Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - The Million Whale

"I am a lost traveler."

The words left Rein's mouth with every ounce of force he could summon.

It was a phrase Kael Riven himself had taught him through his book, a code said to draw the attention of the Million Whale. Kael had written that the whale could hear it even if whispered, that distance and volume didn’t matter.

But Rein shouted it anyway. As loud as his voice could carry, infused with pneuma and desperation.

And it heard him.

"Where to, dear passenger?"

A deep, resonant voice echoed through Rein’s mind, not spoken aloud but imprinted directly into his thoughts.

Before he could react, a blinding explosion of light bloomed ahead. He instinctively raised his right arm to shield his eyes, squinting through his fingers as pinpricks of light bled through. Slowly, cautiously, he let his arm drop once his eyes had adjusted.

What he saw left him breathless.

All the illustrations he’d seen in books, all the poetic descriptions and grand comparisons, none of them came close. They were weak, feeble attempts to capture the impossible.

The Million Whale had turned. And in an instant, despite its unimaginable size, it now floated sideways directly in front of him.

Rein didn’t know how something so vast had moved so quickly. But somehow, it didn’t matter.

Its body stretched endlessly, layered with glowing patterns etched into its flesh. Great, ancient eyes, timeless and still, watched him with a gaze that didn’t feel cruel or kind. Just, aware.

Rein couldn’t begin to describe it. He doubted he ever could. To understand the details of such a creature might take him days. Months. Maybe a lifetime.

And still, it wouldn't be enough.

As Rein took in the entirety of its colossal form, he began to notice patterns, familiar colors woven into the impossible.

Its head was a living forest. Lush green fur draped over it like foliage, soft and dense, as if trees had taken root directly into its skin. Waterfalls streamed down its sides, glimmering in the light, cutting through the greenery like rivers across a wild land. Flowers bloomed intermittently across its face, adding bursts of color to the verdant expanse. And then, its eyes.

Blue like the deepest ocean, wide and unblinking, with pupils black as the void. They looked straight at him—or through him—peering into the very marrow of his soul. A forest for a head, and an abyss for eyes.

But just past the neck, the green gave way to brown.

The shift was stark. Where once a forest flourished, now a desert sprawled. Pale brown hues coated its massive midsection, glittering sand swirling and floating as if suspended in wind. It wasn't just a visual, Rein could feel it. The arid stillness. The heat. The slow breath of dunes shifting beneath a hidden breeze.

Further down, the desert faded, and orange bloomed.

It resembled the forest again, but this time it was ablaze with autumn. Fiery leaves and amber branches shaped the creature’s body, as if it were dressed in flame and harvest. Everything glowed. A warm, vibrant light that made Rein's breath hitch.

And finally, at the tail, pure white. Stark and silent.

Snow and ice coated the last stretch of its form, smooth and glistening, untouched by anything but time. It was winter in its purest shape. Cold and regal. The end of all things.

It hit Rein then, the realization.

The Million Whale’s body wasn't just immense. It was the year itself. Four seasons, flowing one into the other. Life, death, heat, cold—all living in harmony across a single being.

Wisps of glowing light danced across its body like butterflies made of flame. They zipped and curled along its surface, silent and bright, adding motion to the already surreal vision.

“This is beautiful,” Rein whispered aloud, in awe. “Are you seeing this, Morin?”

But no answer came. He looked down.

Morin’s eyes were closed, her breath slow and steady. Her face was soft, peaceful, calm in a way that made his chest ache.

“She must’ve used up all her strength to catch up with me,” he murmured with a quiet smile.

Carefully, he adjusted her in his arms, cradling her like a newborn. Gently. Tightly. As if the moment he loosened his grip, she might drift away.

"Where to, dear passenger?"

The deep voice echoed once more inside Rein’s head, pulling him back to the presence looming before him.

The beauty of the whale had nearly eclipsed his sense of danger. But now, with the creature turned fully toward him—its face so enormous it blotted out the realms behind it—wonder gave way to terror.

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Its eyes, wider than cities. Its barely parted mouth, revealing teeth larger than mountain ranges. The sheer size of it made Rein’s skin crawl. His breath caught. His hair stood on end.

"I—I’d like to request passage to a faraway realm," Rein began, his voice faltering. "Preferably... somewhere in the Underworld."

He had to clench his fists and bite down on his cheek to force the words out, to keep the fear from paralyzing him completely.

“The Underworld?” the voice echoed again, slow and thunderous. “Such a vast distance. To take you there would mean crossing two worlds. Are you prepared to pay the price... Celestial?”

Rein froze. It hadn’t moved its mouth. Not even a twitch. And yet the voice rang as clear as if it had been spoken directly into his soul.

How does it speak? he wondered. Telepathy? No... that shouldn't be possible. Not even the greatest Celestials he’d ever read about could communicate like this.

Unless... it wasn’t telepathy in the traditional sense. Perhaps it was using its own pneuma and combining it with ousia in the surroundings to manipulate sound waves, guiding them straight into his mind? Or maybe... just maybe, creatures like this operated by laws beyond comprehension.

Rein shook the thought away. No time for speculation. Not when their lives hung in the balance.

"I'm prepared to pay the price," he said at last, steadying his voice.

But the truth was he had nothing. No artifacts. No precious materials. Nothing to offer.

Except one thing.

"My lifespan," Rein said. "You already know I’m a Celestial. So you must also know how long we live. I’ll give you all of it. Every last year."

He paused, heart pounding.

"And... if that still isn’t enough..." His eyes drifted down to the girl sleeping peacefully in his arms.

"Then take just my sister and leave me behind. Take her as far as my lifespan can carry."

Rein could have offered his sister’s lifespan. But the thought alone made him bite down on the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood. It was unthinkable. He’d rather have his limbs torn apart one by one, his soul devoured piece by piece, than let even a single second be stolen from her because of him.

“Your lifespan holds little value to me, Celestial. I have an abundance of it.”

The whale’s voice reverberated again, heavy and slow.

Rein shut his eyes, his stomach sinking with despair. Of course. What use would a being that had supposedly lived over a million years have for the lifespan of a mere Celestial? It had been a desperate gamble, and now, with nothing else to offer, he was out of moves.

But then—

“But you possess something I desire far more.”

Rein’s eyes snapped open.

The whale still stared at him, but something had shifted. Its gaze felt deeper now. Hungrier. Like an ocean preparing to swallow him whole. Instinctively, he tightened his hold on Morin.

“What could a being like you possibly want from me,” he asked, voice low, “if even my lifespan isn’t enough?”

“Your pneuma,” the whale answered without hesitation.

Rein blinked, stunned. “My pneuma? But you—you have more of that than I do, don't you?”

The whale’s voice rumbled like distant thunder.

“Do you not know that every creature’s pneuma is different? Ah... of course you don’t. You Celestials, always taking things for granted.”

It paused, as if in thought, then continued.

“Still, I do not blame you. You've lived your lives in your little world, blind to the workings beyond it. Treating other beings as lesser. But in this, your pride isn’t misplaced.”

A beat passed.

“Celestial pneuma is the most potent. The purest. It is coveted by many because it is so rarely given, and never wasted. If you vow to give me all that remains within you... and some of those you regenerate during the journey... then I will take you where you wish to go.”

Rein was silent.

The whale was right. He had never once considered his pneuma to be anything remarkable. For him and for most Celestials, it was simply there. Like blood in his veins. Inherent. Constant. But perhaps that was just another sign of how little he truly knew. Another reason he needed to see places like Underworld with his own eyes.

And yet, the revelation stirred something within him, something close to awe. Something he’d never thought of as valuable was, in fact, priceless.

“If that’s what you want,” he said at last, “then take it. All of it.”

He looked down at the girl in his arms, sleeping peacefully.

“But only mine. You will not touch my sister’s pneuma. That is my condition.”

“Then it is a deal,” the whale rumbled. “A good day, indeed. To once again taste the pneuma of a Celestial, perhaps this is the universe’s way of rewarding me for my good deeds.”

A deep, strange amusement resonated in its voice.

“I have not partaken of such purity in centuries… not since the last Celestial I devoured.”

Rein’s eyes snapped open. He immediately shifted his body, shielding his sister in a protective crouch. Who wouldn’t, after hearing something so ominous?

“Do not worry, Celestial,” the whale said, slower this time, almost gentle. “I have not tasted a single bite of flesh in ages. Not since I changed my ways. Not since I gained freedom.”

There was something in its tone, a faint, bitter regret. It softened Rein’s fear, if only slightly.

“And how exactly are you planning to take us?” Rein asked, his voice tight. “Do we… just grab onto one of the trees growing on your back?”

“No. That place is not meant for you.”

The whale paused.

“You will travel inside me.”

Rein froze. “Inside you? After you just talked about eating a Celestial, you expect me to let you swallow us?”

“You may cling to the outside, if you wish,” the whale said without offense. “But your bodies would be reduced to dust long before we even reached the Overworld.”

“Oh? And getting digested alive in your stomach is somehow better?”

“There is a chamber within me meant for travelers,” the whale said calmly. “You know who I am. You’ve likely read the tales of those who’ve ridden with me and lived to write their stories. How else could they have told them, had they not survived?”

“…That’s a fair point,” Rein admitted. “But still—”

“My flesh is layered more deeply than you can imagine. I regenerate faster than you blink. It’s the only reason my body doesn’t tear apart at the speeds I travel through the cosmos. Believe me or not, but the space within me is one of the safest places in existence.”

The whale paused, voice turning colder now.

“So tell me, Celestial. Will you stay here—abandoned and eventually, dead—or will you place your trust in me?”

Rein exhaled slowly. “Looks like I don’t have much of a choice.”

Even after everything he’d heard, the idea still repulsed him. But cornered by circumstance, he closed his eyes and surrendered.

The whale’s massive mouth began to open, a cavern of darkness and breath. Wind rushed outward like a thousand invisible arms, drawing them in. Rein gripped Morin tightly in his arms, the warm breath of his still-sleeping sister brushing against his chest. Somehow, that calmed him.

And for the first time since his 'execution', he felt a strange sense of comfort. He wasn’t alone. She was here with him.

He allowed himself a hope.

Maybe when I open my eyes, he thought, we’ll find ourselves in a beautiful place. Somewhere distant. Somewhere we can begin again. Maybe, selfishly… the start of the adventure I’ve always dreamed of.

But when his eyes opened, reality was less kind.

He and his sister were drifting down a red, pulsating chamber. It throbbed with life, its walls glowing faintly as they traveled deeper into the beast’s interior. It was warm. Strange. Claustrophobic.

No, this wasn’t a new world. Not yet.

They had just been swallowed by a giant whale.

The adventure would have to wait.