Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon or any other form of published literature.


Your head spins uncontrollably as you walk in the whiteness, caught up in eddies of wild exultation and disbelieving expectation. It's hard to think straight, under the weight of the possibilities running around you…and of the curious relief flooding your mind.

It's strange. The odd little things never really stayed with you—the old irresistible urges from childhood and beyond to pretend-draw-make, the absurdity of impossible knowledge gained in the dead of night. You just accepted these kinds of events and bits of your personality without much question, and went about your life. When your parents shook their heads in bewilderment at how you threw yourself into any number of franchises dealing in fantastic adventures and worlds, you smiled and agreed that you were a young boy with your head in the clouds. When you began your nighttime escapades, you chalked it up to some strange result of your previous adventures.

But to find something more beneath that…some natural affinity, some knack, some kind of calling—it's like realizing that there's a vital piece of you slowly waking up and blinking in the dawning light.

Because that's what it is, now that it's been put into words. A sense or faculty that you were never consciously aware of, but were always flexing gently on some level. And now it's roaring to be heard, to make its mark on the world.

How ironic. This awakening pulls you further and deeper and higher into your dreams…

Well. Time for that mad imagination to be put to its purpose.

The whiteness isn't quite suitable to what you have in mind, so you close your eyes and envision the world as it ought to be, as you suppose it—the same journey of intent that took you to see your slumbering friends earlier this night. So now you're standing in that space between worlds, where directions are meaningless and symbols waft through the air like feathers and dust. You were here before, back in the days of the Devas and your quest to rescue a friend from their clutches.

Hm. It feels so natural here now.

It's a whim to place the Digital World on your left and your world on the right. It's a fancy to imagine the park in Shinjuku as a point of crimson light on that side. It's a conceit to choose a point just outside that digital grotto and make it blaze in golden hue.

It's an act of amazing simplicity, in the end, to take hold of both points and pull.

You're not drawing them together—you're spinning out threads of white light and tying them together into one, meeting in the center of space before you. The growing cord leaps and snaps and sizzles underneath your hands, but it's all about intent, and you calm it with a dream of peace and contentment.

When the light settles into place like a rigid beam—tying the worlds together with a girder sterner than steel and more brilliant than diamonds in the sun—you draw back your hand and pause.

This is a true moment in time. A beginning, and an ending. What came before is being fulfilled

friendship, sacrifice, longing—

and as for what will come…

With a tight smile, you snap your hand to the side.

The shining white beam splits into a rainbow of swirling color and sound. It's like song distilled through a prism and cast into space, ringing out the music of the spheres. You didn't actually expect that (it's too glorious to believe that such a spectacle could come from your own head anyway), but it's a wonderful surprise.

Soaking it all in, it's hard to turn back to your original design, but it comes in time.

The great shimmering cord must be more than it yet is, so you reach out and work it like clay. A touch of your dreaming mind hollows and expands the connection into a tunnel of light mirthfully playing across the spectrum. The music changes and the notes leap about, leaving you awash in a sensation of delight and eagerness.

Only one thing left to do now, it seems.

You place your hands upon the Bridge between worlds—called up out of your dreams, out of the Dream—and unlock the Gates on either side.

You realize it's finished when a rush of pure knowing takes hold of your mind. Like recognizing yourself in a mirror, the intuition leaves you with only one conclusion.

It's time to go home.


Releasing your hold on lucidity—it's all about intent, even in the waking—there's a span of disorientation before crystal-clear recollection. Then you see the sunlight streaming through your bedroom window, and you nod in affirmation. Because, whatever you've just done, no matter what fantastic thing you've discovered…this has to be done in the flesh.

Flying from your room and down the stairs, you don't stop to change out of your pajamas. But then, that doesn't matter, since you're suddenly wearing your favorite outfit anyway.

Cellphone in hand, you're making calls as you run. Sleepy and disbelieving voices answer in stutters and questions, but you hang up and dial again as soon as you get the message across. Time for explanations (well…maybe) later. For now, there's only the dwindling distance to the park.

The grass glistens with dew, and the droplets refract the light in a hundred tiny rainbows scattered across the ground. They're like little affirmations, small reprises of the theme sounding between the worlds, and you grin widely.

Then you see that blessed old concrete hut.

And there's a pair of gleaming golden eyes inside, now peering out in puzzlement. Then the bemusement changes to joy as your laughter rings out in the crisp morning air.


What if you slept
And what if,
In your sleep
You dreamed?
And what if,
In your dream,
You went to Heaven
And there plucked
A strange and
Beautiful flower?
And what if,
When you awoke,
You had the flower
In your hand?
Ah, what then?

Samuel Taylor Coleridge


A/N: There we are. I was interested to see what effect the change in the narrator's voice would have in each of the chapters, since it's a unified whole. A peculiar result, I think, but interesting. In any case, regarding the content, I'd hoped to touch on one of those little threads that the show gave us, but didn't flesh out in full. Not a lot to say here otherwise, really, other than that I hope you enjoyed this little piece.