Memories

Neon drifted.

The pain had been unbearable. A firestorm of agony that had stolen his breath, crushed his body, and then—nothing. Silence. Darkness.

And then—this.

He stood in a field unlike any place he had ever known. A vast expanse of green, the grass thick and soft beneath his bare feet. The sky above stretched endlessly, an endless blue unmarred by war, by blood, by sorrow. A breeze swept through the air, carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth, of something ancient and whole.

Neon took a step forward. Then another. The weight he had carried for so long was gone. No pain. No exhaustion. Only the whisper of the wind, the distant murmur of a world he did not recognize.

He walked for what felt like forever. Time did not exist here. The sun did not shift. His footsteps left no imprint on the soil. He was a ghost in this place, an observer in a world untouched by the ruin he had left behind.

And then he saw something else.

A lone figure stood atop a hill, cloak billowing in the wind. Their face was shadowed, hidden beneath a hood, but something about them felt familiar. A presence long buried in his memory, a whisper of a past he had never fully understood.

“You again,” Neon murmured, his voice barely above a breath.

The figure turned slightly, as if acknowledging him, but said nothing.

Neon swallowed, stepping closer. “Who are you?”

A pause. Then, at last, the figure spoke.

"Let me show you.”

A memory surfaced. A moment, long ago. He had been a child, barely old enough to understand the weight of grief, standing amidst the ruins of his home. And this figure had been there. Watching. Waiting. Speaking words he had never fully grasped.

“You spoke to me,” Neon said slowly, realization settling over him. “On the day my parents died.”

The figure nodded. “And now, I speak to you again.”

Neon clenched his fists. “Why?”

“Because you are at the edge.”

“The edge of what?”

The figure turned, stepping closer. Though their face remained hidden, their voice carried something undeniable—something deep and knowing.

“The truth.”

Before Neon could respond, the world around him shifted. The field dissolved into darkness, the wind silenced, the sky swallowed whole.

And then he was elsewhere.

A chamber of metal and light. The air thick with the scent of machinery, of burning energy. Shadows moved around him, figures hunched over control panels, voices raised in urgency.

The machine stood at the center of it all.

A monstrous construct, towering, pulsing with raw power. A skeletal frame of blackened steel, its veins lined with glowing conduits, its core alive with a deep violet.

And then, he saw them.

Sakura.

She stood with three others, their faces partially obscured by the flickering light. Scientists. Engineers. Visionaries who had dreamed of something far greater than themselves. Their voices cut through the chaos.

“This will change everything,” one of them murmured, awe-struck. “This machine... it will rewrite the fate of the world. We can end all suffering once and for all.”

“It has to be controlled,” Sakura said, her voice tense. “We still don’t understand what it’s pulling from.”

“The simulations are stable,” another scientist countered. “The calculations—”

“The calculations won’t mean a damn thing if we’re wrong,” Sakura snapped. “We’re tapping into something none of us fully comprehend.”

Neon felt his breath catch in his throat.

He knew what came next.

The shift was abrupt. Another memory, overlapping, twisting. The same chamber—only now, alarms blared. Red warning lights flashed, casting frantic shadows across the walls. The machine no longer hummed—it roared, power spiraling out of control, tendrils of raw energy lashing at the air.

Sakura was screaming orders. Scientists scrambled, their faces twisted in horror as the machine pulsed violently. Something deep within it cracked—no, shattered—sending a shockwave through the room.

“No—no—shut it down!”

But it was too late.

Neon saw the moment it all went wrong. The moment everything they had built twisted into something else—something beyond their control. The machine convulsed, its energy surging outward, engulfing the chamber, the figures, the world itself in a blinding, terrible light.

The last thing he saw before the memory shattered was Sakura’s face—eyes wide, hands reaching for something, for someone.

And then the scene dissolved again.

The air in the void was thick, pressing against Neon’s skin. The cloaked figure stood before him, unmoving, silent. The darkness around them shifted, as if the world itself was waiting.

Neon clenched his fists. "Who are you?" His voice came out hoarse, worn from everything he had seen—everything _she_ had shown him. The horrors of the past, the choices made, the lives lost.

The figure lifted a hand, fingers grasping the edge of her hood. The motion was slow, deliberate. With a soft rustle, the hood fell back, and silver hair spilled out, catching the dim, flickering light.

Sakura. Of course.

Neon’s breath caught in his throat. The face beneath the hood was unmistakable—calm, knowing, but unreadable. Her violet eyes met his, steady as ever, as if she had expected this moment all along.

He staggered back. “No… That’s—”

Memories surged forward like a tidal wave. The sterile glow of lab lights. The scent of metal and antiseptic. A woman standing amidst chaos, shouting commands as everything fell apart.

The female scientist from the incident. The one who had been there when it all went wrong. It was her. It was always her.

His stomach twisted. “You— You were there.”

Sakura said nothing at first. Her face remained composed, but there was something in her expression—a flicker of something unreadable, buried deep beneath the surface. It wasn’t shock. It wasn’t guilt.

It was acceptance.

As if she had already relived this moment a hundred times.

As if she had chosen for him to see it.

Neon’s hands shook. His mind raced, trying to stitch together the past and the present, but the gaps were too wide. Why? Why had she shown him this? What was the point?

His voice came out hoarse. “Why now? Why show me this?”

Sakura exhaled slowly. “Because you were ready.”

“Ready for _what_?” His voice rose, frustration curling at the edges. “You made me watch all of that, made me _feel_ it—what am I supposed to do with it?!”

She tilted her head slightly, studying him with that same infuriating calm. “You’re asking the wrong question.”

Neon swallowed, his pulse hammering in his ears. His vision blurred—not from tears, but from the sheer weight of everything pressing down on him. He clenched his teeth.

“What really happened back then?” he asked, his voice quieter this time.