The thought of returning to his homeworld alone fills K with sinking dread. It carries the promise of enslavement. Debasement. Being less than once more, a tool to be used as his handler sees fit. He has never been capable of disobeying. He lacks free will. It's an inescapable fact of his existence, one that he isn't sure will ever change. Not if he has to go back there.

For K, the person beside him is home. Not whatever awaits them beyond the storm.

And what of Tech Boy? Would he cease to exist — as his present incarnation, or maybe entirely — if he returns to his own homeworld? The memories related to the god's retirement that they'd relived together had left K with more questions than answers, and the uncertainty has continued to gnaw at him. There are the upgrades to consider... but he isn't sure whether they're enough to save Tech Boy.

And the dream is ending.

The poem causes K to bow his head and wearily rub his face with a hand, as he slowly succumbs to the crushing finality of their situation. Do they even have a real choice in the matter? His grip is weak at first, sapped of its usual strength by the grief he's failing to keep at bay. But he returns the pressure, soon holding on tight to Tech Boy's hand.

"Will you return to your world?" he asks as he looks up. And leave me? Between the layers of his shirts, the small lump that is his hidden sand monster shifts at the sound of his voice. If its own homeworld is also somewhere out there within the storm, it shows no inclination of wanting to return.

"... Do you think we can stay together?"