The sky of Verlyn began to darken as we left the plaza. The roar of the night wind carried a damp chill from the north, as if calling us with an unnatural cold.
The Northern Archive was at the edge of the city, past rows of old houses and a clock tower that had long stopped ticking. Lyona walked ahead, her steps quick—too quick for someone who had almost been trembling earlier.
"Are you sure?" I asked quietly.
Lyona didn't answer. She only quickened her pace, her white cloak fluttering among the shadows of the buildings.
As if she wanted to arrive before her courage disappeared.
---
Gate of the Northern Archive
The building was tall, dull, and covered in moss. Two faceless statues stood on its sides, like guardians of time who had forgotten what they guarded.
A crooked wooden board hung on the door:
> NORTHERN ARCHIVE — TEMPORAL RECORDS ONLY
I shivered. Even before entering, this place already felt… wrong.
Lyona knocked on the door.
No answer.
When she was about to knock again, the door creaked open on its own.
We looked at each other. Then entered.
---
Inside the Archive — The Smell of Dust & Frozen Time
Tall shelves rose like the walls of a maze, filled with scrolls, stone notes, and memory crystals shaped like droplets. The air inside felt cold, not normal cold—cold that made the spine feel… old.
"What is this place…" I muttered.
Lyona didn't answer. She looked like she was holding her breath, as if her body was shivering on its own.
An old man appeared from behind a shelf.
His skin was pale, his eyes sunken, and his hair white-gray, but not a natural color—more like a color eaten by time.
"You… came back?" he said while looking at Lyona.
Lyona stiffened. "C-came back?"
The man frowned.
"No?" He rubbed his face. "Forgive me. I often misremember. Many faces here mix with time."
He then looked at me.
And his whole expression changed.
"Ah… you." His voice became hoarse. "I remember those eyes."
I tensed. "You know me?"
"Not you. The other one. But… ah, you're always hard to tell apart."
Lyona swallowed. "The other…? Do you mean Makoto B?"
I instantly looked at her, shocked.
Lyona covered her mouth. As if the word came not from her mind, but from a triggered intuition.
The archivist smiled faintly—a smile that wasn't pleasant.
"They call him by many names. 'The Ashen Figure', 'The Man from the Edge of Time' and the most famous is Marchaos,"
"But in the archive… he is recorded as:
Makoto the One Who Arrived Late."
My chest tightened.
"Why late?" I asked.
The man pointed to a long corridor filled with memory crystals.
"You want to know about lost time?"
He walked slowly. "Follow me. Including the record about the white-haired girl… found seven years ago."
Lyona tensed hard. I felt her hand—quietly—reach for my sleeve.
I extended my hand and held hers.
She didn't pull away.
---
Temporal Record Room
We stopped in a narrow room with a stone table in the center. On the table was a clear, oval-shaped crystal, glowing softly.
"This is temporal record number 77," explained the archivist.
"A record about a white-haired teenage girl, found at the edge of the mist, unconscious, without memories from the previous three months."
Lyona froze.
"I… really disappeared?"
"Three months."
The man looked at her with pity.
"But the energy record in your body shows more than that."
"How long?" Lyona asked softly.
The man touched the crystal.
A faint light glimmered.
Tiny specks of light appeared—like fragments of broken time.
"Lyona," he said gently.
"You were missing for five years. Not three months."
Lyona held her breath. Her lips trembled.
"W-what…?"
"Whatever happened in the mist…
the time in your body was forced backward."
I looked at her, my stomach hollow.
"Time… in her body was rewound?" I repeated.
The man nodded.
"Yes. As if the mist didn't want you to know something that happened in your future."
Lyona stepped back.
Her eyes were empty.
"I… I don't remember anything…
Why would the mist… do that…?"
I held her shoulder—firmer than before.
"Lyona, we'll find out. We—"
Suddenly the crystal on the table vibrated.
Its light changed from clear to gray.
The light stretched, reflected on the floor, forming a shadow.
A shadow of someone.
A shadow of a man.
A shadow of me.
But the way it stood… wasn't my posture.
The archivist froze. "N-no… this record shouldn't be able to create an interference…"
Lyona stepped back, her face pale.
The shadow tilted its head.
Then its mouth—though silent—moved as if speaking something.
"Not yet."
I jolted.
Lyona grabbed my hand tightly—so tight it hurt my skin.
"Something… inside my record… is calling you," she whispered.
The shadow stared at both of us.
Then slowly faded, and the crystal returned to clear.
---
The archivist collapsed onto a chair.
"I… have never seen interference this strong…"
He looked at us with fear.
"This means only one thing…"
We held our breath.
"…The other Makoto is still between layers of time. And he… is watching you."
Lyona shivered.
I felt the air around us thicken.
And for the first time…
I realized how little I understood about myself.