Chapter 31 – The Fractured Dream
The world was wrong.
Colors bled through each other like wet paint, sky and earth refusing to agree on where one ended. Rimuru stepped into the distortion and felt her body fragment, then pull back together, as if the dream itself couldn't decide whether to accept her.
Her boots touched the surface — if it could even be called that. The ground shimmered like glass one moment and turned soft as mist the next. Floating above, pieces of memory drifted by — glowing shards showing flashes of Aira's life: laughter in a classroom, a childhood drawing, the faint image of a woman's hand reaching out before vanishing into static.
Rimuru exhaled slowly. "You really buried this deep, huh?"
She started walking. Each step echoed with a faint pulse, like the dream was breathing. The air was thick with Aira's emotions — warmth, fear, confusion — but also something darker. A sense of guilt.
The distortion pulsed again, and suddenly the world around her shifted.
Now she was in a school hallway — warped, endless, repeating like a looped film. The lockers whispered as she passed, muttering words that didn't quite form. On one door, she saw her own reflection staring back — only this version of Rimuru smiled too widely, her red-and-blue eyes glowing faintly.
> "You shouldn't be here," the reflection said. "Not like this."
Rimuru tilted her head. "You again. You always say that, but you never stop me."
The reflection's grin widened. "Because deep down, you want to be here."
Before Rimuru could answer, the sound of crying echoed from down the hall. She turned sharply — the light flickered, colors bleeding again — and there, crouched at the end of the hallway, was Aira.
Only… not quite.
This Aira was smaller, younger — maybe ten, trembling, holding a cracked phone close to her chest. Around her, shadows swirled like living ink, whispering the same word over and over: "Why?"
Rimuru's eyes softened. "So this is where it started."
She stepped forward — but the ground shattered beneath her feet. The world splintered again, and Rimuru fell through a kaleidoscope of Aira's memories.
Each fragment she passed through replayed a moment — Aira being laughed at by classmates, standing under the rain after an argument with her mother, her reflection flickering in a mirror as a faint hum echoed. Every emotion hit Rimuru like a heartbeat.
Then — she landed.
The new space was wide, quiet, and pale — like standing in a snowstorm without the cold. In the distance stood Aira, older now, wearing her school uniform, facing away.
Rimuru took a step forward.
And the air moved.
Dozens of glasslike figures emerged from the fog — all shaped like Aira, each with faintly cracked faces. Their eyes glowed with the same unstable energy Rimuru had once helped her control.
Rimuru sighed, rolling her shoulders. "Of course. Emotional projections. Why does it always have to be emotional projections?"
The figures tilted their heads in unison.
Then they attacked.
Rimuru's aura burst to life — blue and red light rippling across the dream like ripples through water. She moved between them with inhuman speed, each strike precise, gentle enough to break the illusion without hurting the real Aira.
But with every fragment shattered, Rimuru felt it — Aira's fear, her loneliness, her guilt.
And through it all, one thought echoed in Rimuru's mind:
> "She doesn't remember… but part of her still feels it."
When the last illusion fell, Rimuru stood in silence, breathing softly, surrounded by flickering light.
Ahead, the real Aira still stood — untouched, unaware, but trembling.
Rimuru took another step, reaching out her hand.
"Hey… it's just me."
Aira turned, eyes wide — and for a split second, Rimuru saw her pupils flash silver, just like Ren's.
The distortion cracked agai