The locked memory did not burst open all at once.
Instead, it unfolded slowly.
Ayan felt as though someone had opened an ancient book whose pages had remained untouched for countless ages. Every heartbeat of the bridge turned another page, revealing fragments of a life hidden beneath layers of forgotten time. Unlike the memories before, these weren't scattered visions or disconnected moments. They flowed together naturally, each leading into the next.
For several seconds, he forgot the valley.
He forgot the crimson doorway.
He forgot the guardian standing before the abyss.
The world around him simply... disappeared.
...
Warm sunlight fell across polished silver stone.
A gentle breeze drifted through an enormous balcony overlooking a city unlike anything Ayan had ever imagined. Countless floating bridges connected elegant towers that pierced the clouds, while rivers of silver light flowed between them like living streams. Airships glided silently through the sky, leaving trails of shimmering light behind them.
Children laughed somewhere below.
Merchants argued over prices.
Musicians filled the streets with melodies carried by the wind.
There was no fear.
No war.
No End.
Only life.
Ayan stood silently within the memory, watching people walk through the streets beneath him. Humans lived beside races he had never seen before. Some possessed crystal-like skin that reflected the sunlight like gemstones. Others carried luminous markings across their bodies that pulsed softly as they spoke. Nobody stared at one another.
To them...
This was normal.
The bridge pulsed softly.
The memory continued.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
"You've been standing here for almost an hour."
The voice carried quiet amusement.
Ayan instinctively turned.
The guardian stood there.
Not wearing dark robes.
Not holding the Key.
It looked... ordinary.
Its silver hair moved gently in the breeze while simple white robes rested loosely over its shoulders. There wasn't a trace of loneliness in its expression. Instead, calm warmth filled its eyes as it looked toward the city below.
Ayan froze.
For the first time—
He could finally see its face.
It wasn't ancient.
It wasn't terrifying.
It looked like an ordinary young man.
Someone who could disappear into a crowd without attracting attention.
Only the eyes felt different.
They carried impossible depth.
Like someone who had watched entire civilizations rise and fall.
The guardian stepped beside the balcony.
"They're beautiful, aren't they?"
Its voice sounded peaceful.
Not directed toward Ayan.
Toward someone standing beside it.
The memory shifted.
Ayan finally noticed another figure leaning against the railing.
The person remained blurred.
Impossible to recognize.
Yet somehow...
Everything around the memory seemed to revolve around that single individual.
The guardian smiled.
"You've been unusually quiet today."
The blurred figure laughed.
"I'm thinking."
"Dangerous."
"I've been told that before."
The guardian laughed softly.
A genuine laugh.
The sound felt so natural that Ayan almost forgot who he was looking at.
The guardian he knew never laughed.
Never smiled like that.
Never looked...
Happy.
The bridge pulsed again.
The memory accelerated.
The two figures walked through the city together.
They stopped at market stalls.
Spoke with children.
Helped workers repairing one of the floating bridges.
Nobody bowed.
Nobody treated them like rulers.
People simply smiled when they passed.
An elderly woman waved.
The guardian waved back.
A young boy ran over carrying a wooden toy.
"Can you fix it?"
The guardian accepted the toy with exaggerated seriousness.
"Hmm."
It examined every side carefully.
"This may require extremely advanced engineering."
The child gasped dramatically.
"Really?"
"I'm afraid so."
The blurred figure beside him sighed.
"You broke it five minutes ago."
The guardian looked completely innocent.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."
The child burst into laughter.
Even the adults nearby smiled.
Ayan watched silently.
His chest tightened.
Because none of this matched the lonely figure standing before eternity.
Not even slightly.
The bridge pulsed.
The memory shifted again.
Night had fallen.
Countless stars illuminated the sky while the floating city glowed beneath them. The guardian and the blurred figure now stood atop one of the highest towers overlooking the endless landscape.
Neither spoke for several minutes.
Eventually...
The guardian broke the silence.
"Do you think it'll last?"
The blurred figure looked toward the sleeping city.
"I want to believe it will."
"You didn't answer."
A long silence followed.
Then came the reply.
"No."
The guardian smiled sadly.
"I thought so."
A gentle wind passed between them.
Neither looked surprised.
Almost as though both had already reached the same conclusion long before that conversation began.
The bridge pulsed harder.
The memory accelerated.
Years passed.
The city continued growing.
New bridges appeared.
More worlds connected to the network.
Trade flourished.
Knowledge spread.
Entire civilizations celebrated what they called the Age of Unity.
Then—
A single crimson fracture appeared in the sky.
Everything stopped.
People stared upward.
Musicians lowered their instruments.
Children stopped playing.
Conversations ended.
The bridge reacted violently.
The memory lingered.
Ayan watched fear slowly replace joy across thousands of faces.
Nobody understood what they were seeing.
Neither did the guardian.
It stood beside the blurred figure while both stared toward the tiny crimson crack hanging impossibly high above the world.
"It wasn't supposed to happen."
The guardian whispered.
The blurred figure remained silent.
Its gaze never left the fracture.
The guardian looked toward it.
"You knew."
Another long silence.
Finally...
"Not exactly."
"You expected something."
"...Yes."
The guardian slowly closed its eyes.
"When were you planning to tell me?"
"I wasn't."
The answer hurt.
Even Ayan felt it.
The guardian laughed quietly.
Not happily.
"I suppose that's fair."
The bridge pulsed.
The memory accelerated once more.
Meetings.
Arguments.
Emergency councils.
World leaders gathered inside enormous chambers while researchers desperately studied the crimson fracture. Every day it grew larger.
Every week another world reported strange disappearances.
Entire cities vanished overnight.
No survivors.
No ruins.
No explanation.
The atmosphere became increasingly desperate.
The guardian barely slept.
The blurred figure disappeared for days at a time before returning with new reports.
Each one worse than the last.
Then...
One evening...
The guardian entered the familiar office overlooking the city.
The notebook already rested upon the desk.
Blank.
Untouched.
The blurred figure stood beside the window.
Watching another crimson fracture appear beyond the horizon.
Neither spoke immediately.
Eventually...
The guardian sat down.
Opened the notebook.
Picked up a pen.
"What are you writing?"
The guardian smiled faintly.
"A record."
"Of what?"
The pen remained motionless above the first page.
The guardian looked toward the sleeping city one last time.
Then quietly answered—
"So nobody forgets."
The first word appeared upon the page.
The ink shimmered silver.
Outside...
The first alarm bell rang.
Its deep metallic sound rolled across the peaceful city, replacing laughter with confusion.
People stepped onto balconies.
Windows opened.
Children looked toward the sky.
The crimson fracture expanded.
Not slowly.
Not violently.
Silently.
Like a wound opening across reality itself.
Ayan watched the guardian close the notebook.
Its expression remained calm.
But the warmth that had filled its eyes earlier was gone.
In its place remained only quiet determination.
The bridge pulsed.
The memory began fading.
Just before everything disappeared...
The blurred figure finally spoke one last sentence.
A sentence Ayan somehow knew had changed history forever.
"If this world falls..."
The guardian looked up.
The blurred figure smiled sadly.
"...promise me someone will remember that we were happy first."
The memory shattered.
Reality returned.
Ayan stumbled backward.
His breathing had become uneven.
His eyes remained fixed on the lonely guardian standing before the abyss.
For the first time...
He no longer saw a legend.
He no longer saw a hero.
He saw someone who had once lived in a beautiful world.
Someone who had laughed.
Someone who had made jokes to children.
Someone who had watched the sunset with a friend.
Someone who had promised...
To remember.
Far beyond the crimson doorway, the guardian remained facing the endless darkness.
Then, without turning around, it smiled.
Exactly the same smile from the memory.
And Ayan suddenly realized something terrifying.
The blurred figure beside the guardian...
Had laughed with the same voice that sometimes echoed inside his own mind.