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It was a dream, wasn't it? And yet here he is, standing in front of her.

"It doesn't..." he says. Make any sense? No, she knows it doesn't. He must have had similar dreams. Just looking into his eyes tells her it is so.

She reaches out to touch his hand. It's real. It feels like flesh. He let's out a little gasp, and she looks up to his face.

His eyes are unfocussed, looking inward into memory, and she smiles at the play of emotions running across his face. His eyes focus suddenly, on her, and he smiles back.

She remembers something. "You're here for-" she begins.

"The class!" he finishes. "Let's..." He gestures towards the door, and the movement makes it open again. She smiles at a memory this conjures, and they step inside.


They find the room where the class is being held, and stand in the doorway for a moment. The instructor is leading six people through a physical regimen of stretches, a series of slow, graceful moves, like in Boundless Fist, a careful and deliberate dance.

The students are all copying him, mimicking his actions. He stops when he sees the two of them in the doorway.

"Join in at the back, please. And follow along."

She nods, and begins to move, but her new friend hasn't moved. There's an odd look on his face. "What is it?" she asks.

Startled, he looks at her. "Nothing," he says, but even though she knows it is a lie, she doesn't argue, and instead leads him to the space at the back of the room, behind the others.

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