Shukan slumped against the wall, one hand over his eye— Pulsing. Like a thunderstorm, clawing behind his skull, begging to be heard. "…Ugh…"
He stared at the ceiling—washed in that deep, midnight hue. His breath? Shallow. Erratic. Like his body was trying to catch up to reality. A flicker.
His mind flashed— That image. Hand outstretched. Itha slipping through his fingers. No words. Just falling.
Gone.
"What the hell was that…?" He pushed himself upright, unsteady. Clutched the side of his head like it had personally insulted him—Because it had.
Reality stuttered. His steps slowed, dragging. The floor beneath him shifted—warped—like water seen through shattered glass.
"This is all too sudden… What the hell did I even touch?"
His hands weren't panicking. They just… trembled. The kind of tremble you get when you realize you're not in control anymore.
He stumbled toward the mirror. Stared.
The clock-face pattern in his left eye?
Gone.
"…Huh?"
He leaned in, breath fogging the star-salvaged mirror. "What?"
He closed his right eye. Looked through the left.
Nothing.
No pain. No pulse. No time ripple. Just a dull, empty void behind his iris.
He blinked. Once. Twice.
"...Whew." A long exhale. "I'm just gonna go to bed."
He stripped down, half-aware. Muttered, "Damn… forgot my coat downstairs…"
Tugged the red covers over himself—twisted, uneven. Only half the bed was warm. The other side: untouched. Cold. Bare.
Sleep didn't wait for permission. It just took him.
But the mirror in Shukans bathroom? Cracked in one world— And in Keia, the Pillar of Memory pulsed with new light.
KEIA: The eternal vault of memory. The domain of records. Of law. Of silence.
Chronos stood still—arms crossed, obsidian armor catching the faint golden streaks slicing through the blackened air.
A whistle—sharp and sudden—sliced toward him. An arrow, forged from fractured time and decaying reality. Caught. Effortlessly. Two fingers.
Wind roared behind him. He didn't flinch.
A small creature, gold and black fur glinting in streaks, clung to the shaft of the arrow, flailing in panic.
"C-CHRONOS!! HELP ME!" it squeaked.
"You won't die from this height." Chronos said, emotionless.
He suspended the arrow midair, arms crossing again. Pressure radiated from it, suffocating to all but him.
"I'll lower you. Stop yelling."
The creature—Toraei—landed gently as the arrow descended, the sheer force of Chronos's energy pressing the very air flat.
Chronos raised a hand to his mouthplate. "What are you here for, Toraei?"
"Oh! The shard you touched yesterday? It's glowing again!"
Toraei waddled to a white table streaked with gold and flecks of black, grabbing the shard and rushing back.
"See?!"
"I already saw."
"No—but did you see what type it is?!"
Chronos paused. "What… type?"
"It says: HOLDER."
Chronos froze.
"…Holder?"
"Yeah!! Isn't that rare?! Super rare?!"
Chronos gently took the shard, inspecting it. "…It really does say Holder."
A silence stretched.
"No wonder I feel a connection to that human in Nyxiria…"
"Wait—humans? I thought you hated them!" Toraei's voice cracked like a cartoon mouse.
"I don't hate them. I just… despise what they lack." Chronos's tone wavered.
"But this one…" He stared into the shard. Toraei zipped toward a massive Memory Pillar. "Why not ask the Elders to cut the contract?"
"I'd rather fall into a Void spiral than ask those arrogant fossils," Chronos said, following.
Chronos walked towards where Toraei was, posture straight, black armor glinting in the fake light. "Did Vaeria teach you how to look through this stuff…?"
"…She did." Toraei answered. Although hesitation was noticeable on his face. His head drooped.
Silence.
"Well, I'm sure she wouldn't want us to dwell on her." Chronos remarked, as he thought about Vaeria, and how he named this place Keia because of her.
"Right. Anyways, Here is the law for contracts!" Toraei handed the scroll to Chronos, careful not to rip or drop it, or else he would be punished by a Lorekeeper.
Chronos skimmed through it until he found the section he treated as most important to the conversation, he and Toraei were having.
The scroll read:
Scroll CLXIII - Engraved under the Celestial Archive
Article IV - Termination Protocol
A contract may only be removed through:
Approval of three Elders of Keia,
Agreement of both bound parties,
Or intervention by a Lorekeeper wielding the Staff of Rekindling.
Warning:
The act of removal fractures shared timelines and can result in collapse of one or both parties if not properly stabilized with Anchor Threads.
Chronos returned the scroll, clearly annoyed. "Why three Elders? And only in Keia? What about Vor'nael?"
"Maybe ask Sundar-Kiel?" Toraei offered.
"Hell no. I'm not talking to that Anchor-born brute."
"What do you have against the Dravai?" the little creature asked, tail twitching.
"They piss me off. Especially the one with the sunken bell. Couldn't hear for days."
Toraei burst into laughter. "You're funny, Chronos!"
Chronos exhaled like the very conversation insulted his intellect. "Maybe I am."
Nyxiria. The sun rose, casting soft Time-Light through the window.
Shukan was still in bed, blinds open, eyes empty.
"SHUKAN!!!" Itha's voice rang out again.
A neighbor replied, somewhere below: "Shut the hell up!"
Still no reply.
Shukan stared at the window. Blank.
"I should shower…"
Ding. Text message.
"Not going today. Don't feel good."
Itha replied, hoodie oversized and wrinkled:
"Fine. I'll tell the professor you're sick."
Shukan sent back one word:
"Fine."
The bathroom mirror loomed like a silent judge.
He hesitated. Cold doorknob. Colder air.
"No way I'm developing a phobia of my own reflection." He pushed through.
Porcelain silence.
He stared. His eye—normal.
"…What the hell was I afraid of?"
Laughter escaped. Nervous. Relieved.
But something was wrong. No energy leak. No overflow. Normally, he radiated power in the mornings like a shorted circuit.
He reached into his pocket. "Wait… my phone didn't fracture?"
Still intact.
Buzz. A message from Itha—peace sign, one eye closed, smug grin.
"I finished my Energy Type test early! :3"
Shukan squinted.
"What did you get?"
Before a reply could come—
Professor Vuma Kalis materialized beside Itha.
"Young man. Quiet down or leave. This is a critical assessment."
Itha jumped, nearly tossing his phone. "Y-Yes, sir!"
Another message.
"My type… is GRAVITY!!! ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ"
Shukan replied:
"Show me when you get back."
Shukan dressed in a plain white tee and green cargo pants. Hair semi-messy, combed with a tool made of golden energy.
"I look good, right?" He spun in the mirror, smirking.
Then bolted.
He ran to the grassy slope from last night. Memory hazy—but instinct guided him.
"It's not here…" The shard's shape was still imprinted in the grass.
His eye pulsed—hard. "WHA—?!"
He screamed, lost balance, and tumbled down the slope into the dark-blue ocean water.
Splash. Light reflected. Pain faded.
He climbed out, coughing, soaked.
"God… damn… that hurt like hell."
His body felt heavier now since the water had seeped into his clothes.
Wet bootprints led all the way back to his apartment.
Hiss. The door slid open.
"Welcome back, Ashikaga," the AI chimed.
"You haven't said anything in months."
"My creator updated my software."
"Of course they did." He rolled his eyes, grabbing a mug.
"Do we have any juice? Soda?"
"Scanning known foo—"
"I'll look myself," Shukan growled, holding his head like a migraine had taken root.
"Scanning stopped…"
He walked toward the wall, gripping it like his hand was glued there. (I just need time. Just a second to think.)
Up the stairs—each step heavy.
His hand touched the doorknob. Slow. Deliberate. But trembling. "Why am I so scared of everything?"
He gulped. Too hard. Almost choked on his own spit.
The door creaked open. Dust on the floor, but the wood still reflected his shape like a warped mirror.
He dropped onto the bed. Back hunched. Expression drained—somewhere between "bored" and "why me."
(What the hell is happening with my eye…?)
Ding.
A new notification. Itha.
He almost cracked his phone in shock.
"Yo, weird guy showed up after class. Says he's your friend???"
Shukan stared. Scrolls.
Beige cargo pants. Gray tee. Orange hair, slicked back. (Who the fuck is that?)
Another ping.
"He's asking about a 'fragment'. Should I run or what?"
Before he could react—
"Hello, Shukan."
The phone hit the bed like a dead weight.
He shot up. Door—SLAM open. Down the stairs. Coat. Boots. No time to breathe.
"I'm going out. Activate the alarm."
"Ok Ashikaga! Anything el—"
Sliding door SLAMS.
(Shit. Where's the train station?)
He ducks under the same bridge from yesterday. Streetlights buzz. No light in the sky.
Scanning. Searching.
His eyes lock on someone by the tunnel railing.
RUNS. Grabs their collar.
"When does the next train leave?!"
"U-Uh—one just left! Next one's five minutes!"
"FUCK."
He lets go. And runs.
Toward Ka'vael. Ten miles away.
He doesn't care.
(Can't think. Can't think!)
He tears through the alley— shoulder-smashes into a couple walking by.
"Hey—!" Their yelling fades. He doesn't stop. Doesn't look back.
Streetlights flicker. City starting to breathe.
His boots slam concrete, puddles splash his coat, his breath dragging in hard, sharp gasps— like each inhale is fighting the panic back.
A left. Then right. Another right. Ka'vael—he's close. He has to be.
(CrunchFuel. Find CrunchFuel. The uni's next to it. That's where Itha is.)
He skids across the crosswalk just as the light turns red. Cars honk. Doesn't matter.
A screen across the intersection flashes news:
"UNKNOWN PHENOMENON DETECTED NEAR KA'VAEL UNIVERSITY." "Residents advised to stay indoors."
His heart drops. (Too late? No. No no no—)
He turns the corner—
CrunchFuel.
There it is.
The logo still flickering with that dumb smiling coffee bean— right next to it, the campus gates of Ka'vael University—wide open, but wrong.
The air bends. Like heatwaves. But there's no heat.
Something's there.
A presence. Thick. Pulling. Like time's resisting.
He bursts forward—
Past the CrunchFuel window where a girl sips her drink in confusion. Across the cracked sidewalk. Through the front gates—
SHUKAN. The voice is inside his skull. Echoing. Ancient. Casual.
He stumbles. Almost trips. (What the fuck was that??!)
His phone buzzes again.
"Where ARE you? He's staring at me. He's not moving." —Itha "He said something about your 'resonance memory'?? I don't—"
"Too late, he's coming."
Shukan's eyes WIDEN.
He jumps the railing, cuts across the quad—students are gone. Benches flipped. Vending machine cracked open like someone tore it in half.
There's no birds. No breeze. Just silence. And dread.
He sees the building ahead— Itha inside, pressed against the window of the student commons.
Someone's in front of him. Orange hair. Gray shirt.
Back turned. Not moving.
And in that moment, Shukan stops running.
He stands there, chest heaving, staring at the back of this stranger's head like it's a grave.
(That's not just some guy. That's something else.)
Glass cracked.
The hallways were empty. Lights flickered overhead. Class A-4 was at the end—door cracked open, like it wanted him to see.
Shukan walked, not ran.
Every step dragged behind the last. His coat soaked. Water dripping from his collar. The cold numbed his fingers, but not his gut. That still burned.
He reached the door.
Inside— desks overturned. A chair leaned sideways on a broken leg. And—
Outside the window—
Itha.
Hanging by the neck. A hand gripped his throat like it was routine. Just another task for the day.
The figure holding him didn't turn. Didn't need to.
Orange hair—long, tied back. Gray shirt, unmoving in the wind. The rain painted everything in muted streaks, like the scene was unfinished.
Itha's eyes locked onto Shukan's. Widened.
Tears didn't fall. The rain was hiding them.
"...h-help."
His voice cracked like glass under pressure. He choked—limbs twitching, still trying to fight.
Still trying to live. Then the hand let go.
Just like that. No sound. No warning. No effort.
Itha fell.
Shukan moved instantly. Sprinted. Window already halfway open—he didn't think. He leapt.
Rain clawed at his face. The drop felt longer than it should've. He reached—grabbed—
His fingers brushed Itha's sleeve. Almost.
Then—
His right eye burned.
He screamed mid-air—sharp, guttural, like something inside him fractured—
His vision tore sideways. One moment he saw Itha, the next—white. Then–Fractals. Echoes of himself falling through the past and the now at once.
He missed.
Itha hit the ground hard. Blood regurgitating from mouth, back arched violently.
Shukan crashed a second later—rolling in soaked grass and fractured pain. The rain kept falling. Unbothered.
He didn't move right away. The figure was gone. No trace. No ripple in the air. Just—Casual dread.
Itha was still breathing. Barely.