"Do you remember who it was? 」
The night sky is low and the stars are motionless, just like the eyes of the dead.
In the scorched earth, the boy sat on his knees in the middle of the collapsed village, squeezing his chest full of ashes with his hands.
He knew something was missing.
But I can't say it.
Just like a person whose vocal cords are cut off, he knows that he should cry, but he can't make any noise.
The fire went out and the wind took away the last familiar smell.
He doesn't know who he is or what was the name here.
He only knows one thing:
He lost what he could not lose.
At that moment, time suddenly stopped.
The air is torn, like a canvas being scratched by a knife, and a straight ladder emerges from the void.
The ladder has no beginning and no end, leading to a space that does not belong to reality.
A figure looked down at him from above the steps.
He looks exactly like him, but he has completely different eyes-those eyes are quietly burning blue-gray light, like the core of a galaxy, and like a deep well of memory.
The voice came without kindness or malice:
"Do you remember who it was? 」
The boy opened his eyes wide and tried to speak, but he couldn't even make a sound in his throat.
There is only one kind of emotion, which pours into the chest like a tidal current:
Helpless, regretful, confused and empty.
The figure bowed its head slightly, as if looking down at something that is regrettable but irreparable.
"So-"
"Then forget it. 」
"Forget past grief and unnecessary grief. 」
"Forget it together, too, your own false dreams and vain greed. 」
Gentle tone, but like cold iron. It is not pity, but calmness and certainty in the operation of the program.
He held out his hand, and a spiral mark bloomed in the palm of his hand, vaguely pulsating with time.
The boy hesitated for a moment, perhaps longing for some kind of forgiveness and some kind of silence.
He put his hand on it.
-strong light swallowed up the field of vision. Fragments of memory fall like dust.
When he opened his eyes again, the world was already silent.
The evening light came obliquely from the other side of the valley, just like yesterday, but yesterday no longer exists.
He was holding a notebook in his arms, and the ordinary cover was burnt long ago, leaving only residual words.
He opened the first page, which read:
"You have forgotten who it is. 」
"But you can still choose who you become. 」
He read it twice, but there was no response.
It's not that I don't understand, but that I can't feel.
He stood up. The body is still the same, but the heart is empty. It's like being pulled out without leaving a wound.
He looked into the distance and there was nowhere to go, but he began to walk.
No one told him where the road was.
He just knows that nothing will start unless he leaves.
The wind passed by his ear, much like someone whispering.
He didn't understand. Perhaps because of him, he has long forgotten how to listen.