mowiwow @mowiwow - Tumblr Blog

with these precious memories in hand (modern ayn)

spoilers for content up to [until the end of time], highly recommend reading ayn's ssr card story [world of regret] though you should be fine even without

Thank you for these memories you've created with me, for the warmth of life you've granted me.

notes:

written as part of a lbc anniversary fanwork relay on twitter! you can find it at the tag: #LBC2ndAnnivFanworkRelay

written in 2nd pov, assumes lbc mc's setting, ~11k

Every moment with you is a reminder of the fact that I exist, and every time I see you, I remember that there is still at least one person left who remembers my existence.

This is the world we have lost, but maybe— just maybe, we can keep our spirits alive in remembrance.

At the end of the world, let us witness the rise of a new civilization together, hand in hand.

I will remember who you once were, and you will remember who I once was.

ENTERING…

Your vision is temporarily blurred as the world assembles itself before you. Everything comes together like pieces of a puzzle, slowly falling into place to create a scene you’ve long forgotten.

When was the last time you set foot in here?

Tonight, you find yourself in Ayn’s secret base. There’s that rabbit-shaped chair in front of his desk, his bass not too far from his desk, littered with various records and games. He’s on a comfortable chair, only large enough for one person— wasn’t this supposed to be a couch fit for two?

And in his hands…

A small cake with a rabbit cutely propped on top, one ear missing.

You’re in Ayn’s secret base; you’d guessed this much correctly.

But, upon closer inspection—

The shelves don’t hold your paints, carefully organized by Ayn himself, and the slippers on your feet are plain, generic slippers he’d gotten in haste after inviting you over. The secret base only houses one resident.

Why… dream about this day?

The rush of nostalgia is almost too much, making your head spin.

Not too long ago, you left behind your physical form in favour of one more fitting in battle. Without the constraints of a human body, you’re freer than you’ve ever been before— there is nothing at all that can contain you. You’re free to enter the minds of the unsuspecting and unwilling, and there is nothing that can harm or kill you.

You will become Planet Flame’s secret weapon, striking down every opposing entity in this universe.

For the sake of Planet Flame. For the sake of your home.

This is what you fight for.

“Are you still half asleep?”

You blink owlishly, his voice snapping you out of your stupor. The warmth radiating from his cheek is juxtaposed by the cool cream I’ve smeared onto his face— something he could’ve dodged, but didn’t.

Ayn looks up at you with bright eyes, unhurried, unlike the world around him. As far as he’s concerned, this is the only world he is in at the moment— a secret base squirrelled away some distance from the academy, with only two people inside. He’d swallowed the rabbit ear, leaving behind a handful of crumbs at the corner of his mouth.

You want to kiss him.

And you nearly do.

As you lean closer subconsciously, Ayn’s eyes widen a fraction, and his cheeks almost instantly become rosy. The sweet fragrance of the cream surrounding him is intoxicating.

In your palms, a delicate rose blooms just for you.

You miss him so much.

Ayn’s breathing has become shallow, bewildered. It takes you a moment to recollect yourself when you see your reflection in his startled gaze.

What had you said at this time?

It’s his first birthday, and you’d told him to make a wish.

Wishes…

“If you really want to tell me, then tell me secretly.”

Now that you think about it, he never told you about the wish he’d made on his 19th birthday.

“Okay... close your eyes first.”

You pause, hand still resting on his cheek. He’s so close, close enough that you could easily bump your head against his. Greedily, you take in every inch of his appearance. From the dark head of hair that was always fluffier than you’d expected, to his unfairly soft cheeks comparable to a baby’s, to his eyelashes longer than yours, to his eyes oh-so crystal clear as he meets the world honestly.

“What if I don’t want to?” you murmur.

It’s not how this interaction goes— you know. Will the dream go awry if you don’t follow in the steps of your past self?

Maybe it’s silly of you to think so much.

But even if dreams cannot change the past, they can impact the dreamer. They’re volatile and can be a lethal weapon when wielded by the right user— you know this well, as your battlefield has shifted from war-torn fields to the illusory dreams serving as people’s last bastion of comfort and safety.

It’s too late to regret the changes you’ve made.

The cup overflows, emotions spilling over.

When was the last time you’d seen him?

With a heart, thrumming low and steady, with the warmth of life painting his cheeks in a rosy glow.

You don’t want to let go of him.

Is he here, together with you?

It’d be too cruel of you if you were reliving such a sweet memory all alone.

After the silence has stretched on for long enough, you smile faintly and pinch his cheeks slightly. “I’m messing with you…”

“That’s fine, too.”

“Ah?”

Ayn lowers his head slightly, his lips pursed as though deep in thought. Then, he meets your gaze with a rare earnestness that he reserves just for you.

Then, he leans closer, startling you.

“Actually, I have a wish about you.”

“Oh…”

You stand there dumbly, watching in a daze as Ayn pulls out two packaged dessert spoons.

When you think about it now, he’d given you his heart early.

But he isn’t the only one.

The afternoon sun is warm and cozy, making you want to curl up on a sofa fit for two. You want to fall asleep comfortably in the arms of your lover, who will hum random melodies floating around his head to ease your insomnia. You want to wake up, only to realize that the two of you had way overslept. Then, he’d pull you back into his hold, grumbling about sleeping in for just five more minutes.

It’s a hazy state between dream and reality shared by the two of you.

The boy who wasn’t all that fond of noisy crowds, the boy who preferred to carefully curate his world to his tastes…

It’s he who invited you in, and you graciously took such an invitation.

“You are Miss Painter. The one and only Miss Painter in the entire world.”

“Ayn…”

He looks up, some of the cake already stuffed in his mouth. You hold back your laughter, suddenly recalling the appearance of a chipmunk caught dead in the middle of its operations to steal some snacks.

Did your wish ever come true?

You carefully savour this quiet moment, one uncommon and distant for the you of today.

Was it his dream that you’ve entered? Or your own?

It’s hard to say.

You break off a piece of the rabbit cake. It’s sweet and melts in your mouth, making you giddy.

“Ayn—

I hope all of your wishes come true.”

ENTERING…

The spring sun greets you this time, tempered and kind. When your gaze focuses this time, you stand in stunned silence.

Before you is a tree standing tall, branches stretching out in all directions. Light filters in through parted leaves of verdant green, broken sunlight dancing along gently swaying grass. The field you stand in ripples with every gust of wind that gently nudges you forward towards the humming crowd before you.

Most breathtaking are the ribbons and plaques of crimson red dancing along to the joyful chatter of those eagerly hanging up their wishes.

…His dreams are always so beautiful.

You’d forgotten this, too— you seem to be forgetting many things these days— but as you see it now, you remember.

On May 20th, the first of what would later be many that you’d spend with Ayn, the two of you visited a carnival. Still naive and a little shy, but eager to be together nonetheless, you went around from attraction to attraction, trying out all sorts of things with Ayn.

Amongst them was a wishing tree.

You quickly start searching for Ayn, unwilling to approach the tree until you’ve got him by your side.

However, unlike the last dream you visited, he was nowhere to be seen.

Well, it’s Ayn’s dream, so he can’t be too far from what you can only assume is the core of this dream.

He isn’t anywhere to be seen in this large patch of grass, so he must be somewhere within the carnival.

Without a second thought, you leave for the carnival, eager to reunite with your lover.

The carnival is awash with colour, countless couples milling about. There are families, too, with children running around excitedly, holding brightly coloured balloons in the shape of various animals.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you watch the children laugh and play, as couples take part in the activities that the vendors have laid out for them.

You’d missed this.

What a vivid world full of joy.

Nearby, you spot a cotton candy vendor selling sticks of fluffy bliss in the shapes of cute animal heads. From here, you can see one shaped just like a cat, with a bunny next to it.

“Ayn—”

You turn around, wanting to tease your lover.

As you turn your head, your smile freezes on your face.

…Right.

First, you need to find him. Then, you can take him to that cotton candy stall, and then go to that wishing tree with him. Maybe the two of you can even make a few stops at the booths along the way— it would be a nice opportunity to relax, just like the past…

Where has Ayn gone?

You hope you can find him soon.

The couples pass by you, each and every one of them deep in their own little worlds. Their hands are linked together, inseparable, as they share the joy of life with each other.

Suddenly, you’re not as thrilled by the bustling crowd that surrounds you and even feel a little suffocated.

…It’s so cold.

“Hello there, miss. You look like you’re in need of a fixer-upper!”

You don’t know when, but the cotton candy vendor had approached you with a broad smile on his face.

“Need any help? Today isn’t a day where people should be standing all alone in the crowd with their head hung low.”

“Oh…”

Though initially bewildered, you let down your guard easily enough. There isn’t anything here that can hurt you, after all, especially not in his dream.

“I’m looking for someone.”

You pause, a realization suddenly occurring to you.

“Hey, is there any way I could make an announcement over the PA system? Like a missing child announcement…”

The vendor shakes his head apologetically. “No, there’s nothing of the sort here.”

“...Oh.”

Before your spirits are fully dampened, a sweet aroma suddenly wafts over you. As you look up, you see two fluffy pink creatures in front of you.

“But!” the vendor interjects jovially, with an unexplained confidence. “Maybe the person you’re looking for will show up after long enough. Try enjoying what the carnival has to offer first, starting with some cotton candy!”

“Um..?”

Logically, you don’t see how that would guide you to Ayn. But…

It’s his dream, isn’t it? Dreams often seem unexplainable and absurd, with no rhyme or reason, but everything is always representative of something.

So, perhaps, this is Ayn’s subconscious guiding you to him.

Looking at it this way, the key to finding Ayn, then, is… to have fun?

After a moment of deliberation, you take the two sticks of cotton candy. Belatedly, you realize that it’s the cotton candy cat and bunny you’d been eyeing just a moment ago.

“Thank you— huh?”

The vendor is gone. The cotton candy stall seemed to have been moved, too.

…Well, it’s probably because of dream shenanigans.

Without any other ideas of what to do to progress this dream, you follow the vendor’s advice.

Initially, you’d been a bit hesitant, but you started getting into the flow of things as soon as you hit the minigame stalls. You’d only watched from a distance at first, but then found a coin purse in your pocket.

A few games later, you’re standing off to the side with a plethora of plushies in your arms, with some falling to the ground. Your hands are too preoccupied with holding onto the cotton candy to pick up the trail of stuffed animals you leave in your wake.

You swear the stalls are normally rigged. You remember you and Ayn would see couples trying and failing to win prizes at countless stalls. The two of you ended up just focusing on the games that seemed most likely to give the players prizes.

Anything really is possible in a dream.

How nice.

Before you’ve realized it, the sun has already started to set.

You’ve made several loops around the carnival, repeatedly encountering the trails of stuffed plushies you left behind like a breadcrumb trail.

The cotton candy has already shrunk to a point beyond recognition.

Ayn is still nowhere to be seen…

Was that vendor just messing with you? Where is Ayn in this dream?

“Miss?”

A young girl’s voice draws your attention away from the sad state of your cotton candy. A name comes to you, much to your surprise— “Bella!”

Her eyes curve, seemingly happy that you remembered her. She gently tugs on your skirt, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Are you lost? You’ve been standing there for a loooong time now.”

Are you lost?

…You don’t know for sure. You’d assumed that you needed to find Ayn, that he was lost somewhere, but perhaps you were the one who’d gone missing.

“...Maybe.”

“Oh no! Where do you need to go? I know this place super duper well!” Bella proclaims, one hand placed proudly on her chest. “I was the one guiding my mommy and daddy around everywhere!”

“Is that so?” you muse, crouching down to meet the enthusiastic girl at eye-level. “Then, could you take me to the mister I was with? The one who played piano very well…”

“Oh! Your good friend,” Bella nods sagely. “Maybe you should go back to the beginning! Mommy said that if I ever got lost, I shouldn’t run around and should just stay put. So, maybe if you go back to where you were, the mister will find you,”

“Back to… the beginning?”

You fall silent for a few moments before smiling faintly.

“Thank you for the advice, Bella. I’ll try that.”

“You’re welcome!! I hope the mister finds you soon!”

Just as suddenly she arrived, Bella runs off into the crowds. She runs into the arms of the person you assume is her mother, your heart softening at the sight.

…Even if it’s just a dream.

Without anywhere else to go, you decide to follow the girl’s advice and go back to the beginning.

That is, the wishing tree in the field.

By the time you get there, the sky has gotten dark. You’re stunned to find that, in place of glittering sunlight, there are countless lights strewn along the branches. Even in the dark, the red tags holding everybody’s wishes remain illuminated, swaying harmoniously along with the faint breeze.

“Miss Painter.”

Your heart stops when you hear his voice.

Without a second thought, you drop the cotton candy sticks you’d held onto for the entire day and turn to run straight for him.

Ayn.

You chant his name like a mantra in your heart, desperate to find him in the dark.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

Your voice comes out muffled when you throw yourself into his embrace, missing his warmth.

“What a coincidence,” Ayn replies, the faint hint of laughter in his voice, squeezing you tightly. “I’ve been looking for you as well.”

The two of you stand in the grassy field, hidden by the shadows of the night. Though the night is much colder than the day, this is the warmest you’ve felt since the start of the dream.

“The fireworks are going to start soon. Do you want to watch them?”

You shake your head, tugging on his hand.

“Let’s make a wish first.”

You pull him towards the tree with some desperation, as though something would be lost if you couldn’t make a wish before the dream ends.

As you take a plaque and some string, you turn to look at Ayn. His face is illuminated by the faint glow from above, highlighting his sharp, boyish features in the night.

“What do you want to wish for?”

“Nothing.”

You pause, this conversation just as familiar to you as the one from the last dream.

This time, too, you decide to change the script a little.

“Okay. Then, I’ll make a wish for you.”

“Miss Painter doesn’t have any wishes of her own?”

You shake your head stubbornly, writing down your wishes on the plaque the best you can with limited visibility.

“No. I only want to make a wish for you.”

It doesn’t take long for you to finish as Ayn falls silent, already having a specific wish in mind.

Unexpectedly, Ayn takes a plaque as well.

“Ayn?”

“Then, I’ll make a wish for you, Miss Painter.”

A thought suddenly occurs to you— a distant memory, some words he’d said once long ago.

“You don’t think it’s cowardly to wish?”

Ayn hums faintly, not answering.

There is something inexplicably lonely about the smile that you can just barely make out in the dim light. You want to reach out, but he’s already moved to write something down on his plaque by the time your hand stretches out.

Very quietly, he whispers:

“Well, maybe I’ve become a coward.”

Your hand falls.

It’s only now that you recall something— most people don’t remember their dreams when they wake up.

Does Ayn remember what happens in these dreams?

Does he… remember all of these moments between the two of you, from the mundane days of a bygone era?

You don’t know, as he’s never brought up these dreams with you.

After a long pause, you say resolutely: “Let’s hang our plaques together.”

Ayn tilts his head, nodding in agreement.

As soon as the two of you hang the plaques on a lower branch, the sound of fireworks go off like a drumbeat in the distance.

“Oh, the view of the fireworks is actually really good from here!” you exclaim, watching as the fireworks bloom in the sky like iridescent flowers.

You almost miss Ayn’s flinch amidst the loud fireworks exploding overhead.

Curiously, you turn to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything.

You can’t tell what he’s thinking.

He seeks out your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. You shift and slide your fingers between his, leaving two callused hands interlaced.

“Let’s come again next time,” Ayn says, almost inaudible behind the sound of the fireworks exploding in the sky.

But you hear him.

You have always heard him and his voice.

“Okay,” you say simply.

Even if you know all too well that this is a dream, you continue to hope nonetheless.

Maybe, maybe, maybe…

“Let’s come again next time.”

Two plaques sway together, side by side, red threads intertwining.

The girl’s plaque flips over, its text clearly illuminated by the eternal lights hanging on the branches—

I wish that he always has someone by his side who understands him.

I wish that his inspiration, his muse, never deserts him.

I wish that neither of us ever changes.

Direct contact with Ayn is rare.

In exchange for a better chance at surviving this damned war, you surrendered even your physical form. Your skill at hiding traces of your spirit has only increased— the days of clumsily bumbling around the plane between worlds seem so distant now.

…Truthfully, it’s not like there isn’t a way for you to talk to Ayn.

Though your spirit form is without a body and voice, you can take advantage of empty vessels to gain a physical form temporarily.

But you don’t like it.

Every time you enter a body that doesn’t belong to you, it feels as though maggots are slowly devouring you from the inside out.

You claim bodies on the verge of death— it’s an invasion of the soul, and you consume theirs and use the remaining energy to puppet the body. By the time you’ve completed your missions, you’ve consumed the scant life force in the body, leaving them with no chance of coming back alive.

It’s not that you’re scared that Ayn will hate you.

No, he’s the last person who would feel malice towards you for your actions… as your accomplice.

But you can’t help but feel like you’ve taken something from Ayn every time you murmur his name with a voice that is not yours.

Even still, he looks at you earnestly, with some sort of misplaced hope.

You hate the dim smile that forms on his face when you say his name in a voice that has a different colour, quality, than your original voice.

He’s always been sensitive to sound and its variations.

You wonder how his hearing has been these days— you recall that when you’d abandoned him, he had to focus to properly make out your voice.

…He shouldn’t have to go out into the fray, surrounded by cannonfire and gunshots.

The planet you’re on trembles, and that’s how you know it’s time for you to go. Soon, it will be absorbed into Planet Flame for sustenance, and the cycle will repeat once more.

Your spirit returns to the place you’d desperately called “home”. For now, there are no other planets you can access, not without compromising the safety of your spirit anyways. You’ll have to wait for further intel and specific coordinates.

In this rare moment when you don’t have another planet to immediately visit and devour, you quietly watch over Ayn.

Most days, he’s confined to the countless floating screens— it wouldn’t be an overexaggeration to claim that he has become Planet Flame’s heart. Streams of data flow endlessly, giving him few opportunities for breaks.

You frown as you watch his fingers tap away rapidly, expanding and contracting. The azure light emitted from the screens is reflected in his eyes, sharp as he systemically responds to every inquiry and commands the warriors of Planet Flame.

Carefully, you reach out, wrapping your arms around his body from behind.

You cannot see your own hand, only relying on feeling for where your form is. He sees even less, feels even less, and doesn’t hear your reminder.

“It’s about time for a break… will you work through this break today as well?”

His fingers pause, and he looks up.

“...Ayn?”

For a moment, you wonder if he could feel you, if he could hear you—

A delusion.

Ayn lets out an almost imperceptible sigh, eyes dimming as a light flashes. A list appears, countless floating screens combining to accommodate the sheer length of the list of… names.

You watch alongside him as countless names flicker by. Some are familiar to you, while many more are unfamiliar.

This sort of report is all too familiar to you— even from before your “death”.

A list of casualties from the latest battle fought and won.

Your name had been on one of these reports, and Ayn had watched as your name scrolled by, just another droplet in a sea of names.

“Haa…”

As the screen reaches the end of the list, Ayn presses a hand to his forehead. The flickering screens of soft light break apart into countless smaller screens monitoring each area of Planet Flame.

“Ayn…”

Your whisper goes unheard, just as it had the other hundreds of times you’d whispered his name soundlessly in this form.

After a moment of silence, Ayn reaches out and disconnects himself from the system.

At least he’s taking a break now, you think grimly, though you feel complicated about the reason why.

He’s done this at least twenty-four other occasions that you’ve seen. There is no physical evidence of exhaustion, not on the body manufactured to be perfect and require minimal maintenance. But his emotions remain in that metallic shell, and they fluctuate from time to time.

So, he’ll disconnect himself from all the systems when he feels unsteady to avoid creating problems.

I’m here, you desperately want to say. You don’t have to… carry this burden alone.

But you can’t.

You were the one who left him, running away to a battlefield beyond his reach.

The entirety of Planet Flame only has him left to rely on; their previous miracle-maker is dead. He carries the burden you had carried as a symbol of hope, but without the support you had.

You cling to his slumped-over body desperately, sharing with him an illusory warmth only felt by yourself.

ENTERING…

There’s sand everywhere.

Is he dreaming of… Planet Flame?

You stand dazedly for a moment, the dunes shifting restlessly beneath your feet. The scene before you overlaps with the appearance of Planet Flame when you first discovered it.

At that time, your voice had been hoarse from disuse, your skin sunken, and your body heavy from malnutrition. But your heart, which had been so unbearably heavy before, felt the lightest it's ever been since the fusion of worlds started.

The desolate sand-sea was the most beautiful scenery you’d seen since the start of this new era.

He stood next to you then, the shape of his name the only thing you could form with your lips.

You start to walk aimlessly, hoping to find Ayn once more.

It's been a while since you last entered one of his dreams. He remains conscious for longer and longer, taking fewer breaks as planets fall one by one. The first ones to fall are the weaker ones, which means the stronger planets remain— and those are the biggest headaches, leading to longer and longer wars, thus demanding more and more of Ayn’s attention.

Even rarer is the overlap between your free time and his break time.

Although it’s just a dream…

If you can see him, even if your heart inexplicably twists and beats dully in your chest, it’ll be enough.

As long as he is…

“Miss Painter?”

…by your side, someway, somehow.

You don’t know when he appeared, but he now stands next to you. Seeing him, you realize that you must not be on Planet Flame— he wears a white, sleeveless top with a pink bunny design on it.

This… how long ago was this?

Soon, the two of you see a crescent-shaped lake in the distance.

Dunhuang.

“Mm…” you snap out of your daze, offering a smile to Ayn under the sun far gentler than the one at home. “Let’s keep going to the Mogao Caves.”

Ayn frowns slightly, taking your hand in his. “If you’re tired, let me know. We can take a short break before we continue. Do you want some water?”

You squeeze his hand idly. His fingers are slender and nimble, but steady and strong with a sense of rhythm that few can disrupt. You’d always obsess over such hands in the past, even going as far as to think about buying a model of Ayn’s hands.

He always looks the best when he’s at the piano, his gaze sharpened. His eyes glimmer with the excitement unique to a creative, focused on the stream of melodies created by each callused fingertip. His silhouette at the piano had always inspired you most.

“I’m fine,” you murmur.

When was the last time he played piano?

When was the last time you painted?

…You don’t remember.

“Let’s keep walking,” you say decisively, leading him forward.

The dream warps in a way unique only to dreams; reality shifts, and space distorts, but nothing feels out of the ordinary. Neither you nor Ayn questions the faceless crowd that walks past the two of you, and the dream directly brings you to the next focused destination.

There’s only one path forward.

You step into the caves alongside Ayn, the crowd thinning as only the two of you are left. The walls are covered in murals from top to bottom, sculptures carved of stone gazing at you.

“There were once tens of thousands of ancient records here.”

Ayn stares at you silently as you continue to speak.

“...However, eventually, they were ravaged. Books torn, scriptures lost, murals vandalized…”

When you blink, the cave has transformed into a twisting amalgamation of countless civilizations.

This is the history of the planets you’ve plundered and destroyed.

You’d once felt melancholy for this past, standing next to Ayn as you quietly vowed to keep their history alive in your memory.

Now, all you feel is a sobering emptiness.

How many planets has it been?

How many civilizations have you felled?

Of course, it wasn’t easy at first. You often grit your teeth through various missions, repeatedly reminding yourself about why you were doing all of this.

For Planet Flame.

For… our home.

Like a mantra, you would justify the bloodshed with claims of necessity. If you didn’t strike first, it would’ve left your world vulnerable just like the first time. You couldn’t afford to make the same mistake, you mustn’t.

It got easier.

You don’t think as much in the moment, coming to easy conclusions that the corpse right in front of you would’ve killed you had you not killed it first. That, had you not destroyed this planet first, it would’ve destroyed you instead.

But.

You’ll remember the glimpses of history you were privy to when wandering enemy planets.

And how easily, how suddenly, it collapsed.

“Ayn…”

A muted despair crawls up from your throat, choking your words, your expression.

“Is this really what civilization was in the end?”

How much has this universe already forgotten?

Ayn takes a step forth, gently placing his palm against a mural that has been pieced together with jagged rocks of all sorts of colours. The ever-shifting caves cause the floor to be unsteady, the walls groaning in pain. The colourful rocks of red, green, and blue tremble and scratch Ayn’s delicate hands.

“...Ayn!”

You immediately run to Ayn, stumbling as you do. The floor is hardly solid beneath your feet. Regardless, you stubbornly continue onwards to him.

Blood trickles down from his fingertips, causing your lips to purse into a frown.

“You need these hands to play piano,” you whisper helplessly.

As you hold his hand in yours, his blood drips down bit by bit, scalding your hands.

Suddenly, Ayn pulls you into him. His arms wrap around you, his hands holding onto you like a lifeline. His breath shudders as he croaks like a man drowned.

“It can’t be.”

“Ayn..?”

“There’s more to civilization, isn’t there?” he murmurs. Then his erratic breaths steady, his voice low and resolute: “You can protect anything you wish to protect as long as you have enough power.”

The cave crumbles around the two figures locked together, paving way for sunlight. Waves rock at the gradually forming shore, seeping into the soles of your shoes.

“Wait for me.”

Ayn’s breath fans across your cheeks, his callused fingertips rubbing lightly against your neck. He leans in and presses fluttering kisses to your eyelid, to the tip of your nose, to your cheek…

“Wait for me,” he repeats, tone hardened with determination. “I’ll find a way.”

You reach out, just barely grazing his trembling eyelashes.

It’s Ayn.

You press your forehead against his and whisper your promise in response:

“Okay—

I will wait for you… until the end of time.”

Nobody, none at all, should demand anything of eternity.

Even travellers, who roam beyond time and space, eventually meet their ends. Perhaps they could play a few tricks with time and space, but there is nothing that is truly eternal.

So, humans shouldn’t even dare dream of attaining eternity.

And yet, he went beyond dreaming and gave up everything to make it a reality.

Of course. He is Ayn, after all. There is little that will stop him once he puts his mind to it, working endlessly to achieve the results he wants.

He hadn’t wanted to leave you alone, so he took a gamble and surrendered his mortality.

…It’s hard for you to say whether you’re happy or angry about this.

Ayn wasn’t wrong in his guess.

The reality was simple: you need him, and he needs you. The two of you have vowed to plunge deep into the gazing abyss together. With all other ties cut away by time, there is little left in this world for you aside from…

Ayn.

You repeat his name fervently in your heart.

Today should be his birthday.

There is no reason to keep track of dates anymore, especially not birth dates. Still, you meticulously counted the days like a madman.

You don’t know if Ayn’s kept track since your death.

Perhaps it’s just a coincidence, or maybe he really does count the days just as you do. Either way, he does the same thing every single time his birthday arrives.

You wonder if he makes a wish, too.

What was it, exactly, that you wished for all those birthdays ago?

Today, Ayn sits in front of the countless floating screens just as he does any other day. The only difference here is that he’s pushed most other screens to the back. At the forefront, a faintly flickering screen lists out various memory segments.

There are periods where Ayn becomes obsessed with reliving these memories. They were becoming less and less frequent, so you hadn’t seen him in this unconscious state in a long time.

…It’s one of the rare times when he is truly relaxed.

As for when exactly he set up all of these memory modules, you’re not sure. The first time you saw him access these memories, there had already been countless lines of code listing out each memory and the number of times they’d been replayed.

He’s watched most memories over a thousand times, as though going through the rest of his life over and over again from the very beginning.

When?

When did he stop tapping habitually against the table in various rhythmic patterns?

When did he stop taking breaks?

When did he stop looking around for traces of you in the room?

Even though this spiritual form allows you a degree of freedom you couldn’t have had before, you still can’t be by his side all the time.

You reach out, desperate to feel anything at all.

However, these days, your senses have been acting up.

Sometimes, you’re overwhelmed— the world becomes too bright, the noises too loud, the touches too sensitive. Other times, you feel frighteningly numb, as though you were truly dead.

…You can only hope that this passes quickly.

ENTERING…

Pitch black.

Inky darkness that consumes you whole, leaving you both weightless and heavy. You don’t know how long it is before your feet reach solid ground, but even then, you still can’t see or hear anything.

Tentatively, you call out:

“Ayn?”

From above, an intercom crackles to life. The voice is distorted, sounding more mechanical than human.

“Welcome to the Darkness Simulation Center.”

A hand finds yours in the darkness, rough fingerpads rubbing against the back of your hand.

Ayn.

You can hear faint, steady breathing next to you. Immediately, you relax and lean closer to the person next to you.

“There are several exhibits prepared for today’s experience. Various noises will be played, and visitors are encouraged to think about what the source of the noise could be.”

A single light flickers to life overhead. Instinctively, you turn your head shortly after, where Ayn is standing, tracing over every detail that gets illuminated by the faint light.

“...Ayn?”

He stares directly ahead, his gaze unfocused. He doesn’t immediately respond to your call, as still as a statue as though he couldn’t hear you.

Worriedly, you squeeze his hand.

Finally, he stirs, as though awakening. He turns his head.

There’s none of the usual sharp clarity in his gaze, now replaced by a haziness. As your silhouette comes into view, Ayn’s lips form an uneasy frown, his brows creasing.

“Miss… Painter?” he murmurs, squeezing your hand back in questioning.

“Yeah. It’s me.”

Belatedly, you realize his hands are clammy with sweat. Ayn is tightly wound up, as though preparing for an enemy breach through the frontlines at any moment. Wordlessly, you reach up, smoothing out the creases in his forehead.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you tease him lightly: “Are you scared of the dark, Ayn?”

“...No,” he mutters, pursing his lips. He does relax a little, leaning into your touch. “But it’s hard to see when it’s dark. So, you have to be careful when you walk.”

“Okay. If you trip over anything, I’ll be sure to catch you.”

“I won’t trip,” Ayn huffs, pinching your hand. “I’m not so clumsy.”

“Okay, okay~”

The two of you walk forward into the darkness, hand-in-hand. You don’t know what lies beyond, but if Ayn is here with you, you’re sure things will be okay.

The two of you have always endured. Patiently enduring, until the next time you can fall into the cozy couch in Ayn’s secret base, where you would cuddle with Ayn to unwind after a long day.

For a few minutes, all you hear are your footsteps tangled together with Ayn’s.

Once more, the intercom crackles to life.

“We will now play the first exhibit…”

The first noise starts with a distant pop. Sparks scatter in the sky, and you hear a faint whistle. Your heart tightens first, body instinctively trembling.

An explosion.

Your heart speeds up nonetheless, your own hands growing clammy with sweat as you start to bounce your leg in agitation. Next to you, without warning, Ayn pulls at you.

“Get down!”

Together, the two of you fall to the ground harshly. The pace of your heart sounds normal when compared to Ayn’s. Instead of the steady, reliable heartbeat you always loved to listen to, it beats frantically with raw panic. His breaths come out in short puffs as he curls up, trembling violently.

Then, countless explosions follow.

The dark room is illuminated, drawing your gaze upwards.

Colourful flowers bloom overhead, sparks glittering against the night sky. The walls of the dark box that confined the two of you collapse, leaving both of you outside in a meadow at the dead of night.

But you can’t find it in yourself to be awestruck.

Ayn’s heaving gasps draws your attention back.

“Ayn,” you call desperately.

Your cries fall on deaf ears, however, and he curls in further in on himself. You wince as his hold on your hand tightens, nearly crushing your bones.

“Ayn.”

You don’t know why you continue to call his name.

An inexplicable guilt stifles your voice, each whimper of his name coming out strangled.

What can you say in this situation? What can you do?

You shuffle closer to him, letting him lean against you. He grabs you, his dull fingernails digging deep into your arms. Despite the pain that shoots up your arms, the bruises that form, you continue to draw nearer.

He looks up at you.

“...Ayn,” you murmur, voice drowned by the deafening explosions illuminating the night sky.

His cheeks are sunken, his eyes haunted by countless memories that you don’t share with him. He parts his lips, but can’t make any noise.

“Ayn, it’ll be okay,” you say, an attempt at comfort— for him or for yourself, you don’t know.

“... … …”

I can’t hear you.

He repeats these four words over and over and over again, fear illuminating his eyes. He’s heavy in your arms, unable to scream or cry out his anguish. He can only desperately hold onto you as his lifeline, the only thing left that grounds him to this world.

How many wars have you fought?

How many times did you return with dull red clinging to your skin?

How many people looked to you for guidance, placing all of their hopes and ideals onto you?

How many days did you spend locked away in that control room, unable to go anywhere?

I’m sorry.

The apology gets stuck in your throat.

What have you been doing? What has he been doing?

Where did things fall apart? When? How?

His tears fall silently, scorching as you wipe them away desperately.

You must be so tired.

“... … …”

He looks at you with the gaze of an empty husk. You have to lean in closer just to hear his hoarse whisper:

“Where have you gone..?

Don’t abandon me, please…

I just want to be by your side.”

Planet Snow is nothing like Planet Flame.

…The final planet, the final mission.

It’s only been a few weeks since your arrival, since you replaced the pope’s adoptive daughter.

Life here is much quieter than you thought it would be.

He keeps “Laila” well protected in the church, and “Laila” only goes out to places where gruelling violence had already long since ended.

The snowflakes that fall are cold as they land on your eyelashes, but this body had long grown accustomed to this climate. You perfectly enact the role of “Laila”, guiding each and every fallen warrior from Planet Snow you come across while you gather intel.

Today, as you do your usual rounds, you happen across a warrior from Planet Flame.

You hesitate for a moment.

After some deliberation, you approach the fallen warrior, snow gradually accumulating on his stiffened body. The metallic limbs characteristic of your planet’s warriors are even colder in the winter; the gears inside the warrior’s body no longer function.

Like you’d done so for dozens of other warriors in the past few weeks, you channel this body’s energy and draw out the warrior’s lingering spirit.

You wonder— what is it that you hope to accomplish?

Would this planet’s methods even work on the warriors from Planet Flame?

Much to your surprise, a translucent light coalesces around the mechanical corpse, flickering as though just barely hanging on. With some more energy, the flecks of light gradually form the blurry silhouette of the fallen warrior’s spirit. The spirit is faint, blending in with the snowscape behind it. You have to squint to make out its shape, and when you do—

You see a smile.

“A nun of Planet Snow?” the warrior muses, his head tilted slightly. However, even after identifying you as a member of the enemy planet, he holds no hostility towards you.

Instead, he bows slightly.

“I guess it was you who gave me a vessel to voice my last words… thank you.”

Your throat goes dry, and you can’t find any words to respond with. All you can manage is a brief hum.

When the warrior’s spirit starts to fracture, you finally find your voice and eke out meekly: “I will hear out your final regrets and guide your spirit, as a nun of Planet Snow’s church.”

The warrior just barely manages to solidify his form once more, the broken light trembling a little in lieu of laughter.

“Hahaha! Are you allowed to do that? I’m from Planet Flame, you know.”

“...Regardless of where one hails from, everybody has regrets. Everybody deserves to have their final wishes heard.”

The warrior falls silent.

Eventually, he speaks, his tone jovial but not enough to mask the underlying fatigue that accompanies it.

“You know, life on Planet Flame is terrible anyways.”

You suck in a sharp breath and lower your head.

“It looks like you guys still have all your fleshy bits, so you probably won’t get it. But all of us, for the sake of our home planet, we gave up our humanity for the sake of protecting a mere symbol of what once was. As you can see, all that’s left of me are metal bits.”

“I… didn’t think I would be able to draw out your spirit,” you mumble.

The warrior laughs good-naturedly. “I mean, even if our original bodies are gone, our spirits are still here, no? Our minds are preserved and implanted into an upgraded, sturdier vessel much better fit for war on an extraterrestrial level… we’re still ourselves. We just… look different.”

You raise your head at this, hesitant in your next words: “You don’t… regret it?”

The spirit of the warrior floats over to you, leaving behind tiny particles of light as he does so. He floats around you, leisurely, as he replies.

“You’ll have to be more specific than that, missy. There are lots of different things I regret.”

The warrior pauses before adding deliberately:

“But believe me, I am still one of the most loyal warriors, still willing to give my all for my homeland, for a leader… to die in battle.”

What are you fighting for?

…I can’t ask that.

“I see,” you reply blandly. “Is there really nothing that comes to mind? You don’t have any wishes or… or… I’ll also hear out any curses you have towards any party.”

The spirit bursts out into raucous laughter, though you fail to see the humour in your words.

“What an odd nun. You’re actively asking me if I want to curse people out?”

Once his laughter settles, he speaks in a much more measured tone.

“I don’t have any wishes.”

“...Not even a single one?” you ask tentatively.

“Nope. Is that strange to you?”

When met with your bewildered gaze, the spirit continues wryly.

“Well, here’s my confession to you: I’d been thinking of ending it all for a while now.”

You fall silent for a long time, stomach churning uncomfortably.

Finally, you ask as the snow blankets over the two of you: “Why?”

“Hmm… well, long story short, my loved ones decided to die with their original bodies. Our leader, see, didn’t force us to ascend mechanically. He gave us the option to keep our mortality or to join him and become immortal for the sake of this war.”

You know this well.

While most people decided to join you and Ayn, fighting for their home planet, a handful of others rejected this and chose to be left behind. Even if the tiniest bit helped, you and Ayn still decided to never force the decision of mechanical ascension onto anyone.

But neither of you warned people of the consequences it would bring either.

“But, y’know… such a prolonged life isn’t actually all that great. All I do is get shut down and get put to pseudo-sleep, wake up to be sent off to battle, return to make a report to our leader, and then the cycle repeats. Over, and over, and over, and over again.”

As the spirit speaks, there isn’t a single hint of malice in his voice. He speaks as though he’s telling another person’s story, completely detached, with no lingering resentments.

This warrior from Planet Flame had been thinking about ending it all for a while. What was it that kept him alive, then, up until this point?

“I don’t think anybody in this entire universe could endure something like that. And if there’s such a person, I’d like to meet them.”

Your energy finally wanes, and with it, the fluttering spirit before you.

“Missy, you seemed confused over why I had no wishes. Well, here’s why—”

The light scatters into the snow, becoming one with the serene landscape. The warrior’s voice echoes around you as it murmurs its farewell.

“—Eternity strips away everything from humanity. Time has become meaningless, and I even doubt the importance of the relationships that tie me to this world. It has stripped me of almost everything, leaving behind only a desire for true death.”

Hastily, you ask: “Has it even taken away your hopes and dreams?”

The voice is broken as it replies, only partially audible as its voice gets disrupted by the divide between life and death. Even so, you hear his response.

“I haven’t dreamt in a long, long time.”

The light has fully dissipated, leaving behind your tiny silhouette against a vast expanse of snow littered with corpses, both mechanical and organic.

You remain kneeling by the robotic body that is now barely visible through piles of snow.

Numbly, you clasp your hands together and lower your head in prayer.

“May your soul rest in peace.”

…

You finish your routine report to Ayn in a hidden cave.

The cave had been used as shelter by someone. Judging by the items left behind and their clothing, they couldn’t have been a warrior, but…

A painter.

Suddenly, you remember the murals you saw in the Mogao Caves alongside Ayn. You recall all of the murals you chanced upon on other planets, each and every one just as breathtaking as the last, full of that planet’s history.

You stare at the murals in a daze.

They’re far from polished, but you can feel the care in every stroke nonetheless.

Is it the deceased’s family?

The drawings are of mundane life. A family gathered around a dinner table, two children playing in the snow, one parent doing some woodwork as a child watches, the family out strolling through a forest…

As the murals stretch on in this limited space, the drawings become increasingly crooked, as though the artist was on the final breaths but desperate to finish what they started.

This person died whilst surrounding themselves with their fondest memories.

How nice.

The owner’s body is alone in this cave, with no signs of any other skeletons.

Their family must’ve died earlier and elsewhere.

You walk to the end of the mural, pausing.

…Oh.

At the end of the world, two smudged figures are locked together in an intimate embrace as snow slowly piles up onto them.

Your fingertips hover over the stone, coming just short of making direct contact with the uneven surface.

You turn on your heel without another glance, fastening your cloak around your body as you step out of the cave.

The snow glittering under the sun draws your attention up, towards the horizon. There, you lock eyes with—

Him.

Though he is a fair distance away, you can see that his head is lowered, perhaps mourning the corpse in front of him. He had always been gentle, always willing to dedicate a moment of his turbulent life to the deceased. He remembers their deaths and wonders about the delicate balance between the living and the dead. He never lets them truly die, always remembering their names…

He looks up at you, lips parted slightly in momentary surprise, before settling on a smile of comfort.

You suddenly think of that mural on the wall, of the two blurred figures taking shelter within the other in the midst of the wintery storm. The thin layer of fog from the snow blurs your sight, and for a moment, you imagine that it is the silhouette of a young, immature, and inexperienced couple holding onto each other tightly at the end of the world.

Lips curving into a faint arc, you greet the person on the other side of the cliff.

There is a distant memory that comes up at this moment, from when you and he were still trying to navigate the transition between adolescence and adulthood.

Sometimes, he's like snow under the sun, but I know that the moment he hears me say—

“I want to go with you.”

He will smile like the spring.

You have guided over a hundred spirits at this point.

It’s so that you can find where the container is, to find where the pope stores the flow of life. Once this has been discovered, you can take care of it and finally eliminate the pope for good. From here, it’s yet another guaranteed victory for Planet Flame.

In the fusion of worlds, the pope has to die, no matter how kind, no matter how merciful, the pope is.

This is how it’s always been. Every planet you visit, every counterpart of your beloved Ayn you meet, it is your hands that strangle the last vestiges of life from their bodies. This way, you can still ensure the safety of your Ayn, who is waiting for you back at home.

It will be the same here, too.

So there’s no reason for you to ask pointless questions or start meaningless conversations that contribute nothing to your cause.

None at all.

“Did you once… play an instrument?”

You sit in your— Laila’s— bedroom, hands carefully folded on your lap as you watch the pope leave the bedroom. Your question gives him pause, and he turns slightly.

A little nervous, you quickly backtrack. “Sorry. I know you must be incredibly busy with the war. Please, pay me no mind.”

However, instead of humming quietly in response and leaving, he turns around fully and steps back into the room.

“Why do you ask, Laila?”

As always, the pope speaks in a soft cadence, measured and patient. Always patient with you, always ready to hear you out— even when you’re just rambling on about some nonsense.

“I… was just wondering,” you explain slowly, quickly coming up with a made-up excuse. “Recently, I guided the spirit of an artist. Before they joined the war, they enjoyed playing instruments, like the lyre.”

A flimsy and nonsensical explanation, but one the pope doesn’t question nonetheless.

An inexplicable flicker of emotion crosses the pope’s serene expression. Instead of responding to you, he asks you: “Are you interested in… things like art?”

Laila isn’t, but you…

“A little,” you whisper. Truth starts to mix in as you tell the pope about what you’ve seen. “I recall coming across some murals in a cave once, and thought them to be… breathtaking.”

An odd silence falls between the two of you, one you can’t explain.

“...If I can find something for you to paint with… would you like that?”

Your lips part in silent surprise.

He specifically talked about painting.

Something is thumping loudly in your eardrums; it distracts you as it repeats, thud, thud, thud. Belatedly, you realize it’s your own heartbeat.

Your folded hands clench, wrinkling the fabric of your skirt.

“No… it’s not necessary.”

The pope seems to suck in a sharp breath. He disguises this with a cough shortly after, humming noncommittally.

Was it just your imagination?

That flicker of bitterness, was it just your wishful thinking?

What were you expecting, anyway?

The pope turns to leave, not letting you see his expression alongside his response.

“Yeah,” he says distantly.

…What a lonely figure.

“You’re right. It’s not necessary, after all.”

Your reports to Ayn have been much more frequent than ever before.

It’s your own selfishness, really; you know all too well that your days are numbered, and that the end is drawing ever closer. So, you extend your reports to him, rambling about all sorts of unrelated topics.

As you expected, he listens to you, hanging onto every word articulated by a stolen corpse.

“...and a few days ago, the pope visited me again.”

Ayn shifts slightly, his every movement catching your eye, no matter how minor. “What did the two of you talk about?”

You freeze, the words catching in your throat.

Neither you nor Ayn ever brought up what the two of you have given up. He hasn’t laid hands on a piano since the fusion of worlds, nor have you picked up a paintbrush since.

Right as Ayn is about to move on after seeing your silence, you blurt out: “I asked him if he’s played an instrument before.”

Ayn’s eyes widen fractionally, as though not having expected you to actually answer. His fingers tap idly against the arm of his chair as he asks a follow-up question.

“Has he?”

“...He never answered me. And I didn’t push the topic any further, since it was just a meaningless conversation anyway.”

Ayn is the first to break the silence that befalls the two of you.

“Should I find some art supplies and… send it over to you?”

You freeze on the spot, looking at Ayn like a deer in headlights. You wonder if maybe he’s joking, if he’s just talking nonsense…

But deep down, you know he’s not.

He has always taken art seriously, no matter the form it takes.

This is just how he is.

…It seems like some parts of him have remained unchanged, even after ten thousand years.

“It’s not necessary,” you reply unconvincingly.

His pupils constrict slightly, and Ayn hesitates before he utters a hushed confession.

“But I would like to see your paintings again one day.”

At that moment, the words come tumbling forth before you can stop them.

“I’d like to hear you play piano again one day, too.”

At that, he smiles.

You immediately wish you could take it back.

But it’s unbearably lonely. The curve of his lips is thin, resigned and weary, speaking to an endless sorrow that you understand well.

In that moment, your self-hatred grows.

He has always been your biggest regret. You don’t regret giving him your support over the years, acting as his anchor, and you don’t regret making him smile and showing him what the world has to offer. You don’t regret all of those light and heavy touches, indirect and direct, nor do you regret those long nights accompanied by muffled chatter through calls under the moonlight. You don’t regret painting his music, nor do you regret the countless hours you spent with him in his piano room, each of you working on your respective assignments. You don’t regret being there with him, calling his name fervently time and time again to remind him that he exists in this world, and so do you.

You don’t regret meeting him— not at all.

You would do it all over again, without fail, even if it would be selfish of you.

But what you do regret is—

That you abandoned him first.

ENTERING…

You haven’t been visiting Ayn’s dreams as frequently. He no longer dreams as much, nor do you have enough courage to visit him in his dreams after the last instance. Fragmented shards of the memories haunting him had flown at you like shrapnel on the battlefield, scratching at you and plunging you into a deep abyss of despair every time you so much as grazed a corner.

Tonight, you’re left in the midst of a bustling arts market full of artists sharing their pieces with the passersby. But that isn’t what draws your attention— not the finely crafted pottery with colourful patterns, not the hand-knitted scarves, hats, or mittens, nor is it the glassware shimmering under the warm light.

No, it’s the two teenage figures standing in two different crowds that you pay attention to.

A boy, seventeen years in age, wanders around the market with a permanent crease in his forehead from his frown. Not too far behind, bodyguards trail after him frantically, doing their best not to lose their young master in the lively crowd.

On the other end, there is a girl who walks around dazedly like a lost rabbit. She goes from stall to stall, curiously observing the pieces set out, but too shy to engage in further conversation with the lively strangers after shutting herself indoors for so long.

Neither you nor Ayn had remembered this, not at first. It wasn’t until the first New Years you spent with him that you were sent back in time temporarily. Later, you told him about the chance meeting between the younger versions of yourself and Ayn. Together, the two of you mused over it for a bit, thinking it to be a little funny.

Although you’ve been standing in a daze for an indeterminate amount of time, the crowd around you doesn’t react. The phase through you, as though you don’t exist— and you suppose you really don’t. Not here. Not in this form.

“...The rule is simple. You take a look around and find a new friend to exchange gifts with so that everyone can enjoy a little surprise during the New Year.”

You stir when you hear an announcer’s voice.

It was around this time when you—

“Ah!”

You stumble a bit, someone bumping into your shoulder. When you look up, your breath hitches, his name slipping out easily like second nature.

“Ayn.”

It isn’t the Ayn of a distant past. It’s your Ayn— it’s the Ayn who had weathered ten thousand years of sin alongside you, for you, because of you.

“Miss Painter.”

Subconsciously, you shrink back when he murmurs this nickname. Amongst the excited chatter of the pairs exchanging gifts, his voice is the clearest to you.

He hasn’t called you this in a very, very long time.

Neither of you has anything to gift the other. You’ve already given him everything that belongs to you a long time ago, and so has he.

Instead, you step closer to him, carefully cradling his cheek. You hold him as though you are holding the entire universe in your palm, and he tilts his head slightly. The ends of his hair tickle the back of your palm, his eyelashes fluttering against your fingertips.

Still, no matter how tenderly he looks at you, how lovingly he holds you, he can’t conceal the fatigue that dulls his once beautifully vibrant eyes.

“Thank you for showing up in my dreams still,” he says, finally, his hand covering your hand on his cheek.

All at once, the already fragile walls surrounding your heart shatter into countless, tiny pieces.

“Why can’t you resent me?” you ask desperately, wanting to pull back and run into his arms all at once.

Your free hand curls into a loose fist as you hit his chest weakly, forehead falling onto his shoulder.

“Why can’t you scorn me? Blame me? Hate me? Call me out for being a coward, for being a hypocrite— for, for… for running away in the end, for— abandoning you…”

Your nose feels sore, your heart trembling with every childish complaint you throw at him.

Ayn exhales shakily, his arm wrapping itself around your waist tightly to steady you.

“I can’t do any of those things… just as you won’t blame me for the lives I’ve taken.”

Your fist falls, then curls around the fabric of Ayn’s uniform.

“I miss you so much,” you confess. “But I’m so tired of existing in this world at constant odds with itself. I don’t know if I can keep going anymore, if I would even want to— I think I was even relieved, a little, when I found out that my time left was limited.”

Ayn’s breathing grows unsteady, but he resolutely doesn’t let go of you.

“Yeah.”

“I even thought of leaving you behind.”

“Yeah.”

“...Aren’t you mad?”

His hair tickles your neck as he buries his face in your shoulder. Ayn’s voice comes out muffled against your skin, but rings loud and clear nonetheless.

“I will follow you to the end, no matter the decision you make. Whether you choose to live or to die, I will not leave you.”

He speaks with a faint tremor, and you realize that he’s just as scared as you are.

“I’m sorry,” you sob helplessly.

A distance away, a boy drops his red-and-white rabbit keychain. A girl pauses in her steps and crouches down to pick up the cute accessory.

Where the story begins somewhere, another story comes to its finale.

“I—” you choke out, hugging Ayn desperately, belatedly realizing that he is so, so, so cold.

You try to transmit your warmth to him, but you can’t even realize that you’ve long since lost your own warmth.

“I’m glad to have met you,” Ayn whispers.

You exhale shakily, your arms slackening as you let go of him.

As the dream crumbles apart, you whisper your sincere response to him from the bottom of your heart.

“Me too.

Thank you for all of these memories you’ve given me,

For all of the wonderful things you’ve shown me,

For the life you’ve shared with me.”

At the end of the world, he gazes down at you in a body that does not belong to him. You reach out shakily, leaning against him tiredly in a body that you cannot call yours.

But you see him.

Ayn.

Your love, the one who has been with you for the past ten thousand years, doing everything he can to keep your spirit alive.

It’s too late for the two of you— any possible routes available to the two of you are irreversibly intertwined, and you know that no matter what outcome you choose, he will follow you without hesitation.

He is what links you to this world and life, your biggest regret.

The exhaustion in his eyes breaks your heart. The last reserves of energy left in this body flicker, and you wordlessly channel it into the pope— into Ayn.

If you can ease his pain, even if just superficially, if you can do anything at all...

You do your best to surround him with the remaining warmth in this world. In response, his spirit gradually appears, enveloping the two of you in a cocoon.

In this bleak world, he continues to fill your world with colour. Vibrant reds, hazy blues, and rich greens all mix together in a kaleidoscope of colour. It is his soul, shining bright as this story comes to an end.

What a beautiful soul, you think, smiling blissfully.

You waited for him, for as long as you possibly could— until the end of time, the end of your life as a traveller.

In the desolate universe, he races towards you and meets you there.

He whispers your name without any judgement, waiting for your final decision.

Ayn asks you softly:

“Do you want to live?”

“I…”

…

You have given me everything you own, and I have given you everything I own in turn. You have kept the memory of my spirit alive, as I have with yours.

Ayn... my love. My muse. My world.

I do not regret meeting you. I will never regret meeting you.

Let’s welcome a new era together, hand in hand.

<...>

<???>

The fusion of worlds is now over.

It was a long, gruelling battle fought by countless planets in the universe. In a universe that was once populated with an seemingly infinite amount of civilizations, only one was left to remember all the losses and gains incurred.

You stand up on the cliff overlooking the village being reconstructed. As you do so, you tug at the person who had been sitting next to you, his legs dangling over the ledge.

“Come on, Ayn.”

With a quiet grunt, Ayn hauls himself up and pats off the dirt clinging to his pants. His head tilts slightly, eyes bright as he looks at you curiously. The ends of his hairs, grown out a touch longer— he’d been too lazy to get a haircut— curl slightly against his shoulder.

There are no more expectations left for you to carry, nor are there any for him.

At the end of the world, the two of you wake up with bleary eyes, a distant witness to the rebirth of a new era.

“Where to, Miss Painter?”

You smile brightly, pulling him with you as you run into the field of snow.

“To witness the birth of a new world.”

end notes: what a doozy. if you're curious about what specific lbc stories i was directly referencing, i talk about it in the ending notes on the ao3 fic

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