Pieces Of The Past

A modest house stood beside a gentle river, its surface shimmering beneath the soft morning light. The trees along the forest’s edge swayed in a slow wind, their leaves whispering above the quiet village of Persetta.

Inside, the home was warm. A soft rug stretched across the living room’s wooden floor, where a small boy lay on his stomach—black hair tousled, eyes bright as polished amethyst.
Tona Norasachi.

He giggled to himself, lost in imagination, clacking two small sticks together as he reenacted a battle between unseen heroes and villains. Each tap echoed with the certainty that the world in his mind was real.

On the couch behind him sat his parents—Tukami and Siena Norasachi. His father had a messy middle part with blonde hair. His eyes were speckled brown, and his frame was large. His mother possessed long dark strands—clearly where Tona had gotten his black hair from. Her eyes were a soulful green color that lived like an overgrown jungle. Their voices were low, careful not to disturb the boy’s play.

“What do we do?” Tukami murmured, his eyes fixed forward.

Siena didn’t answer at first. Her gaze stayed on their son, brows drawn tight. Her voice trembled when she finally spoke.

“I don’t know. But his strength… his Solena capacity… it isn’t normal, Tukami.” She swallowed, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. “The APC will notice eventually. And when they do—”

She hesitated, her breath catching.

“They’ll kill him… They don’t know what he is... or that he even exists,” she whispered. “But I won’t let them take him into that program.”

The word itself felt poisoned.

“If they get someone like Tona—especially young—there’s no telling what kind of weapon they’d make out of him. I fear for the world if that happens.”

Tukami looked away then, jaw tightening. His gaze settled on a painting above the fireplace—a portrait of the three of them. Smiling. Unburdened. Before fear had a place in their lives. Siena continued.

“The council has already started, Tukami. The extermination. They’ll find him at all costs...”

“Then we don’t have a choice,” he said quietly.

He turned back to her, voice steady with resolve he didn’t truly feel.
“I’ve already spoken with Kokei. If it comes to it… he’ll take care of Tona.”

Siena’s eyes filled, tears slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them.

The sound of her breath changed—just enough for Tona to notice.

The sticks clattered to the floor as he scrambled to his feet and hurried over.

“Mama? Why’re you crying?”

Siena forced a smile, brushing at her cheeks though the tears kept coming.

“Oh, nothing, honey. Just something in my eye.”

Tona climbed into her lap and wrapped his small arms around her. Siena held him close—perhaps a little too tightly—while Tukami watched in silence, his hands closing into fists.

Night settled softly over the house, laying a hush across the river and the dark trees beyond. Crickets sang faintly at the water’s edge. At the front door, Tukami and Siena stood cloaked and ready to leave. Their son stood barefoot in the doorway—sleepy-eyed, but awake enough to know something wasn’t right.

“Where are you going?” Tona asked.

Tukami bent down and gathered him into a firm, steady hug. His arms lingered, holding the boy just a little too long.

“I love you, little guy,” he murmured. His voice was warm, but tight around the edges. “Always remember that. Okay?”

Tona nodded, confused, but smiling up at him.

Siena knelt next, pulling Tona close, her body trembling as she held him. Tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Stop crying, Mama,” Tona protested, scrunching his face. “You’ll get a puffy face!”

A small laugh escaped her—thin, fragile, but real. She cupped his cheeks in her hands. “Kokei is going to take care of you for a while, okay?”

Tona nodded, unsure what this would mean.

“That heart of yours, Tona… it’s your greatest gift,” she whispered. “Never forget that. Be strong. Be kind. And remember…”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Mama and Dad love you. Forever and always.”

They stood, turned, and stepped into the night. Tona watched from the doorway as their silhouettes crossed the yard and disappeared beyond the trees. The pale moonlight glinted off their cloaks one final time—then they were gone.

Morning came with the sound of the river and sunlight filtering through the canopy overhead. Tona—now older—stood near the riverbank, sweat running down his brow. He held his hands out, concentrating hard. A flicker of violet energy shimmered between his palms… then fizzled out.

“Darn it,” he muttered, kicking a small rock into the river with a splash.

Behind him came the slow crunch of footsteps on grass.

An elderly man made his way down the slope—one hand gripping a cane, the other holding a sandwich wrapped in cloth. Kokei’s face was wrinkled, his posture bent, but his eyes were sharp and watchful as ever.

Tona spun around and hurried toward him.

“Mr. Kokei! I told you—just call me and I’ll come over. You shouldn’t be walking this much.”

“Oh, hush,” Kokei said, waving him off. “I ain’t that old yet.”

He paused, coughing into his sleeve.

“…Well. I hope not, anyway.”

Tona stifled a laugh, took the sandwich from his hand, and supported him gently back toward the house.

After settling Kokei inside, he returned to the riverbank. As he reached for the sandwich, he noticed a small bird perched on top of it, pecking away.

“Hey! Shoo!” he scolded.

The bird fluttered back to a branch, tilting its head as if unimpressed.

Tona sighed. Then he tore off a piece of the bread and tossed it toward the bird.

“…Here. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he muttered.

The bird swooped down eagerly to snatch the crumb.

Tona sat by the river and took a bite of the sandwich, staring out across the flowing water. The breeze played through his hair.

He was alone now. It had been years since his parents left, without word or explanation. He never got the reason, but their words stuck with him. He kept moving, eager to find them again. The pieces of his past refused to fade.

Later that afternoon, he returned to training. His expression sharpened with focus. With a sweep of his arm and a surge of violet Solena, several shimmering portals formed around him—seven in total—leading to scattered points along the riverbank and into the surrounding woods.

His technique—place-jumping—wavered at the edges, unstable and taxing. Sweat beaded along his brow as the gates flickered.

A soft rustle of grass behind him gave Tona a slight startle.

A man stood at the edge of the treeline, arms folded, observing quietly.

Startled, Tona quickly dismissed the gates, cutting off the Solena flow with a snap of his fingers.

“I-It’s nothing,” Tona stammered. “Just playing around.”

The man raised a hand peacefully.

“No need to hide it,” he said with a calm smile. “I mean you no harm.”

Tona narrowed his eyes. “Mama told me to be careful around strangers. Who are you?”

The man placed a hand to his chest with a slight bow.

“My name is Maro. Your ability simply caught my attention.”

Tona relaxed—slightly. “I'm trying to learn how to control those portal... thingies.” They jump to nearby places, but it’s hard to keep 'em all steady. My Solena goes crazy when I try too many at once.”

Maro stepped closer. “I understand. Actually, I’m an ability user myself.”

He held out his hand. A tiny, feathered phoenix—glowing with purple and blue flames—materialized, flapping gently as it floated toward Tona. It’s orange eyes resembled an internal pyre. The boy’s jaw dropped.

“Whoa!” he breathed.

The phoenix perched on Tona’s arm, its heat soothing but wild. Tona’s eyes sparkled.

Maro chuckled at the boy’s awe.

“As for your struggle,” he said, “you should know—Solena isn’t just energy. It’s a lifeforce. It’s connected to your soul, and your feelings feed it. Anger gives it power, but not precision. Calm brings control. Understanding that balance? That’s where mastery begins.”

Tona blinked, absorbing every word.

“Feelings control Solena…?” he repeated.

“Exactly,” Maro said. “Even now, many full-grown ability users still struggle with the concept. Took me years to figure it out.”

Tona scowled.

“Fine. I’ll keep trying—even if it pisses me off.”

Maro raised an eyebrow. “That tongue’s a bit bold for someone your age.”

Tona giggled, unabashed.

The next morning, Tona stood at the river again, legs planted wide, arms raised with confidence.

As Maro passed by once more, Tona spun toward him, beaming.

“Maro! Look what I figured out!”

He extended both arms, and in a shimmer of energy, seven gates blinked into existence—stable, clear, and pulsing with Solena. Maro froze.

“I focused like you said. Channeled emotion. Not only can I hold more gates now... I don’t even have to hold them at all!”

He grinned as the gates hung suspended around him.

Maro’s eyes widened. “What in the hell…”

Tona clapped his hands proudly. “Pretty awesome, right?”

“I—yes—but… Tona,” Maro said slowly, walking closer, “that took me years to learn. Most prodigies don’t get that down in less than a few months…”

He stared at the boy like he was seeing something divine.

“You really are something special.”

Maro paused.

“Have you ever trained for combat before?”

Tona shook his head. “Nope!”

Maro smiled. “Then allow me to teach you a combat form. With an ability like yours, you’re going to need it.”

Tona tilted his head. “Why?”

“That… is a conversation for another day.” Maro stepped forward, lowering his voice. “But for now—just don’t show anyone else what you can do.”

He cleared his throat. “Najutsu. That’s what I’ll teach you. It’s the most effective close-quarters combat form in Alden. Few can counter it.”

Tona listened, fully absorbed.

“It focuses not just on what you see, but what you sense. Vision is easy to deceive. But hearing... touch... those are harder to manipulate. Najutsu trains the body to detect shifts in air, footsteps in grass, the tension of a raised arm. When sight fails, your instincts won’t.”

Tona’s eyes lit up.

“Alright,” Maro said, stepping into a stance. “Spar with me.”

The scene faded as the two began their first match—Maro flipping Tona swiftly to the ground, though gently. Tona hit the earth with a grin.

A few weeks later, Tona sat by the riverbank, dragging a stick through the dirt, face scrunched in thought. One hand pressed against his cheek, mushing it like clay.

Footsteps.

He looked up to see Maro approaching from the trail.

“Maro!” he called, leaping to his feet. “Where’ve you been?!”

His voice was excited, but carried a trace of hurt beneath it.

Maro stopped, shoulders heavy.

“I’m sorry, young one. I’ve been… caught up in some things.”

Tona frowned. “It’s been weeks! I wanted to show you everything I’ve been working on! I can shape Solena now. Like, really shape it—into shields, spikes, whatever!”

Maro smiled faintly. “That’s amazing, Tona. Truly.”

But his tone shifted.

“There’s something I’ve been keeping from you.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Have you ever heard of Memento?”

Tona shook his head.

“Interesting,” Maro murmured. “Memento is a group of ability users based here in Persetta. I’m… their leader.”

Tona blinked. “Oh.”

“You know the APC, right?”

Tona nodded.

“Well, they govern Alden. All nine districts. But not long ago, they revoked a key law—the Equal Protections Act. It gave people like us the same rights as everyone else. Without it… we became threats.”

Tona’s expression hardened.

“Memento fights to take back what was lost,” Maro said. “But to them, we’re just terrorists.”

The words hung in the air. Tona’s hands clenched.

Maro sighed. “I’ll be gone more often from now on. Northern Persetta’s heating up—APC raids, arrests. I’m needed at headquarters.”

Tona looked up, voice steady. “You said there are more like me? Other ability users?”

“Yes,” Maro nodded. “Plenty. Memento is growing.”

“Then… can I join?”

Maro chuckled. “Tona, you’re powerful. That’s obvious. But you’re still young. You deserve a childhood. Joy. Peace. This fight—it isn’t yours yet.”

“But I want it to be,” Tona said, stepping forward. “I want to help people. I want to do something.”

Maro gave him a long look. Then sighed—not from frustration, but resignation.

“If your guardian approves, you can come. You won’t be on the frontlines, but we have younger members helping with things like deliveries and food preparation. You’ll be useful. But promise me—no heroics.”

Tona’s eyes lit up. “Hell yeah!”

Maro raised a brow. “Watch that damn mouth, boy, or I’ll have you scrubbing with soap.”

Tona smirked. “Then grab two bars. You cursed too.”

Maro blinked, then let out a real laugh. “Fair enough. Now go ask. I need to head back soon.”

Tona sprinted into the house. Inside, he explained everything to Kokei.

The old man, weary and struggling more each day to keep up with the boy’s needs, finally nodded.

“You’ve outgrown me,” he said, voice soft. “Go find your place. But visit often, alright?”

Tona gave him a tight hug. “I will! I love you, Mr. Kokei.”

Kokei smiled, hugging him back. “Good. Be careful boy. Take anything you need and make sure you’re prepared.”

Moments later, Tona ran out the door with his belongings in a small pack. He waved with both hands as Kokei watched him disappear down the trail with Maro.

The old man sat on the porch, lost in thought.

That boy… he’s something else. His heart’s too pure for the world he’s heading into. I couldn’t protect him anymore—not with this old body. But Maro… please. Keep him safe. I’ve always trusted Memento. I’m trusting you now.

Later that year, Tona walked alone through the center of Persetta, the sun high above casting long shadows behind him.

Awaiting his return at the square was Maro, arms folded, surrounded by dozens of Memento soldiers and citizens. Their eyes locked onto the boy approaching—bruised, dusty, but grinning from ear to ear.

Maro stepped forward. “I can’t believe it…” he said, voice full of awe. “The youngest person to ever pass the Trial of the Phoenix. Thirteen years old…”

He threw his arm toward the crowd.

“We’ve got ourselves a new official member! Everyone—welcome Tona!”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Shouts and claps echoed through the plaza. Tona beamed, a smile too big for his face. For a moment, the boy felt ten feet tall.

A little older now, Tona embraced the life of a Memento soldier. Immersed into a duel, Tona stretched as he admired the architecture surrounding him. A combat dome. Torchlight flickered along the walls as two figures face off at the center.

Tona stood with arms loose at his sides, relaxed—yet undeniably confident. Across from him, taller and older, is Hajima—widely regarded as the strongest ability user in all of Memento.

Spectators watched in hushed anticipation.

Hajima launched forward, a spiral of violent energy forming around him—an all-consuming vortex.

Tona didn’t flinch.

“Ria Minoris. Knull.”

The vortex vanished instantly.

Hajima’s eyes widen in shock—he’s still charging forward, momentum unbroken, but his power was gone.

Tona’s grin sharpened.

“Nothing personal,” he said calmly.

He planted his feet. “Third Gate of Alden: Matter Bending.”

A ripple pulsed through the space around them. As Hajima closed in, his trajectory suddenly skewed—his own body manipulated mid-air. He sailed just above Tona’s shoulder.

Tona pivoted and drove an uppercut into Hajima’s abdomen.

CRACK.

Hajima rocketed upward, slamming into the dome’s ceiling with bone-rattling force.

Silence. Then gasps from on-lookers.

Maro blinked in disbelief. “…What?”

Tona casually cracked his knuckles. A tiny trail of blood trickled from his nose.

Maro stepped forward, concern creeping into his voice. “Tona… your nose…”

Tona wiped it away with the back of his hand, smiling.

“Happens sometimes. Not a biggie.”

But Maro didn’t look reassured.

Maro led Tona into a massive forge buried beneath Persetta. The air was hot and heavy, filled with the scent of ash and molten stone. Lava ran like veins along the perimeter of the chamber, casting the stone walls in a hellish glow.

“Velos!” Maro shouts. “I’ve got someone I think you’ll like!”

A heavy clank echoed from deeper inside.

“Yo, yo, yo! Is that the old loudmouth himself?” came a voice.

A burly man emerged from the back, a bandana tied tight around his forehead, a wicked scar running down his cheek. His shirt was stained with soot, and his arms are as thick as Tona’s legs.

“Who's the little guy?” he asked, eyeing Tona.

Maro grinned. “The new strongest member of Memento. A force from the heavens.”

Velos raised an eyebrow. “High praise from the king of douchebags.”

Tona snorted.

“What’s your name, kid?” Velos asked.

“Tona Norasachi.”

Velos waved dismissively. “Didn’t need the full name, but alright. What brings you to my sauna of suffering?”

Maro stepped forward, serious now. “We need a ring of suppression.”

Velos paused.

“A ring of suppression? For him?” He gestures to Tona. “Maro, I’ve never made one for a child before…”

“I’m serious, Velos.”

Velos looked between the two, then sighed. “Alright. Come here, little man. We’ll need a bit of info before we get started. Which finger?”

“Index,” Tona said. “Can’t do the ring finger—I gotta keep that one free. For when I meet my lucky lady.”

He flashed a cheeky grin.

Velos let out a booming laugh. “Atta boy! But choose carefully, or you’ll end up with a Gretta.”

From deep within the forge, a voice bellowed

“The hell you just say, bastard?!”

Velos paled. “Nothing, my love!”

He winked at Tona. “Anyway… let’s get to work.”

The forge was quieter now. The ring rested on a steel slab, freshly cast and shimmering silver under the lava's glow.

Velos wiped sweat from his brow.

“There. One custom-forged suppression ring. But Maro…” he leaned forward, tone shifting, “why was this needed?”

Maro hesitated.

“Two reasons,” he said at last. “First—Tona’s abilities are too dangerous if discovered. We’re hiding his identity. A new mask will be made. He’ll operate solo. Codename: Ghost. By day, he’s just another powerless recruit.”

Velos nodded slowly. “The second?”

Maro looked to Tona, who avoided his gaze and kicked idly at the ground.

“…Unrestrained use of his power strains his heart. When he uses certain Gates, he bleeds—from his nose, sometimes his mouth.”

Velos whistled low. “That’s… depressing. But also badass. You’re too damn strong, young blood.”

Tona chuckled weakly.

Velos handed over the ring. “Alright. Slip that on. Your Solena should be locked down. I even added a supermax cast—just to be sure. It’s made of strong yet moldable metal, it’ll expand as your finger grows.”

He took a step back. “Alright, give me something. Shoot a Solena blast at the far wall. Let’s test it.”

Tona cracked his knuckles. “Alrighty then.”

He clapped his hands together in a familiar motion. A blast of raw Solena erupted from his palms—larger than expected—and slammed into the far wall, shattering stone and echoing through the forge.

Velos stared, jaw slack.

“…What?”

From deeper in the forge, Gretta’s voice echoed:

“VELLLLOOOS! I SWEAR, IF ANYTHING IN THERE IS BROKEN—”

Velos panicked. “She’s gonna kill me.”

Maro stepped forward, calming.

“His output dropped. The ring’s working. He just had some spare Solena in his system—it’ll burn off soon.”

Velos let out a sigh. “Right. Right…”

Tona scratched his head. “So… I’m not in trouble for the wall, am I?”

Velos glared. “You punk.”

Back in the present, Tona sat alone in his tent. The area was clean, and the floor untouched. He still wore baggy white trousers, but his coat was off. In its place was a tight plain black tee, and his scarf remained wrapped around his neck.

The echoes and flames of battle had long since settled for the day.

He stared at the floor, expression soft, yet unreadable. He carefully played with the ring around his index.

“I’m still smiling. I hope you’d be proud.”

A figure at the flap interrupted the silence. He knew who it was, he always did.

“Come in,” Tona called.

Hatori entered, eyes catching on the familiar scarf now resting in Tona’s fingers.

“You okay?” he asked gently.

Tona chuckled—just once. A quiet, hollow sound.

“Doing what I can.”

He stood, brushing off his coat, but never looking away from the floor—until the last moment, when he glanced up and smiled.

“And you? How about yourself?”

Tona neatly folded the scarf and set it on his bed. The two left the tent together, the flap shutting gently behind them.

The scarf remained.