They left the transit chamber as the lights behind them finally went dark. The silence that followed was heavier than noise, settling into the spaces between thoughts. Ashen moved ahead, his footsteps echoing softly through service tunnels that had not been used in decades.
The girl followed, but her shadow no longer matched his.
Sometimes it lagged.
Sometimes it vanished entirely.
Ashen noticed.
He said nothing.
They emerged onto an elevated walkway overlooking the city. From here, 3054 stretched endlessly—layers of steel and light stacked into a horizon that never truly ended. Storm clouds rolled slowly above, illuminated from below by artificial suns.
She leaned against the railing, staring out at it all. "It's beautiful," she said.
Ashen rested a hand on the cold metal beside her. "It's efficient."
She smiled faintly at the difference in their answers.
After a moment, she spoke again. "When you said you've died before… did it hurt?"
"Yes."
"Every time?"
"Yes."
She absorbed that quietly.
A sharp pain pulsed behind Ashen's eyes.
He stiffened.
Images forced their way to the surface—fragmented, uninvited.
A battlefield under a red sky.
Steel breaking.
Hands trembling as they let go of a sword.
And a voice.
Not hers.
Older.
Familiar.
You will forget. That is the mercy.
Ashen staggered back, gripping the railing as the vision shattered.
She turned instantly. "Hey—what's wrong?"
He steadied his breathing. The city snapped back into focus.
"I remembered something," he said.
Her eyes widened. "What?"
"Not enough."
The wind picked up, carrying the distant wail of sirens. Below them, traffic rerouted itself without explanation.
She hesitated, then reached out—
Her hand passed through the railing.
She froze.
Slowly, she pulled back, staring at her fingers as if they belonged to someone else.
"I didn't do that on purpose," she whispered.
Ashen looked at the spot where her hand should have rested.
"You're changing," he said.
"So are you."
He met her gaze.
She continued, voice trembling but steady. "You're remembering. And every time you do… I feel lighter. Like I'm losing weight I didn't know I had."
That was wrong.
Memory should not erase.
Above them, systems flagged the anomaly with growing urgency.
MEMORY REINTEGRATION DETECTED
IMAGINARY STABILITY: DECLINING
Ashen straightened.
"Stay close," he said.
She gave a small, sad smile. "I don't think that's up to me."
Another memory surged—clearer this time.
A choice.
A blade raised not in anger, but resolve.
A promise made to something unseen.
Ashen clenched his jaw.
If remembering meant losing her—
Then remembering was the enemy.
The city lights flickered once.
Just once.
And somewhere deep beneath the world, something old began to wake.