And the Universe Said You are Not Alone
The silence is broken willingly by some of you, and further by the sound of the boat’s engine roaring to life. It’s a low hum, quieted down by the walls and windows around you to a soft and reassuring purr. If nothing else has done the trick just yet, it’s this sound that makes the realization stick for good:
You’re leaving soon. Parts of you will remain on this island forever, lost in code and in the dark corners of places that no longer exist — but you’re leaving.
The implications of this are different for every single one of you. For some, it’s a step into true freedom. For others, an inevitable fall into a different sort of captivity. Even of those two, none of you will find your footing on the exact same path. There is something to be said for having a path to walk at all, isn’t there?
Masanaru Oda — a life worn by tragedy, lost to another.
Nao Fujita — a hasty hand led astray, desperate to escape.
Naruki Maruyama — an anxious presence, who fed into this tragedy.
Tomoe Ito — a kind heart, broken by itself in the end.
Shinji Tsukino — a keeper of tradition, forced to repeat history.
Satoshi Hayase — a sharp mind, finally outwitted by another.
Jirou Ishida — an enduring soul, made a target by loss.
Shou Shikabane — a proud fool, done in by her own hubris.
Souta Shinobu — a growing spirit, whose tale ended as a victim to circumstance.
Megumi Imaizumi — a friend to most, undone by her need for answers.
Their paths had come to an untimely end, crumbling out from underneath their feet with no regard for what kind of person would be lost in the fall. Enemy and friend alike, they were lost; you lost them.
And somehow, the world keeps spinning.
The back and forth of voices can be heard outside, the words muffled and hard to pick out. Not that you need to hear them, of course. The intent is already known, and that intent is accomplished in the next moment as you jerk with the boat’s first movement.
The still scenery of the island on one side and the open ocean on the other slowly shifts, the ratio of water to land growing further and further apart. It takes time for the island to disappear. The boat moves fast, but it takes time. Leaving this behind will take so, so much time. It might take more than you expect, but —
Time is something you have plenty of now. Time delivers to you a vast and open blue, shades and hues of cloud and water meeting on the endless, encircling horizon. Swathed in this emptiness, there might be threat of losing yourself to unreality again if left alone.
You are not alone. Your rescuers — not your heroes. There’s a mutual agreement of that — are in and out, intent on offering company and comfort when they can. There is conversation with them and with each other, inescapable on a journey like this. Some of you find it welcome, even. Unreality does not find you. Not right now.
Right now, it is the heavy truth of life that creeps in from every side and every corner. You are alive, and you will live. What that means, you are yet to find out. The world, the future, and your place in it are all uncertain, after all.
... Haven’t they always been?
Moreso now, perhaps. The world was unprepared to save you in ways that you could never have expected. There is no denying that you are a generation left to suffer under the old world’s struggle to become a new world. But what does it matter, really? Old, new…
You live in another world. You live in your own world, created by your own choices. All that’s left now is to carry on for those who can’t, for those you have kept, and most importantly, for yourself.
It is your story, and against all odds —
