At the question, what appears to be a crack in the concrete materialises as if it were always there. But if one were to look at it more closely, there is nothing natural about it; straight edges cut the sides. Peering down into the artificial valley within, there are buildings with marvellous pillars decorated with intricate iconography of deities set into the sides of the valley, their lights glowing a faint orange.

And there are people -- a truly uncountable number of them -- scattered throughout, all dressed in variations of the odd clothing Serph had been wearing at the beginning of the dream, all having a painted streak of orange -- the same orange at the tip of Serph's wings -- somewhere on their clothes and hair in unnatural colours like pale blue or bright pink.

Serph's expression softens near imperceptibly at the sight. Of all the bases he had moved to, Muladhara is the one he's most fond of.

"Hundreds. Thousands." Serph's wings curl forwards, feathers half hugging his shoulders even though the rest of his body remains still. "Only five of us made it to Nirvana."