Chapter Text
P couldn’t believe it. He had done everything for his father—everything. He defeated enemy after enemy, endured agony and heartbreak, all in his name. And now? Now he was lying on the cold ground, unable to move, every breath sharp and agonizing, as though thousands of needles pierced his lungs.
Where his heart once rested securely in his chest, there was now only a gaping void.
Geppetto had ripped it out.
P had defeated Magnus, ready to report his victory, only to be met with betrayal. Without warning, Geppetto’s hand plunged into his chest, tearing away his heart as if it were nothing.
It hurt.
It hurt so much.
It HURT.
Through blurred vision, P watched his father—no, Geppetto—kneel by the nameless puppet. He slotted P's stolen heart into its chest with care, as though handling a treasure.
So this must be Carlo, P thought bitterly, his strength ebbing away. The real son. Not a replacement like me.
But he didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not abandoned, discarded. He had no idea what Geppetto might do to him next, and he didn’t want to find out.
Summoning the last of his willpower, P fumbled for the pocket watch Sophia had given him. His fingers closed around it, and with his remaining energy, he poured his Ergo into the watch. The world dissolved into shimmering blue crystals.
When P came to, he was lying on a cold, hard surface. It felt familiar—the path to the Cathedral. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Above him, the night sky stretched endlessly, dotted with the faint glimmer of stars. White butterflies flitted around him, just as they had when he delved into the past before.
So, this was Pilgrim’s Path.
The butterflies danced around him, their gentle movements urging him to rise. Some even fluttered close, brushing against his hair as if offering comfort.
P gritted his teeth and grabbed his sword, using it to steady himself as he stood. Even Gemini was gone, ripped away like everything else. He was truly alone. The only thing he could do now was follow the butterflies.
They led him past the cemetery and the old stargazer he’d used the last time he came to Krat. Strangely, he noticed a second stargazer nearby—one he hadn’t seen before. Beyond it, the butterflies guided him over a crumbling bridge spanning a shallow river.
Ahead loomed a dilapidated building, half-collapsed and overgrown. The garden was marked by the remnants of a fence, its wooden posts leaning haphazardly. Despite its fragile appearance, the house seemed to draw him in.
The butterflies swirled around the broken door, which fell from its hinges with a light push. P stepped inside cautiously.
The interior was sparse, almost haunting in its decay. A cold fireplace sat in one corner, flanked by a battered bed and a rickety table with three mismatched chairs. Herbs dangled from the ceiling, long since dried and useless.
In the far corner, hidden beside a leaning bookshelf, was a stargazer.
Unlike the others he had seen, this one was almost entirely overgrown, its surface covered in creeping vines and moss. It looked ancient, as though it had been waiting here for centuries.
The butterflies danced around it, their glow casting strange shadows on the walls. P hesitated, then reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the stargazer, light enveloped him. The butterflies scattered, and the room dissolved into a cascade of blue crystals.