INTERLUDE II

Hiyama Hanabi is forty-seven years old.

One of her friends is an author. Another is a plastic surgeon. They’ve known each other since middle school. Most of her friends are singers, however. She knows most of them from college. Her husband is a videogame developer. Her daughter is a lawyer. Her son is in his third year at college. Soon, he will become a physicist.

Hiyama Hanabi is a janitor.

She isn’t merely working as one while she finds something better. That was her excuse years ago. This isn’t the case anymore. She’s not cleaning floors while looking for a stage to sing upon. She’s a janitor. She’s a janitor who likes to sing.

When the rabbit walked into the manga room, Hanabi figured that she was dreaming. After all, she’d long since given up on escaping. Sakura Hisui, a girl who worked hard, very hard, too hard, gave a contract to everyone but her. There was that sweet girl that brought new manga for Hanabi to read, that unsettling boy who kept his face hidden, and the delinquent who’d caused Hanabi to work unpaid overtime on more than one occasion due to blood staining the walls–not his blood, but that of the poor children he beat up.

All of them, young and shiny, received a contract.

A contract, and a promise.

The chance to start anew.

Hanabi had continued to read, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She’d read, of course, about stories of middle-aged men (they were always men) who were granted a second chance by… by the author. There was no higher force–only puppets on a stage. Their lives revolved around those lucky enough to restart.

As the children signed, so did Hanabi, writing her name into the air with her finger.

She is a janitor that likes to sing. She is a mother, a wife, and a friend. Many people would mourn her. Many people would miss her. And yet, with this in mind, she still signed the imaginary contract.

She didn’t expect it to work.

How could she, when nothing else had?

But it did.

Yet… it isn’t a new beginning, but a new chapter.

She is still herself.

Even if she’d been reborn or transferred into a new body, so long as she thinks the same, acts the same, has the same memories, she is still herself.

She remains a janitor.

A mother.

A wife.

A friend.

And a traitor who abandoned her loved ones.

Those who call themselves dragonkin have great hospitality, though she could use less meat. After she lost track of the manga club children, she walked until she collapsed.

It was cold–too cold.

She had reached the edge of the forest.

There was nothing but snow outside of the forest. No mountains, no trees, nothing but a white, dead world.

As frost began to consume her and Hanabi lay on the snow, she thought about her children, husband, and friends. They would search for her endlessly, hopelessly, with no way to know about her ultimate fate. She thought about her dreams, which had long since mirrored the dead world surrounding the forest.

She did not want to die, but she did not want to go back.

Not yet.

And as she died, she began to live again. An ember burst from thin air, then another, then another, surrounding her, warming her up.

According to the dragonkin that had found her, that was her magic.

According to the dragonkin that hounded her, the world is dying. Outside of safe zones with heavy use of magic, Korova is a barren field frozen with snow.

The dragonkin that hounds her has disturbing, sad eyes. He smiles a lot, yet this never reaches them. They’re like the world outside of the safe zones, cold and hopeless. He keeps talking about her ‘joining his cause’. What cause? He never tells. He says she’ll know with time.

His name is Sen. He mentions that the rabbit and the children will pick her up soon. Hanabi asks if there are others like her, and Sen says yes. A lot, in fact. They’ve abandoned their dreams for their families, and now they’re abandoning their families for their dreams. Some of them are alone. Some are older, much older; as they get used to Korova, they slowly begin to strengthen their bodies with magic.

However, they cannot reverse time.

Nobody can.

They cannot erase their memories without erasing themselves.

They couldn’t care less about Korova, and honestly, neither does Hanabi, not any more than she cares about a lost girl on the news or occasionally cries when seeing a dead bird. They’re not here to save the world, but themselves.

However, Hanabi knows–she knows. No matter how strong, how free, how fast, unless they stop being themselves, all outlanders will remain trapped by memories.