Chapter 43

    The alley was exactly how I remembered it. A narrow, winding thing tucked between two forgotten buildings, the kind of place you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. Waddle Alleyway—that’s what we’d called it, though nobody knew where the name had come from or who had first thought it up. It was a place that seemed to exist outside of time, a liminal space where the city’s memories clung like shadows to the walls.

    I hadn’t been here in years. Not since before... well, not since before things got complicated. But something had pulled me back tonight, something in the way the city whispered in my ear, guiding my steps through the winding streets until I found myself here, standing at the entrance to the alley, looking into the darkness.

    The place was alive with memories. The walls were plastered with faded posters, remnants of old celebrations, protests, and concerts, layers upon layers of forgotten history peeling away in the damp night air. It felt like stepping into a time capsule, a piece of the city that had stayed the same even as everything else changed around it.

    And then, I heard it—a faint sound, somewhere deep in the alley. A yodel, of all things, echoing softly off the walls, bouncing down the narrow passage like the ghost of a memory.

    I walked deeper into the alley, my footsteps echoing in the quiet, the sound of the yodel growing louder, more distinct. It was a strange, almost absurd sound, out of place in the gritty, industrial surroundings, but there was something familiar about it, something that tugged at the edges of my memory.

    Return of the houndish prodigal...

    The words from Limbo’s note floated through my mind, and I felt a chill run down my spine. The prodigal son, the hound—was that me? Had I returned to this place to find something I’d left behind, something I’d forgotten?

    I turned a corner, and there he was—a figure standing in the middle of the alley, his back to me, his shoulders hunched as he let out another yodel, the sound bouncing off the walls, filling the narrow space with a strange, mournful melody. He was dressed in dark clothes, a wide-brimmed hat pulled low over his face, and he looked like something out of another time, another world.

    “O inky cohesion hounds,” I muttered under my breath, the absurd phrase slipping out before I could stop it.

    The figure turned, his face hidden in shadow, but I could feel his gaze on me, a silent acknowledgment that I was here, that I’d found him.

    “O Asia,” he said softly, his voice carrying a strange weight, a gravity that didn’t fit the absurdity of the yodel. “O dodo.”

    The words hung in the air, absurd and poetic, like fragments of a half-forgotten song, and I felt a pang of nostalgia, a longing for something I couldn’t name. It was as if the alley itself was speaking to me, reminding me of everything I’d lost, everything I’d left behind.

    “Who are you?” I asked, my voice sounding small in the quiet.

    He didn’t answer, didn’t move. He just stood there, silent, waiting.

    And then it hit me—this was the houndish prodigal. This was the part of me I’d left behind, the piece of myself that had stayed in the city’s alleys, in the shadows, waiting for me to return. It was absurd, yes, ridiculous even, but in that moment, it felt real, as if the alley had conjured him out of the darkness, a reminder of who I had once been.

    “Are you here to show me the way?” I asked, half to myself, half to the figure standing in the darkness.

    He tilted his head, as if considering the question, and then let out another yodel, a sound that was both mournful and defiant, a sound that echoed down the alley, filling the space with a strange, resonant energy.

    I stood there, listening, letting the sound wash over me, and in that moment, I felt a strange sense of peace. The city had taken so much from me, twisted me into something I barely recognized, but here, in this alley, I felt whole again, if only for a moment.

    The figure turned, fading into the shadows, and I didn’t follow. I knew he was gone, knew that he was just a fragment, a ghost of the past, but his presence lingered, a reminder of everything I’d left behind.

    As I turned to leave, I felt a strange sense of resolve, a clarity that I hadn’t felt in a long time. The alley had given me something, a piece of myself I’d thought was lost, and I knew that whatever came next, I was ready for it.

    “O inky cohesion hounds,” I whispered to myself, the absurd phrase feeling like a benediction, a promise that I would find my way, no matter how twisted the path became.