Darkness was not nothingness, but a viscous medium that absorbed all information. The moment I entered Between Echoes, the clamor of the streets, my own breathing and heartbeat, even my sense of time passing were swallowed whole. Only the faint pulse from the black notebook in my hand, almost in rhythm with my heartbeat, reminded me that I still existed.
My vision failed, and I felt as though I were suspended in a chaotic gray mist. The only thing that remained clear was the hollow left by paying for my "admission"-that memory of an ordinary, warm childhood, along with the emotions it carried, had been completely erased by the door. All that remained was the cold awareness that I had lost something.
Memories in exchange for entry. The transaction itself carried the same dangerous air as the notebook-both were eroding my very existence.
"Let lingering echoes guide you, and knock upon the void."
A neutral, emotionless voice sounded directly in my consciousness, like an echo ringing through an empty hall.
"Who are you?" I focused my thoughts into a reply. In this space, thought seemed to be the only language.
"The keeper of this place," the voice answered. "And the arbiter of its transactions. You have paid a lingering echo-a memory-and earned the right to stay briefly. State your request."
"Healing," I conveyed succinctly. "Physical injuries, and... the notebook's backlash." I did not conceal the notebook's existence. In a place like this, hiding it might mean even greater danger.
"A holder of the Death Note..." The keeper's voice seemed to waver ever so slightly, not in surprise, but more like confirmation. "Injuries inflicted by rules, and erosion of the soul. There are indeed those here who specialize in such matters. But you should be prepared for the price."
"What is