provisions you can find—I will tell you where to find them, or how to cite the principles in the most concise way. Don’t whine or beg, that won’t work. Present the facts, state the clauses, and question their procedures.”

Eyjafjalla listened blankly, the voice in her mind seeming to possess a magical power, slowly pulling her out of the mire of despair. She was still afraid, still confused, but at least she had something clear to do, instead of just helplessly crying and waiting for the end of the world.

She looked at the mountain of paper on the table, then at her slightly trembling hands. She took a deep breath and forcefully wiped away her tears.

Although traces of fear and sorrow still lingered in her pink eyes, a faint glimmer of "determination" had appeared.

"What...what should I do? The first step is to find my documents, right?" Eyjafjalla's voice was still nasal, but it was no longer just crying.

“Yes.” A faint, approving ripple seemed to pass through Su Rui’s mind as well. “First, look in your parents’ bedroom or study. They usually keep important documents in a fixed place.”

Eyjafjalla nodded, as if she had made a huge decision. Without further hesitation, she turned and walked towards her parents' bedroom, which had been empty for several weeks but still retained their presence.

The dim light cast a long, slender shadow of the girl. But this time, the shadow was no longer merely a projection of despair. For deep within that unseen ocean of consciousness, a wisp of consciousness from a foreign land, devoid of a body yet not extinguished, was quietly lighting a faint lamp called "hope" in its own way.

Outside the window, the night in Cumberland, Colombia, remained cold and noisy. But for Eyjafjalla, a young girl from Caprini, this night might mark the beginning of a dramatic turning point in her life.

With Suri's clear guidance, Eyjafjalla found a small, locked metal box in her parents' bedside table. The key was hidden in the spine of a thick geology book her father often read—a secret location that Eyjafjalla herself would likely have had difficulty finding in a short time had Suri not relied on her subtle speculations about "human nature" and "scholarly habits" (combined with Eyjafjalla's fragmented memories of her parents' meticulous nature).

The metal box neatly contained copies of the property certificate, her parents' marriage certificate and ID cards, Eyjafjalla's birth certificate, and some important contracts and insurance policies. Looking at these familiar documents, imbued with her parents' presence, Eyjafjalla's eyes welled up again, but she sniffed hard, held back her tears, and carefully carried the documents to the table outside.

Under the dim light, she spread out a slightly yellowed sheet of paper, gripped the pen tightly, and her fingers turned slightly white from tension and force.

"Don't be nervous, take your time." Su Rui's calm voice rang in her mind, like the most patient mentor. "First, write down your full name, address, date, and the full name and address of the other party's organization—the bank and tax department printed on that overdue payment notice."

Eyjafjalla did as she was told. Although her handwriting was a little crooked due to her shaky hand, it was still clear and legible.

"Then, address them as 'Dear Sir/Madam,' or simply 'To the Relevant Department Head,'" Su Rui continued, speaking calmly. "In the first paragraph, briefly explain the situation: You are the legal resident and associated person of this property. Your legal guardian (parents' names) went missing on (specific date) while participating in archaeological work in Letania (approximate location), and their whereabouts remain unknown. This has caused a sudden and significant change in your family's circumstances, resulting in the interruption of your source of income."

Eyjafjalla wrote down each word carefully, recording Suri's clear yet earnest dictation. As she wrote, her heart gradually calmed down. These words expressed the grievances and helplessness she had been holding in, yet presented them in an objective and rational manner, as if they were not the lament of a little girl, but a formal statement of the situation.

“The second part,” Suri’s voice continued, carrying a calm, analytical power, “addresses this collection notice. First, confirm that the property address and tax invoice number are correct. Then, point out the problems you believe exist. First, the penalty amount is excessive, and the calculation basis is not clearly stated, violating Article X of the Colombian Fair Collection Act (Suri, based on fragmented information occasionally flashing through Eyjafjalla’s memories and mentions by her parents during current affairs discussions, combined with her own speculations about similar social rules, has provided a seemingly professional-sounding entry) regarding the principle of penalty transparency.”

Second, the tax law clause (Article Y, Section Z) cited in the notification letter may be disputed regarding its applicability to commercial properties, while your property is clearly for owner-occupancy. Third, the collection process does not adequately consider special remedies in the event of a sudden major change (missing guardian), which violates the spirit of relevant principles for the protection of minors.

Volume 19, Chapter 1270: Of course I'll help you.

Ayjafjalla was completely bewildered; the legal terms and jargon were like gibberish to her. But she trusted the judgment of the mysterious voice in her head. She diligently wrote down Suri's words, word for word. Although she wrote some legal terms haltingly, the general meaning was clear.

“The third paragraph,” Su Rui paused, as if making a final decision, “is to state your core demands. Based on the above circumstances, you, as a minor and the only person connected to the missing guardian, formally file a complaint and request: 1. A review of the reasonableness and amount of the property tax and fine; 2. A suspension of all compulsory collection procedures during the review period and until a clear conclusion is reached regarding your parents’ disappearance; 3. An application for a tax payment extension based on the Temporary Ordinance for Special Circumstances Assistance for Minors (Su Rui again “cited” a clause name that sounded reasonable but was actually “synthesized” based on similar principles that might exist in Colombian society), with a suggested extension period of no less than one year to give you time to find a legal guardian, handle your parents’ affairs, or obtain basic living security through legal means.”

“One year…” Eyjafjalla’s hand trembled again as she wrote the deadline. Was this even possible? Would the banks and tax authorities approve such a long extension request from a child?

“Write it down.” Su Rui’s voice was calm and unwavering. “Negotiations always need to leave room for maneuver. They probably won’t agree to a year right away, but that gives us room to negotiate. Finally, add this: Attach copies of the relevant supporting documents, and we earnestly request that your department, based on humanitarian principles and legal regulations, give this matter careful consideration and respond promptly. Signature and date.”

Eyjafjalla finished writing the last word as instructed and let out a long sigh of relief. Looking at the appeal letter before her, though the handwriting was childish, the logic was clear and the demands were explicit, she could hardly believe that she had written it. The cold, formal quotations and precise wording on the letter seemed to have clothed her in an invisible armor, making her no longer feel only naked fear when facing that "mountain of paper."

“Very good.” There seemed to be a hint of approval in Suri’s voice. “Now, take those important documents you found, and make copies of the property certificate, your birth certificate, the report of your parents’ disappearance (if you have one), and any other documents you can find that can prove their involvement in that Letanian archaeological work, even if it’s just a few letters or fragments of project notices. If you don’t have a photocopier, handwrite the key information as an attachment. Put them in an envelope along with this letter.”

Eyjafjalla's family didn't have a photocopier, so she found some letter paper and carefully transcribed the core information from the key documents—such as her parents' names, ID numbers, property addresses, missing persons reports, and archaeological project names—noting each transcribed document as a summary. This process took some time, but when she neatly stacked the transcribed "attachments" and the appeal letter together, a strange feeling, a mixture of exhaustion and a glimmer of hope, welled up inside her.

“Tomorrow morning,” Suri’s voice rang out again, with a calm and methodical air about planning the next steps, “go to the local post office and send this letter by registered mail to the bank’s tax processing department listed on the overdue payment notice and the county’s tax complaint office. Remember to keep the registered mail receipt; it’s proof that you have formally filed a complaint.”

"And then?" Eyjafjalla couldn't help but ask, her voice filled with anticipation and trepidation. "Is sending the letter enough? Will they... agree to an extension?"

“Sending the letter is the formal start of the process, stating your position and leaving a legally recognized record. This is very important,” Su Rui patiently explained. “But simply sending the letter is not enough. You also need to proactively communicate. After sending the letter tomorrow, call the contact number left on the collection notice.”

"Make...make a phone call?" Eyjafjalla's voice was tense again. The cold, hard paper already suffocated her; the thought of directly speaking to potentially impatient staff sent chills down her spine.

“Yes, make the call.” Su Rui’s voice remained calm, as if she were talking about something perfectly ordinary. “I will tell you what to say. Remember, when you make the call, your tone should be calm, clear, and reasonable. Don’t panic, and don’t cry. You are stating the facts and making a reasonable request, not begging.”

Eyjafjalla nodded vigorously, though her heart was pounding. She found the overdue payment notice and looked at the contact number on it repeatedly, as if trying to etch the number into her brain.

“Now,” Suri’s voice softened, taking on a reassuring tone, “pack your things, and then get a good night’s sleep. You’ve done enough today. We can talk about the rest tomorrow.”

"Sleep?" Eyjafjalla glanced at the still-deep night outside the window, then at the letter she had just finished writing on the table, the letter that carried all her hopes, and shook her head. "I...I can't sleep. As soon as I close my eyes, I..."

“Eyjafjalla.” For the first time, Suri called her by her real name, her voice gentle yet firm. “Listen to me. Fear and anxiety won’t solve anything; they’ll only drain your energy and make you make mistakes when you need to be clear-headed and calm. You need rest now. Trust me, things are starting to look better. Go to sleep, get some rest, and you’ll have the strength to face tomorrow.”

Perhaps it was the unwavering calmness in Suri's voice that affected her, or perhaps the long, emotionally turbulent day had truly exhausted her young body; Eyjafjalla finally felt a wave of intense fatigue wash over her. She looked at the carefully prepared letter on the table, then touched the slip of paper with a phone number written on it in her pocket, and finally, slowly nodded.

She quickly washed up, changed into clean pajamas, and climbed into the cold, empty bed. Her parents' pillows were still there, carrying their lingering scent. Eyjafjalla buried her face in the pillow, took a deep breath, and tears welled up in her eyes again, but this time, besides sadness, there seemed to be something else... something indescribable, faint.

“Su Rui…” she murmured the name silently in her heart. It was the name the voice in her head had given her when she asked. Simple, yet it inexplicably brought her a sense of peace. “Will you… really help me? Tomorrow… is it really possible?”

Volume 19, page 1271: When in doubt, make a phone call first.

“I will help you.” Suri’s voice echoed deep within her consciousness, clear and certain, like the most steadfast promise. “As for tomorrow, we’ll take it one step at a time. Now, close your eyes and don’t think about anything. Sleep.”