Awareness came back slowly.
Gray mist spread in every direction.
No noticeable features could be seen.
An indeterminate amount of time seemed to pass.
At one point, a new presence started to emerge.
Some of the gray mist parted as a humanoid figure came into form.
That figure was a man who wore a filigreed red-and-white uniform.
Any human in the Red Ocean was able to identify this iconic man.
He was Professor Ves Larkinson, the most innovative and successful Senior Mech Designer of the new frontier.
A grave and solemn expression appeared on the man's face. The strong sense of insubstantiality and disassociation made it difficult to get a clear look at the famous mech designer.
When the man opened his mouth, no sound seemed to propagate.
The man did not give up and repeated his words.
"...on…mon…Imon…me Imon…er me Imon…Can you hear me Imon?"
At one point, another insubstantial figure became increasingly driven by instinct to offer a response.
"I… hear… your… call…"
It was incredible for Imon, for now he finally recalled his own identity, to issue a simple response.
It was as if he had to lift up several times his own body weight just to say a single word!
What happened to him? Why did he become so incredibly weak? What was this mist-filled place?
A sympathetic expression appeared on the mech designer's face.
"Imon… do you remember… what happened to you during your last battle?"
Nothing but fog filled Imon's mind.
"Duqaste XI… L'Koi, the Faceless Warrior… the Saint Piercer… purged his raiment… Blade Chaser Mark II got impaled from the back… no chance for your body to survive…"
As Ves patiently summarized the sequence of Venerable Imon's last battle, the high-tier expert pilot finally remembered what had befallen him at the end.
He died!
He should have felt shocked at this result.
He should have felt indignant for dying far too soon.
He should have felt unwilling to leave his sister bereft of his existence.
Yet… in his weak and foggy mindset, he only felt tired.
His time had come, no matter whether he accepted it or not. Death came to everyone. Nobody could refuse its call.
Every part of his insubstantial existence accepted the unmistakable fact that he had died.
He no longer belonged among the living anymore.
He should make peace with this fact and embrace his next destination, whatever that may be. Imon was a secularist, so he never really thought hard about whether there was a definable afterlife. In his current soul-weary condition, he was ready for anything.
Yet there was a certain presence in this strange environment that did not want to see Imon depart from his current life and reality.
"IMON! Wake up, you dolt! Don't go! You may be dead, but that does not mean you have to disappear! There are more possibilities than moving on! I have seen people and beasts figure out a way to live after death before. So long as you are strong enough, you can force yourself to persist in our current realm!"
That sounded way too esoteric for Imon, especially now when his mentality was degrading by the second.
He was dead.
Parts of him were already crumbling away.
Soon, there would be nothing left to hold any conscious thoughts.
Why wasn't he moving on already? Why must this phase be prolonged?
He was so tired…
"You dummy… you don't have to die! You can still live! Don't you want to find a way to stay in the realm of the living and make up for all of your past regrets?!"
The words of the mech designer sounded so distant to Imon. Every fiber of his crumbling being had been infected by the force of death. He was no longer alive. Why must he continue to listen to the prattle of a person that he would never have to see again?
Nothing seemed to matter anymore to Imon. From the moment his body broke apart, his stay in the current realm had come to an end. He needed to go. He did not belong here anymore. The longer he stayed, the more he violated a fundamental rule that he never learned about, but instinctively knew.
Bad stuff would happen to those who defied the fate of death. Imon did not understand why this was the case or where he learned about it, but it seemed incredibly obvious now that he became afflicted by death.
"I… cannot…."
"Goddammit Imon! If you want to live for yourself, then you should at least live for your sister! Casella Ingvar will be devastated if you leave her forever! Do you remember her? She's your closest relative! She is the only member of the fallen House of Ingvar who stuck with you thick and thin. Do not allow death to deprive you of your memories of the sister you love the most!"
The words initially sank into Imon's mind like fog, but the more Ves talked about how much he cared about his sister, the more his vague and insubstantial memories evoked emotions that jolted strong emotions from another part of himself.
Love, affection, yearning. All of these emotions and more seemed to push away the fog and slow down his rate of decay.
Forgotten memories that the fog tried so hard to obscure from his awareness gradually returned within his reach.
The spark of intelligence began to light up in his eyes. Imon slowly began to regain a semblance of his old awareness!