Seconds become minutes as Igor hums. Unmoving. A daunting figure on a desk looking down upon Kira with an unflinching gaze. His hair wavers as blue mist collects at once, something one would only read in fairytales as the missing skin over the raven's forehead slowly mesh together. When all is said and done, the Velvet Room continues to harmonize as his camera flies up in the air, teathered to his own neck as his body slowly descends down like the lowering of a child in its cradle.

He hears his voice.

Such a foreign gentle touch and yet...

Akira feels like head is suddenly plunged into cold water.

His eyes shoot open first, taking in the intricate details welded into the ceiling of the Velvet Room- a piercing headache hitting him as he clutches his own head and turns away from the table- his camera now resting before him with the strap now splayed out as his eyes shut again. For a few seconds he feels like he's going to throw up, his death flashing in his eyes for the fifth time as his one hand runs its nails across the floor.

At last, one of his eyes slightly open, black blurring the lower half of his vision as he catches sight of those loafers and that brown hair as he strains his gaze to look further up.

Is he...is he back?

Was that a bad dream?

"Goro..." he groans out loud, drawing a single word like it was his only prayer right now. His only tether that could possibly hold him down.