Yui walks by, her gaze tilted upwards.

Above her, the ink of the night envelops the buzzing cascade of tungsten lights. Her eyes, transfixed, gently lilts from one pocket of artificial brightness to another. Her gait was slow but certain -- focused on keeping a gentle cadence, giving her time to carve tonight's neon canvas into her mind.

And beside her was Mayama. He, too, had been transfixed, but not just at the evening scenery. His gaze was measured, even cautious; he did not want the auburn-haired girl to feel anything less but at ease. But he glimpsed just enough to see the twinkling in Yui's eyes -- on how her face fills with quiet satisfaction as they strolled along the evening avenues. They would converse, and their sing-song would placidly echo across the empty roads. The peace of her voice brought him comfort, and brought out from him emotions he long thought dwindled.

At the time, there was a definite border between him and Yui. It was a boundary they both silently respected, even though both actually sought to break it. Despite this, the neon evening made Mayama feel as if those bounds did not exist.

As he tried to catch a glimpse of Yui's expression, he quietly wondered if Yui felt the same.

Mayama walks by, his gaze tilted upwards. He looks at the tungsten lights and the fluorescent signs -- then at the dazzling woman beside him --

-- Yui was the brightest light tonight.

What is this place?

Vast. Serene. Calming.

Across the horizon -- sprawling fields of welcoming, vivid grass and sun-baked trees, gently swaying in the wind.

Towards the other end -- an infinite sea -- its sparkling, still waters inviting me to take a swim, craft a raft, and voyage beyond.

Between them -- sloping mountains, their towering, snow-capped figures imposing into the landscape, but still cajoling me to come and see what could be perched above them.

In front of my feet -- a cobbled pathway, punctuated with rustic lamp posts and well-laid fencing. The posts, ornate and sturdy, were sloppily angled, seemingly from fancy. Still, they held an air of reassurance -- once the sun sets, they quietly say, they'd light and keep me company.

I can see a few hundred yards forward, but this path eventually winds and slopes away from view. The consistency of the daintily angled posts, however, encourage me to continue. 

Behind me -- several paths, some well-worn, others dug out, some still cobbled. One lays strewn with dried shrubbery. Another ashen and grayed, as if burnt from eons past. I've forgotten which one I took before reaching this point. Did I even take any of these? Were these paths used by other people before? 

Is this path mine?

These paths stretched out behind me, again reaching the endless horizon onto the other side. I pay quiet respect to these walkways as I continue walking forward.

What is this place? I mindlessly ask myself again. I'm not from here.

But I feel welcome.

The gentle wind caresses my hair, the weight on my back strangely feeling lighter. As the sun maintains its warm, afternoon glow, I hear the faint chirping of birds, cooing me to ease my shoulders. The clear sky reflects my weary soul, reminding me to look inward just as well as outward. My strained eyes are drawn again to the encompassing skyline -- oceans of serenity, plains of security, mountains of adventure.

Ah, right.

This is your world.

And I'm glad to be part of it.