A soft wind whispered through the city sculpted by night and on the river of reverie. But just when Pinocchio thought it would be a gentle journey, the fiery figure appeared at the front of the boat, breathing life into the creature in his dreams. To the doll’s surprise, the creature that appeared before his eyes was just a human. But as he studied him closer, he slowly realized that there was more behind his bright brown eyes and even brighter smile. He was a bit taller than Adone, dressed in flared pants and a shirt with a coat hanging over his shoulders. A many-petaled flower Pinocchio couldn’t recognize was embroidered onto the lapel, with other floral designs covering the rest of the coat and his trousers. Beside him was a large curved blade, following the same arch as his serene smile. 


“How has existence been treating you so far, Pinocchio?” 


The doll furrowed their pale eyebrows, struck by an alien feeling of the familiar way he addressed him. 


“How do you know my name?” 


The man began to laugh like birdsong for a moment, looking off into the distance to see the potemkin village around them infested with shadowy figures. 


“I know a lot more than that. Besides, it’s written all over your dream; in the walls, the river, the stars…”


Even with the vitality of his bright expressive eyes, Pinocchio saw a hazy melancholy dancing in them as they darted from one element to the next. Blue shadows clung to every corner of the dream, dancing like the ever breaking light reflected on waves across the buildings. When the wooden boy himself inspected them closer, he noticed how the designs of buildings were sometimes wildly different. They were simply fragments of memories, pieces of moments he once lived when in the circus, sewn together by the mystery of night to guide the river to an even more mysterious source. From the gentle movement of the waters to the sweet silence surrounding them, the swordsman read the writings of a fragile yet unbreakable spirit. 


“There’s still so much you don’t know,” the man said, playing with the ear of his white fox mask. The weight in his voice crushed Pinocchio, who couldn’t utter a word as he observed himself all around him, coming to that same conclusion. All he could rely on was the direction of the wind and the twinkling of the stars to guide him in the right direction. That and the ever growing buildings emerging from the darkness, guiding them somewhere. He didn’t even know that there were so many memories inside of him as he saw a new one appear every few paddle strokes. 

Embers continued to crackle on the swordsman’s clothes, glowing like stars while not burning the fabric. He wore it as naturally as his skin, leaving it undisturbed to act as a source of light in the subtle darkness. Suddenly, a smile grew on his lips as he pointed his finger in front of him, to Pinocchio. Immediately, the wooden boy felt stiff, sitting rigidly as he waited for whatever was going to come out of the man’s mouth. But then, with one stomp of the foot, all the embers on his clothes grew the smallest wings and flew in front of his fingertip, creating an orb of light. Its warm orange color enveloped the two like a blanket, cradling them in a comforting glow. The way the lights danced as a sphere reminded the doll of Celso’s chirping, realizing how silent he became in that moment. His absence was deafening to Pinocchio. 


“And so much you have to learn,” the man finished with a deeper, foxy smile. When his eyes opened again, he saw how the embers danced toward Pinocchio. Eventually, some were swirling around him and then both of them. Intrigued by his observation, he clapped his thumb against his fingertips before flicking his fingers, bringing the embers together into one incandescent point until they burst into a myriad of lights floating all around them. The cloud of embers followed them throughout the ferry trip, offering them their soothing luminescence.  


“Dreams are often quite terrifying to traverse, especially if you look deep enough. Those depths can swallow you in an instant if you’re not careful.” 


Pinocchio understood that the absence of his conscience was in actuality its silent presence. The dark hidden in his waking life was never gone, but stalked in the shape of shadows. Yet in his dreams, he saw how even shadows could cast light on parts of him he didn’t know were visible. As he gazed upon those aspects, he understood why they remained invisible for so long, softly wishing for them to escape his thoughts forever. But even in ignorance, they would always endure for as long as he did, for they were inseparable from who he was. 


“I’ll get used to it,” Pinocchio murmured as he stared at the many lights between them.  


Such a reply aroused a hearty laugh from him, agitating the embers around him as they moved with the same fiery rhythm. Little tears fogged his eyes, and as he wiped them away, he flicked them into the river to accompany the twinkling stars of the water. He slowly collected himself, but the smile remained stained on his lips as he softly shook his head. 


“You’re a brilliant little creature. But you’ll definitely need all the help you can get on your journey. I can tell by the shape of your dreams. Do you know where this river leads to?” 


By the low tone in his question, Pinocchio felt as though he knew the answer to the question. Which made him all the more hot with embarrassment and cold with dread that he himself didn’t know where it was going. The darkness behind the swordsman and the ferryman became all the more consuming, all the more overwhelming. He felt the wires in his body coil and strangle the fibers of his being as he struggled to find a reply. It was then that the terror of mystery sank its fangs into him, uncovering the ever bleeding nature of his heart he tried to resculpt as the flow of life. Feeling the vitality surge towards the void made the void within ever larger. 

“The Field of Miracles.” 


The tension inside him evaporated in an instant, replaced with a jarring nostalgia for something he only heard about for the first time. At the same time, the name struck him as deeply familiar, adding to the strangeness humming in his heart. Upon hearing the name, he can already smell the fragrance of the place, intoxicated by the pungent nectar of a sweet unknown. The shift in Pinocchio’s mood painted another beatific smile on the swordsman’s lips with the glint of something dark in his eyes.


“Have you heard of it before?” 


While the swordsman already knew the answer, he was deeply intrigued by how Pinocchio might reply to that. The doll’s turquoise eyes looked up to him eventually, traversing the sea of stars beyond him. He even noticed that there were stars sparkling in the void beyond, painted a deep blue with every paddlestroke closer to it. 


“It’s as though I see it everywhere. Like I’ve always seen it everywhere, but never noticed until you gave it a name. I don’t even know what it entirely means, but I feel like I do wholeheartedly.” 


A crescent moon blossomed on his lips. In subtle ways, the buildings around them faded into the stars of the night, leaving them adrift in an endless sea. Its many gentle ways cradled the starlight, giving it all the colors of life and the shades of vitality. In the fading breath of the celestial tears, the great ocean danced with their infinity. Pinocchio found himself among the stars in the sea, breaking and bending in a million shapes he couldn’t recognize but only marvel at. As the sky and the sea merged into one, so too did Pinocchio merge with himself. In one of the sparkling stars caressed by the waves, he felt blood rush through him and the warmth of flesh blossom inside of him before it faded back into cold cogs and quiet clicking. 


“What…” 


His confusion dissolved his words as he studied his hands, searching for that warmth again. Tasting what he lacked with such visceral detail made the lack grow thorns, ripping into him as it grew. The ocean around them was both home and horror to him as the light reminded him of the light he lacked and the dark reminded him of what he had. Like many dreams, it showed him the innermost of his ghost, unraveling the primeval core of his being and twisting it to its utmost capacity. He couldn’t fathom how vast he was while feeling as small as a grain of sand to the world. 


“You’ve caught a whiff of the field’s fragrance? It’s nice, isn’t it? The sweet scent getting wrung out of the flowers by the sunlight. Even under starlight, the fragrance blooms. You felt the wind whistling between your cogs too, haven’t you? I hope it showed you how such a blissful life force flows through everything, including you. We all want to remember that ataraxy. I can help you find the Field of Miracles. I want to help you find that.” 


Pinocchio let out a rattly sigh, fixing his eyes on the swordsman without restraint. Too absurd to be reality but too vivacious to me a mere dream, he didn’t feel the need to observe his own behaviour. From this lack of a second agent and a split spirit, there was a warm wholeness mending the cracks of his attention. He tried to give a decent reply, still hearing his voice echo throughout the overwhelming night around him and within him.


“Why?” 


That’s the only word he thought was enough to diffuse his confusion, already knowing that it wasn’t the case. By uttering it alone, he knew how fragile and hollow his question was, fully aware of the answer. As a reply, instead of using his words, the man knocked the floor of the boat with the tip of his sheath, transforming the waves. The entire expanse transformed from water to verdure as the light danced in a similar fashion across the waves of vegetation. The ferryman continued to paddle through the grass as the size of bees while flowers arose from the depths. He continued to knock with his sword against the boat to summon flora in a rhythmic fashion until he suddenly got up and threw his curved sword into the night sky, giving it a resplendent crescent moon. WHen he turned back to the doll, he gave him a similar glowing crescent of a smile.


The man threw his arms to his sides to present the universe to him. It was a universe engulfed by the soft grace of home that was unbreakable in its sacred fragility. The gargantuan flora in the distance were normally sized when around them, their boat cutting through a sea of petals instead of water. The embers that gave them luminescence spread all around them, emerging from the blossoms to illumine the abyss. An endless expanse of greenery with humble hills and delicate flowers decorated the space, showing Pinocchio the juxtaposition between the roaring waves he owned and the silent serenity he wished to own. Gazing around him, at the growth of the flora in the green and the flora in the black, knowing what it was like to be enveloped by the greatest gifts of life and to be an outsider to them made blossom a profound melancholy. 


“Don’t you want paradise; a place you can call home?” 


Looking around, Pinocchio couldn't deny the beauty of it all. Even with the lack of desires he had compared to other people of flesh and blood, his heart shared the same appetite as theirs, recognizing the taste of peace. Because the moment he did, every other flavor in life became a mild imitation of what he experienced for a while, but truly understood in the present. He couldn’t utter a word, but his heart of hearts attempted to reach out and embrace the divine in the shape of gentle tears rolling over his cheek in the form of a liquid gold. The man with the fox mask recognized that as the only true response one can have. 


In the glow of the gold rolling under his turquoise eyes, he too saw the tears of paradise; the eternity of innocence forever unmade in the ephemera of life. Pinocchio’s turquoise ocean contained the glow of something sacred, something deeply ensconced in the marrow of the man’s being. His eyes were like stars carrying the promise of life in light of death, by death. In the indestructible tenderness of his gaze, the stars were allowed to bloom forevermore, untouched by time’s cruelty. It was also there where he saw time’s indomitable grace and its capacity to allow such wonders to bloom as they did. 


From Pinocchio’s newfound hope which blossomed like a flower made of glass breaking itself with every opened petal, he saw the eyes of his inner beast grow wide with frenzied glee. With a slow turn of his neck, he observed how the large deity laid down in the belly of the crescent moon, licking its fangs that dripped bloody stars into the abyss. Its large head bejeweled with eyes twinkled like the echoes of a star, carrying their same promise of eternity and ephemerality. 


The man felt its thunderous heartbeat boom in his brain, forever reminded of his tumultuous condition. In the gifts he gained from existence, he also wished to live with them to the best of his ability. Seeing what the doll also gained and lacked made empathy spark in the night of his soul, decorating it with a tender light he wished to provide for the doll, from one dark soul to another. Unable to control himself, he fell on one knee with a metallic thud against the wood, treating the doll like his dearest friend. From the echo of his prosthetic, a kindred connection wove him with the dream dweller.


“I am Kon Ikuhara, a soldier from the thalassic lands. I’m from a place far, far away, tasked with locating you. Because, Pinocchio, you have a sacred duty to fulfill; to reach the source of fulfilment. You are so lucky to have a goal such as that; millions die to have direction. But from the moment of your conception, you already have one, and I am here to help you get there.


There would be no need to shed a single tear in a place like this. Unless you want to, of course; to be able to cry is a blessing. I also wish to find a paradise like this, a paradise that grows within us all, buried in a never-ending night. A meadow where melancholy finds its place in every flower to grieve and where the soul tastes the sweet nectar of its grace to finally rest in itself. Let me help you get there, Pinocchio.”