A loyal Hound wouldn't think twice about leaving my corpse here, carried by these sands.

( That is, a Hound still serving the Watchmaker. Yet Sunday appears soft-spoken towards the sentiment, no, the possibility that with Gallagher's existence in this realm, he is by some extension free from the cuffs of the Watchmaker. A stray old dog with no home to turn back to and no estate to guard.

And Sunday, well, he still can't fly. )

You're part of the reason I'm here to begin with, in case you've forgotten.

( He gets closer to him so he can glance up towards the same direction, following his finger move from glimmer to glimmer. )

Quite imaginative of you, though. You do see beauty in utter chaos, tch.

( Did the Dreamflux Reef survive that battle? Or will it finally phase out into a sea of memoria, swallowing everything within it? Sunday sighs. Gallagher has already seen the worst of him. )

Well, this doesn't feel like another Dreamscape, no. Moreover, I noticed this mark on my chest whenever I woke up earlier today. I couldn't wash it off.

( With his gaze back on the heavens, on the picture Gallagher seemingly painted, he tries to search for answers, and the best he can come up with is: )

Frankly, your existence here is quite telling. We're probably dead.