"I wish you were real..." A whisper in eons of darkness, of obscurity. A mere whisper that echoes in the dark limbo in which Atreyun sleeps. What else is a forgotten god to do? He cannot interact with a world in which he is unknown. So he sleeps. He's woken on occasion to peer at the changes the world has undergone, to see the plague of humanity spreading unchecked, to see so many who need him bereft and alone.

"I wish you were real..." A thunderous whisper that tears Atreyun from his long torpor. A single whisper he can pinpoint with absolute precision. A single whisper, that's all it takes for a man clad all in black with silver hair like the moon itself to tower over where Akihito hides.

"I am very real," he utters in a low voice, perhaps a bit raspy from eons of disuse. And then, without preamble, he reaches out to press his hand to Akihito's forehead. To connect, to see the faces of the ones who brought the boy crawling to him in search of vengeance. He hadn't been paying attention before, so he needs to pluck the vision from his last follower's mind. Flashes play out in his own, the face, the names (if known), every vile act they've committed. And when it's done, Atreyun drops his hand to his side with a long satisfied inhale.