A/N: Bro, I did NOT cope at 2.3 (Love it loads but as a Sunday fan...). The moment I saw the ending cutscene and the LIMBO, I was d-o-n-e. I feel like my ideas for this fic have shattered, that it is useless in front of canon and that manifesting the SH agenda might not happen. AND THE ANGST. I did not expect Sunday to be chain, depressed and defeated T_T I want my silly scuffed chicken boy to be happy which is why I do think this fic is cracked and never had high expectations of manifestations come true but still...! So what should I do now? What can I do for Sunday? With the canon in front of me? How do I heal his pain and give him the very best and just hope for the very best because come on, he was a villain, he made his hell paved with good intentions but it was those very good intentions...! Damn it, I need to rework my brain sometimes because I refuse to let this haunt me. I will just try my hand as an SH truther and concede when it isn't, thinking it once more another sweet dream out of my reach... Either way, I still hope people enjoy this silly little fic of copium/hopium that no longer manifests anymore T_T Spite help me.
UPDATE: Light cone animation saved me. Him wishing for all wishes to come true, with the end also a beginning made him sound more hopeful than the defeated and depression and gave me hope, that somehow, someway he will be fine. I LIVED!

When Sunday took the starskiff to get away from Robin and Aventurine, his new famous last words had been "If I can ride a motorbike, why can't I ride the starskiff?"

Those words became a prelude for why Sunday would later be banned from every vehicle in existance because everyone would prefer to refuse a third strike from the reckless criminal, adding illegal driving of absolutely high dangers into his crimes but Sunday would decry all that as exaggeration.

Because he rode a motorbike unscathed. The same could be said for the starskiff.

The same could not be said for any building, person or starskiff in the vicinity but it was truly a miracle there was nary a casualty.

The only casualties were inanimate objects and unlike in Penacony, they do not have the voice to complain or message the proper authorities for compensation and justice. Owners of said inanimate objects do but at least for all intents and purposes, Sunday was sure they were safe.

"Honestly, let me drive. I'm sure we can get to our destination in a safer way than whatever you are doing now."

He looked at his passenger on the starskiff, holding on for dear life if they even have any life in them all, Mr. Bun Bun. Sunday frowned, saying, "And how can you drive, of all things? With your... ah, forgive me, stubby legs and hands."

"What? How dare you?" Mr. Bun Bun gasped, offended, "That is toy discrimination and I did not expect that you of all people to fall so low for such a thing!"

"Again, apologies. I honestly am still reeling from this situation. Making levity of it, even if it was making fun to the point of insults to you, was hardly an appropriate reaction," Sunday apologized.

Normally, Sunday wouldn't be this rude. He was the prim and proper Oak Family leader who knew better to mind his manners even in front of his enemies and only spitting out viritol when there was nothing left to hide and truly deserved. And even he knew that the bunny did not deserve any insult to their toy-ness, despite how Sunday felt about the matter.

And yet for some reason, he couldn't help the banter as if he had done it all his life with Mr. Bun Bun. Then again, right up until his teenage years, he had aspired much with the toy and had spoke in that simple crude way once before, in learning how to make a comedy skit for his sister. It was quickly discarded in favour that it simply was not his style but maybe reinforced old habits.

A weak justification for his rudeness, but something that nagged him within his mind. A familiarity that shouldn't exist for the unexpected. When Mr. Bun Bun did not talk beyond Sunday's apologies, Sunday decided it was best to get his questions out of the way.

"Why are you here?" Sunday finally asked. He did not ask how the plush bunny came to life or what they really are. Faintly, he had ideas. But he wanted confirmation as well.

"Ah, so you do have some inkling of what I am, don't you Sunday? I guess I told Robin a lie when I said you don't really know to her but what are a few little white lies, when the both of us are sorting this out with this connection between you and I?" Mr. Bun Bun answered, "I still wonder though, why you are so surprised about this outcome when it is by our connection and your deeds that this was inevitable."

"Excuse me?" Sunday asked, being thrown off the blue by such a statement.

"How to make sense of this...?" Mr. Bun Bun asked instead, reaching out for an answer that Sunday would like to know thank you very much, "You are the reason I am alive and with you with our special connection tying each other especially when you were children."

"But it wasn't to this extent," Sunday stressed out, "Neither me nor Robin had the power or ability to make an inanimate object... come to life."

Neither Sunday nor Robin were touched by the Abundance for such a thing to happen, and even if they had been, Sunday wondered whether the Abundance really had the capability to bring life to what never had one in the first place. Revival, resurrection, immortality and birth sure but it always starts off from the living or what had once lived. But for the toy...

"And what if you suddenly have the power to bring me to life? Isn't me being here proof enough to you?" Mr. Bun Bun suggested and Sunday frowned, narrowly hitting a bridge as he flew under the bridge.

"When... did you start living? What happened when you got to life?" Sunday asked, changing subject with his own set of questions.

"Just recently," Mr. Bun Bun pondered, following along with Sunday's questions no matter how redundant they may be if both knew regardless, "You didn't summon us merry band like before, but I felt that you and Robin were in distressed. I didn't want either of you to be unhappy and I know that it caused you a lot of grief Sunday, so I just knew... that I couldn't let your sweet dreams turn sour. Even if you think it's for your and Robin's own good."

"And what makes you think you know so much of me? Are you really saying that you are living to just fulfill a purpose about me that you have conjured up?" Sunday asked, quite disbelieving of such a reason.

"I am hearing stubborn denial once more, Sunday," Mr. Bun Bun said sadly, "Why won't I know so much of you when you love to confide to the merry band a lot? How can you say that my purpose was conjured up when it is your purpose that I am helping you fulfill?"

The lullabies had always been more than enough, a bittersweet reminder of their mother that reminded them of a past but resolved themselves to the future. The nightmares would vanish in the lull of a gentle past and a hopeful future, warmed further on the coldest nights in the fluffy comfort of the stuffed toys that surrounded the children.

And yet, in waking reality lullabies will not help them escape into a dream when focused on present moments. Young, new and only having themselves at the time in their adopted world, they found other uses to their stuffed companions, in the simple childish idea of imaginary friends, of a dream where their companions were as alive as them to listen to woes and be there...

Sister and brother had both confided. When the sister left for freedom and the brother had grown up to pack away the toys back from childhood memories, even then in the adult world, the unwanted childish part of him came back, and even summoned those toys in a grand play of puppetry, something unchangable even back in the childhood days.

To be reminded, to feel how much he had grown, to remincse, to be comforted and reassured even without his sister by his side during the weakest of times.

When he was a kid...

"Let's aim for the paradise with so many stars of happiness for everyone!"

When he was growing up, summoning them...

"I wonder why you always keep coming back to me in particular, when I try summoning and controlling. Is it that you missed me? Do you want to help me with my sister's latest concert? But don't tell her, 'coz it's a secret~"

Even when he knows they will never respond, when spoken word was enough to give him courage for the remaining days on end. When he simply needed a listener, instead of being the listener himself...

"I must always act prim and proper and yet I can never seem to get rid of you. Then again, I don't think my sister would want to get rid of you. Me neither. Don't you remember the concert we first ever had with Robin? Life was simpler at that time, huh?"

How did he always come back to a stuffed toy in the darkest of nights, at his bed with olden toys never gotten rid of, unknown to many others to keep up the hard facade that an Oak Family Head must assume, what the Dreammaster expects lest be eaten by the world. But even then...

"When did dreaming become so hard? Why couldn't it have been as simple long ago? Or was I deluding myself? Hey, if you were in my shoes... if you could help me, if... imaginary friends were made real... what would you have done?"

"... How do you find living?" Sunday asked, changing the subject as he was unsure what to think. Unsure whether any conclusions he could reach out to the birth of the rabbit were something he wanted to touch upon at this very moment. Yet, he couldn't answer the bunny's rhetoric question, couldn't deny them as it stood. He thought back to the birth of the bunny, of a power that could actually animate it to life, to be so intimate with him at this very moment.

The only power Sunday would possess would be Harmony and Order, and if it was somehow enough to animate a toy, give it life that connected to Sunday himself...

"I would like living a lot more, if I wasn't scared of dying," Mr. Bun Bun said flatly as Sunday made a sharp turn.

"What a natural reaction," Sunday said, "What do you want to do?"

"Making sure you don't do anything stupid," Mr. Bun Bun answered easily, "I worry for you."

"You really do care about me," Sunday remarked.

"Why not? We went through a lot together," Mr. Bun Bun said.

If you counted childhood adventures, a merry band and being summoned as puppets to be conducted for Sunday's bidding, then sure.

Even so, he was nowhere close to confirming the plush bunny's origins to life or why this was happening, period. Even if this was his own doing, that he somehow gave life to the bunny with the connection they had, he felt like this was something that he could not take away. But he never anticipated this nor the bunny's insubordination especially in reaching out to Robin, even with worry that something might spill and Robin would be inclined to do something reckless... He really rather not that, but for why this might be happening, to understand it...

"Maybe, just maybe... this is from the script," Sunday quietly tried to convince himself, but for one that had throughly read the script to the point of memorization, it was a false hope that shouldn't even need a double take.

From the poem to the scripts he had in hand now when 'settling' the Stellaron Hunter life, there will always be a pre-destined end and the choices and circumstances that would lead to such but whatever other choices that do not pertain, for other pre-destined endings that did not catch the Slave's eyes, they were... unknown. He was left in the dark on things he would rather know, on the account of... infinite possibilities. Truly resigned to fate and yet more free to live through them, reaching out a pre-destined end but also encountering unexpected ends that gives new beginnings throughout a fortuitous journey that revealed much beyond the script he had in hand.

"Even more stubborn denial, Sunday," Mr. Bun Bun finally said, "But I know you don't believe what happened with us something to do with Destiny's Slave. Or maybe eventually, this will reach Destiny's Slave script, because who knows why they recruited you?"

Sunday had thought about it from time to time, but from being out here and trying to fulfill dreams and wishes, he hadn't really looked a gift at a horse's mouth, or maybe cat's claws? At the very least, Mr. Bun Bun was expressing doubts that Sunday had been harbouring all this time when he calls out Sunday and asked questions that he had thought but pushed back to simply complete the mission. Was such a thing because of their special connection?

"Is there a point you like to make, or is there anything else you want me to realize before I reach my destination?" Sunday asked.

"You really don't miss a beat, do you? You also not delving further anymore about how I came to be either, huh? Fair enough, when you are busy with other things. Eventually, we will figure out our dynamic in this world and make peace with it. I just want to know, are you feeling alright?"

"... I did not just hear a plush bunny trying to become my therapist by asking a question that will undoubtedly lead to the talk. Not now, when I could reach my destination at any moment and would need total focus," Sunday said flatly, probably overexaggerating in paranoia of the entire world against him which felt real being a criminal. He knew that was all in his head and there was no use playing the victim, but forgive him if he felt utterly bamboozled by the plush bunny that came to life by his own doing even though he's not exactly sure how.

"Ah well, interpret however you wish," Mr. Bun Bun sighed, "We will talk more one day, but I can see you are very close to the destination you seek, so may we meet again when I heed your call or in our sweet dreams."

"Don't you even think of going back to Robin," Sunday warned when he felt their conversation was nearing an end.

"Worried that I will let out anything that may make her do something reckless?" Mr. Bun Bun figured that out correctly, possibly through their 'special connection', "I think she has more right to be worried about your recklessness than you with her recklessness. With how you follow the script without question, like now when you are driving so recklessly without a care because you believe that following the script won't allow you to die as long as the script has use for you. Your life is more than just that, more than being a puppet to other's whims like this you know?"

And? What's so wrong in sticking to the script? It was easy, following orders and putting himself to crime instead of say, going back to the days when he was arrested and was about to go to trial. It had all happened too fast, and it was still happening too fast but he welcomed the distraction. He welcomed the escape from reality, in performance that threw himself into work instead of the stagnation when he was arrested and confined by the Bloodhounds.

Unhealthy as it was, it stopped the negative flow of depressed and defeated thoughts, giving him hopeful respite for a continuation that should never existed from the expected end, a time up that he inevitably hurtled towards. For some time, he managed to keep the prim and polite facade, in figuring out and dare he say it, testing the Stellaron Hunters to truly understand how their group operates. In such a short time, he still had his reservations but at least he can agree with their different goals, the team simply banded together to help each other realize each and every one of them. So far, Sunday can accept that even when there were lines he would never cross.

He never had the luxury to be picky. His potential end decided to become a beginning and he threw himself to those whims, only hoping everyone's wishes come true. Of course, he could only follow...

But Mr. Bun Bun seemed to disagree. And yet, Sunday only knew what his answer was.

A person with a new beginning, with a defeat as an end and who's life was supposed to be rightfully cut short then and there only to be given a precious yet undeserving second chance, could only say this:

"Unfortunately, I do not dream for more in my life. As long as everyone's wishes come true, the rest... does not matter."

He then unfortunately experienced some turbulence as his starskiff crashed as he was admittedly not focusing as much on the sky with his thought provoking conversation with the bunny. As the bunny jumped in front of Sunday, as if trying to shield the damage that was undoubtedly crashing on Sunday, he knew this was all going according to plan.

Right now, he could feel Mr. Bun Bun's disapproval because he was risking his life for the surety of a script to put on a set for the next act from what people would know as an accident. The last thing he would hear was shock and surprise having crashed where people were. The last thing he would see be a bright and yet unblinding light. And for the first time, he felt a little more at peace ever since the Order conspiracy.

May this set the stage for more wishes, because Sunday could only rush through what is set in store for the very next act:

'I can't wait for you to know more of who you are. You always had so much questions and respectfully do not seek answers, but the answers will come with you in time and understanding. Among the questions were, why did the criminal deserve the second chance? What can the criminal do to be recruited for a hand in weaving destiny? This will be but your first step, when you throw yourself into darkness for a fated meeting that will open up new paths for yourself and many others. Do try to figure him out and deal him in for the upcoming inevitable. You will understand when you see it~'

***

For Sunday, dreaming was a luxury he rarely afforded. He never dreamt much, long over it after childhood. And yet that was because he spent every sleeping moment within a dream that was but an extension to the waking world when he spend days at reality and nights at Dreamscape.

And yet, when he does dream, it was only through childhoods once lived and rarely a what-if that he yearned. In dreams, Sunday was sure to experience memories when he found himself once more in child form, awaiting the familiar figure of his sister that usually accompanies him within those dreams as they have done much together.

But then Sunday noticed abnormalities within the dream, because first of all, he was lucid. Never was he ever in control of his dreams, simply reliving them until he woken up for them to drip away back to his subconscious. And yet, Sunday could currently think, remember the past and present and what led him to blacking out. He could feel more strongly in th dream, able to think and not go with the flow, aware of everything happening around him.

Second of all, the place was completely unfamiliar to him with a lush forest and clearing that did not resound with his childhood to adulthood. Something he knew his subconscious cannot come up, especially this vividly if he didn't have anything to refer this place to.

For the young Sunday, who had looked around, he briefly wondered whether this was reality instead of a dream but the forest was not from the Xianzhou, that much he could tell. There was another assumption to death, and that he was in some weird afterlife but Sunday was confident, despite the oddities he was now experiencing, that he was surely in a dream. Of unknown origins.

'Are these the new opening paths the script described?' Sunday thought, deciding that it was no use to stick around for now, 'Then where is the fated person I am supposed to meet?'

"A fated person to meet? What's... that supposed to mean? How would I approach this? He's approaching 'me' and there's a devil right behind him. So I have to save him."

'Wait what?' Sunday thought, because he was alone in this vast dream and yet heard a voice out of nowhere, with quite disturbing content as he spun around behind him to see...

The rustling trees giving way to a creature most foul. Sunday could not describe the grostequeness and he had seen all forms of life within Penacony, even the evil and tyrannical who had stowawayed into the Planet of Festivities with the hopes of utter destruction but none of the creatures he had ever met could aptly describe the humanoid who had rushed towards him in madness.

So stunned he was, Sunday stayed rooted in place before someone screamed, "Move away!"

His next action had already been decided for Sunday, when he felt a tug away from the abomination that he had heeded, unfrozen in place and moving backward by the gentle pull he cannot discern before someone ran by past him. A swish, a cry and a blinding light (familiar light) preluded the abomination on the ground, heaving and bloodless before he turned around to meet his saviour.

His saviour was a young boy similar to Sunday's current dream age. Blonde haired with an outfit not unlike Sunday's Bronze Melodia days signifying the boy to most likely be part of a religion, the boy's light green eyes met Sunday's gold ones with worry and concern although he did not miss the surprise when the green eyes took in the halo and wings as if he had never met a Halovian in his life.

"Things haven't settled into insanity yet. I can't really let this angel run around, but where did he come from? Has God finally send a messenger to help us from our plight? Have the priests preaching the miracles through trials and tribulations been right all along?"

"Are you alright?" The blonde boy asked, even when Sunday took glances at the aomination, as still as the dead before looking back at the boy who was weaponless to deal with such a blow. Even in a dream, the eccentricity and unpredictability of the events left him reeling.

"I'm... I'm fine," Sunday said, appropriately in shock with the back of his mind and yet another tug that compelled him to answer as such (something he made note of to figure out later even when ironically, it felt like a non-issue), "What... was that?"

"A devil," the blonde boy sighed, smiling wryly at Sunday's shock, "It really must be surprising, but unfortunately they are real sir angel. There's only a single countermeasure against these type of things, with the artifact Abyss Flower, as decreed by the church."

He swung around a cross necklace wrapped around his hand that glowed a soothing light that felt healing to Sunday and yet looked like it burned the dead devil. The moment he heard that necklace's name and truly took in the features did Sunday realize who exactly he was talking to, and he did his best suppresing his shock.

The young boy would later grow up, escaping from the planet that had an unprecedented disaster and become a merchant with excellent medical skills. The merchant would later go to the Xianzhou Luofu with a coffin, smuggle the Stellaron and be imprisoned to be sent to trial at Xuling until the Luofu General detoured them to Yuque.

The merchant went by a fair few names, but his Xianzhou name is Luocha.

After dealing with Aventurine, Sunday had been tasked to seek out the merchant detailed out by the script through an unfortunate starskiff crash, an accident that will unsettle the crashed transport housing Luocha and conviniently drop Sunday to his lap. As a healer, Sunday presumed, Luocha might not be able to leave an injured man unattended and help heal him with his excellent medical skills, enough so that Sunday would awake to him and start off a fated meeting without any other intervention.

At least, that was what Sunday thought would happen when he unfortunately crashed that starskiff but fate wanted them to meet in a different way altogether, as children in a dream. Sunday was even doubtful whether Luocha would even remember this when they both wake up. Sunday thought back to the script and his current mission...

Unlike for Sunday, the Stellaron Hunters do not plan to recruit Luocha, or Jingliu for that matter who was the partner in crime for the man and promptly distracted along with other guards by Blade since Elio wanted Sunday to 'figure out Luocha, and Luocha alone'. But their goals, and the actions they took preceeding it, apparently intrigued Elio enough to bring both Blade and Sunday into the mix for... interesting information and reassurances.

'Try to figure and deal with him for the upcoming inevitable indeed,' Sunday thought, but realizing the person before him did not change his confusion to how and why he was meeting Luocha like this. The dream itself was a strange point in the first place, with that unknown voice and unknown tug so similar to strings.

'Too many unexpected things have happened,' Sunday thought with an internal sigh, 'First Mr. Bun Bun and now this dream. But I feel this is more because of me than any other circumstance, and that the script has an inkling but ask me to figure out for myself.'

Well, Sunday never had the luxury of choice, with the unknown in front of him and had to figure out how to proceed.

"... Did you just call me an angel?" Sunday now asked, trying to compartmentalize the information and see to its use once he woke up, if he would ever remember this dream. But Sunday was fairly confident that he would. 

"What else am I suppose to call you?" Luocha asked, tone acting more deferential, "The halo and those wings, can't you be anything else but an angel. The church would be pleased to meet you."

Again, about a church. Considering Sunday was called an angel, it seems Luocha is unaware of the Halovian species that may not exist in this planet without any space travel to acquire such knowledge around this time. A dream of a past not his own...

"Please call me Sunday," Sunday introduced himself unsure what to do but go with the flow, "And what am I supposed to call you?"

"Oh, I'm..." Luocha started, about to give a name before nothing came out and the boy was unaware of this. Sunday tried to stop the frown coming to his mouth, as the thought came unforbidden:

'Did... did the dream redact his name?'

This might as well be a dream alright.

"With introductions out of the way, you should come with me. Who knows how many devils are going to come?" Luocha asked, reaching out his hand towards Sunday.

Once again, the choice was made for him, almost instinctually that Sunday almost didn't realized he felt the same tug or nudge that had caused him to run away from the abomination as his own hand reached towards Luocha's...

And phased through, before briefly the forest flickered and Luocha almost disappeared.

"I have met an angel but wait, that's not really an angel, right? What did she call them? Halovians? My first time meeting them... and then what happened next next? The devils still grow strong even as the years passed by and once upon a time, the church had wished that an angel from our God would come by to save us and I wonder, if Halovians were like angels..."

'That voice again? I can hear it but they seem to be talking to themselves. What is happening?'

Stumbling about, Sunday blinked once before he found himself at a church looking a few years older than his previous encounter with the young Luocha by the reflections from the windows he found himself staring at. The scenery changed as eccentric, unpredictable and curiously as ever.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry but the church is closed for the day. If you... oh-"

"Huh, what's wrong, Great Healer? Huh, is that a Halovian? I had no idea they live in your planet as well~"

"Halo... Halovian? I have no idea what that is. Maybe they are an alien just like you."

"How rude. Just because your planet hasn't been introduced to space travel yet doesn't mean that everyone from the galaxies are aliens. Oh, we have been ignoring you for a while now. Sorry about that, but what's a Halovian like you doing here?"

His newfound situation did not give Sunday any reprieve as he was immediately spotted and talked to by Luocha, a young teenager going by the years of the growth spurt in his height and longer blonde hair accompanied with a white haired girl in a braid of similar age. It was the girl that had pointed him out as a Halovian and inquired about why he was here. Personally, Sunday would like to know it himself and with limited knowledge can only act as such.

"How will he respond? As an amnesiac? And then what will 'we' do? It hasn't been so long since aliens once again descended and the priests have been suspect. We were supposed to sneak in so we never expected this unknown visitor..."

"I... I have no idea. Where am I?" Sunday asked, affecting the confusion he actually feel about the circumstances and the idea of amnesiac that seemed planted into his mind by that voice which felt like an agreeable suggestion that he allowed himself to follow along.  

"How do I deal with this unknown visitor? Why is he here all of a sudden? Would it have made any difference, if he was here... or not?"

Whatever that voice was, Sunday himself could not answer because he was still grasping what was going on, feeling ironically like a puppet that Mr. Bun Bun themselves did not want him to be. And yet in this situation, it was a welcoming whim he did not mind and yet the logical part of his brain sought out the reason why. He cursed himself for not expecting this dreamlike situation, unsure how to proceed and furiously thought back to the script, whether there were any lines about this situation that he was unaware of until he was experiencing it now.

And then, it clicked.

'Criminals fatefully meet, laying themselves bare to when they were not. Without warning yet with unknown guidance of a power never theirs seized a time ago finally realised, pasts and what-ifs had been waved around and a criminal would finally put the pieces together.'

OK, how was Sunday, back then, supposed to know that part of the script meant something like this, in this dreamlike state? But wasn't that the point of such vague scripts foretelling the future with so many unknowns that would not even make sense until time allowed him to actually experience and understand himself?

'Unknown guidance of a power never theirs seized a time ago... For a long time, I only had  the power of Harmony and Order but this... this is new. Unless, Ena's dream? It's still different... and yet...'

Sunday  remembered the weird voice somehow at least reacting to his thoughts, and how he had led people through Ena's dream. This was a similar variant and it was not like he could just sit around trying to fumble through a conversation. So there was one simple solution to this, helping him figure out Luocha while avoiding unnecessary parts such as this fumbling conversation.

He was after all a lucid dreamer in someone else's dream so why can't he push Luocha's subconscious to flow through this dream into an ending that even Sunday could understand. A summary that didn't have him making any false plays to abruptly disturb the scene until they would eventually wake up.

It was insanity and yet an instinct, that Sunday was weirdly confident in. He had not felt as such since his ascension and he chose to pour it out in his thoughts, when seeing what suggestion would do in this precarious dream:

'You want to sneak in, don't you? So what are you waiting for? Sneak in, let me help if you must. Even an unknown visitor, do you even have time to play with an amnesiac. Why not leave me, and go forth on your journey before it's too late?'

"Your... right. Even when... the young angel is a curious  thing, if I... if we don't make it in time, we... we..."

Before Luocha could even answer, the scene shifted and Sunday sharpened his awareness as not to get caught by the changes, and found himself deliberately behind a tunnel leading to an underground lair, beautiful with its stone pews, lush greenery and even a coffin oh so similar to  the one he knows Luocha owns. Was this where it originated from?

Sunday then noticed the burning greenery, the destroyed pews and then bloodstained marks oh so suddenly. Coming to his vision had been the white haired girl he once met kneeling to the ground and crying out for her father, the young Luocha swaying the Abyss Flower at the coffin and also a priest that seemed to be arguing with the both of them.

"We didn't make it in time, but I am sure that curious angel... Halovian that I have met, the one oh so curious might change things. For a dream I could have, than a reality that I live in..."

The strings tugged and while Sunday would really have no business to intervene in such a situation, dreams existed for a reason he reminded himself. Unlike reality, dreams were a what-if for a happy ending they might not have gotten, an escape from the terrible and evil they rather not have. 

'If it's a sweet dream that you want... let me bestow it upon you.'

This was more familiar ground for Sunday, even in a story not his own because how many times in Penacony, the Planet of Festivities, a dream world itself, that he had to accomodate for people's own dreams and made sure it suited their needs? This was almost similar to when he had put people to Ena's dream although he knew this situation was nothing like Ena's. He couldn't recognize these circumstances with the power of Xipe either.

"Then who's power is in play for this shared dream?" Sunday asked quietly to himself, oh so familiar and confusing at the same time. He wondered whether Elio had known and let him experience himself, as a future possibility infinite as the stars and yet that can wait, when his present situation forced him to play along. To experiment, to understand, to emphatize.

Because whatever the dream was, real from the past or fake from a fantastical adventure, the story was nevertheless moving Sunday to action that the strings, one he could speculate coming from that unknown voice... from Luocha, maybe, guiding him to a set of actions as a potential lucid dreamer himself to dictate actions he want for this dream for the adventure they truly desire.

"Then, I don't want this to happen. Go back... to when we should have figured out their motives earlier, where I could have protected her sooner, where I could have saved him sooner. And just maybe..." 

The dream flickered and Sunday was quite literally thrusted through many scenes, fickle as a dream itself and jumping all over the place from meeting that white-haired girl from a young age, fighting many devils and getting overwhelmed until a white haired rugged man potentially the white haired girl's father coming to the rescue. The dream briefly touched back to the young boy and girl exploring underground until reaching the scene about the coffin. Then, Sunday saw Luocha thrusting the Abyss Flower towards the coffin and priest until a blinding light seared Sunday into perpetual darkness.

Throughout it all, Sunday had observed and as if he was connected with Luocha as the lucid dreamer, he was allowed to know the feelings coursing through the man throughout the tumultous events. Wonder, happiness, anger, guilt, regret, remorse, betrayal, resolve and-

"But that's all impossible, because it's just a daydream after all. To save everything at once, and I'm now left nothing but a promise... and a mission."

Sunday found himself in a sea of white flowers, as the blonde man of current age in reality ran through his hand with the Abyss Flower on the coffin's surface, looking at everywhere and nowhere. With a realization, Sunday was aware that Luocha and that voice did not realize he could hear him. Sunday connecting Luocha through a daydream, how does that even work...?

Is it because it was a dream regardless? When did Sunday presume such power over dreams? How did it come to him so naturally? Was it because of his own wish, for everyone's wishes and dreams to come true? For a paradise of their dreams? 

He had looked on at Luocha and the coffin, even when the daydream was edging closer to a black even with a faint glowing light beckoning him. Back to reality?

There was still so much that he was unsure, that he did not know, but at least whatever Destiny's Slave wanted with this man, he might be able to reach an understanding through empathy, with motives seemingly unearthed and an origin that might explain powers intriguing Elio? Sunday was unsure, being thrusted without much information before hand but he had to take it for what it was.

'Even still, may all wishes come true. Let this Halovian help you.'

A simple suggestion, nothing more. An appeal, for an open-minded conversation. A test, to see whether he had gotten this right. After all, a suggestion to the subconscious might lead to an instinctual action favouring him. As the darkness started taking Sunday over, his last vision was Luocha getting up from the coffin and walking towards the darkness as well.

Without, even once, looking back.  And the strings never once pursued.

***

Luocha did not expect a crashing starskiff to be part of the agenda on his day, let alone a Halovian rare as they were especially one with wings on their neck falling right on his lap clearly unconscious. There had been fewer of such species ever since some Stellaron disasters invaded their planets and there were only but Halovians in certain planets such as Penacony only with their halos on head but rarely with any wings that accentuate their angelic appearance.

As a merchant, he had kept up with news right up until his subsequent arrest that he was still going through with the trial needing much preparation through bureaucracy and diversions where until then, he was met with many authorities trying to figure out motives and arrange such before being transported once more for another tactic to throughly wring the criminal dry. Regardless, his information might be slightly outdated but as long as there were no major changes he could not foresee, the person lying on his lap was the Oak Family Head, known to lead the Family after the Dreamaster in Penacony. 

What an influential person was doing in the Xianzhou and getting himself into a starskiff crash was beyond Luocha but an injured person falling straight to his lap insinctually made Luocha catch the man, settling him to his lap before the necklace in hand left a dim glow upon the man in hopes of healing whatever injuries sustained and then waking up to explain himself.

The crash was worse on the transport ship Luocha was in than first thought, with the starskiff dislodging falling debris that actually fell upon them. In trying to sheild his newfound and unexpected patient, debris managed to hit him on the head causing a probable concussion when he blanked out for a second as he tried to remind himself where he was. Setting his sight to the sleeping Oak Family Head's face, he focused on the task of healing not only on him but to himself to make sure being hit didn't leave anything worse for wear.

When trying to orient himself, the loss of conscious however faintly seem to thrust him into a nonsensical daydream, of a meaningless past and what could have been changed. Maybe it was because of the man on his lap but he also made an appearance from a child version to his current age with the faint idea about an angel that his homeworld would like to revere considering the church that had once thrived and once burned down to the ground. 

Luocha gathered enough consciousness to feel weird about such an unexpected dream, before looking back to the Halovian who had yet to move an inch in such peaceful sleep. It was a sensation that he experienced for the first time, a feat unimaginable for a merchant who had explored much of the galaxy and experienced much.

'He can help me with my wishes...'

It was a thought that came all too suddenly, unknowingly and yet felt right even when the Oak Family Head was starting to stir beyond him opening up yellow eyes staring right into his own green ones.

Luocha knew better than to be fooled. At that span of the moment, with a brief loss of consciousness and a dream, something happened. He knew that the Oak Family Head is well-versed in the Harmony but the power exuding from him... screamed a potential Luocha dared not imagine. Just like how easily he could tell a Nameless friend at the Astral Express harboured a Stellaron, he had an inkling about a great, new power bordering on said potential that made Luocha realized he indeed missed much during his arrest and subsequent imprisonment.

'Does he even realize that for himself? Does he know who I am? Is crashing here and meeting him more than simple coincidence?'

Those thoughts firmly came from his consciousness rather than the subconscious thought he previously had, knowing he had to get to the bottom of it lest he wanted to make his own life more complicated than it has to be. In the middle of a gambit and obstacles, the Halovian before him could prove himself to be an ally, nuisance or enemy.

"Ah, what happened?" the Halovian asked, as he stared around unable to hide the surprise and shock of the mess that happened around the transport ship from him crashing the starskiff.

"That's what I would like to know... Mr. Sunday, isn't it?" Luocha asked, amused at Sunday's eyes widening at him knowing the name, "Is it really surprising that I know who you are, Mr. Sunday? Brother to a well-renowned singer and a leader of the Planet of Festivities where many merchants such as myself would like to do business. I wished we could meet in more fortunate circumstances."

"Indeed," Sunday replied before realizing that he was lying on Luocha's lap and then got up in a fluster, "Forgive me."

Luocha laughed lightly at the slight embarassment Sunday had for simply sleeping on someone's lap. It was quite upright of the man before him, and Luocha waved off the apology easily.

"It's fine," Luocha said, as he sened that the conversation might not go anywhere that either men would prefer if they continue to dawdle with pleasantries but he also knew that one would have to make a move, in an unexpected stalemate for both men who are at a loss of what they want from each other.

It was indeed a fortuitous meeting, and despite the circumstances as they are, he would like to see where this would go.