The first days after waking were incredibly hazy. I had no energy for anything beyond lying in bed, so even a minimal movement felt like a huge step. After languishing for a few more days, I'm finally starting to recover.
My body doesn't ache as much anymore. Only one injury—the stab wound on my side—still throbs persistently. No surprise; it's probably the worst wound I've ever had. I'm amazed I even made it home.
But as the physical pain fades, other troubles emerge. My mind is clearer now, and memories flood back, reminding me this isn't just my imagination.
Voices of people I once held close echo in my ears, and faces take shape in my mind. I realize how much I missed these forgotten moments, but the comfort doesn't last.
I find myself sinking into a heavy darkness. The weight of my thoughts presses on my chest, making it hard to breathe. I recall the sting of betrayal, the shattering of trust, and the devastating loss as my life—and everything I cherished—was stolen from me.
Yet what hurts most is remembering myself. I once wanted to know my true self, but now, more than anything, I wish I could forget. Sadly, the past follows us, no matter how fast we run. It's like a shadow—silent, but always there.
In the silence of the night, I know this is as real as it gets. On my small stage, masks fall and roles blur. I worked for three years, destroying the darkness, but the truth is, the filth was always there—under my own skin.
I remember every moment I hurt the vulnerable, every action my hands can't undo. It tears me apart to realize I built an illusion on the ashes of something once real. Tears well up in my eyes, but I choke them back, barely breathing. I feel lost. I no longer know how to focus on what matters, where to start, or how to handle it all. My only hope now is Balthazar.
I lie down and close my eyes, letting my consciousness slip away. Soon, I'm in the white room. I'm too exhausted; the journey was anything but pleasant. I feel a bit dizzy but manage to stay on my feet.
"Nate," Balthazar hurries over, visibly shaken. "You frightened me so much. I couldn't stop worrying."
I feel his hands on my back, but I don't return his embrace. I manage a crooked smile as our eyes meet when he steps back.
"How are you holding up? Sit down," Balthazar gestures toward the table.
"A bit battered, but alive. Or something like that," I mutter, sinking into the chair.
"I see you haven't lost your sense of humor," the old man smiles warmly. "Eleonora did a good job healing you."
"Yes, but at what cost?"
Balthazar immediately understands, and his smile fades.
"Nate," he says more seriously, "I know it's hard to see someone you care about make sacrifices. Trust me, it's hard for me too. But this was a choice you both made."
I'm silent for a moment. My first memory as a hunter is of Balthazar explaining the basic rules, the nature of the job, the contract's details. I remember how I agreed—to be a demon hunter, to abandon my past. Only now do I understand why. It was a choice to walk a harder path, to atone for my earthly sins and let my soul find peace.
Inside, I laugh bitterly. I don't deserve that choice. The stain on my soul is too deep for simple redemption. This afterlife isn't a realm of second chances; it's an echo of mistakes I can't undo. It's just a place to hide from what I truly deserve.
"If I had to choose again, maybe I'd make a different decision now," I sigh, looking down.
Hiding behind the hunter's identity and hunting demons to ease my pride changes nothing. All of it would make sense only if I could fix things as my true self. But this isn't the miracle I prayed for. My place isn't here. My place is in hell.
"I've been here a very long time, but only a few sought me with that look you had. It was full of love and resolve—the kind that can change lives. And you're doing that. Every step you take changes the world," Balthazar smiles.
"Someone like me doesn't know how to love. Yes, I hunt demons, but what difference does that make to those I left behind?"
"Don't deceive yourself. Just because you lost something doesn't mean it's gone," Balthazar sighs. "The world you knew continues, and you contribute to its creation. Maybe you're not who you once were, but this work isn't meaningless. Earthly life feels it. Someone still longs for you—like they would for the wind, the rain, or the sun."
I shake my head. No one could miss someone who caused them so much pain. The only blessing is that no one remembers me there.
"Not remembering what you long for or what life was like before that moment is hard not only for you but for those who stayed, too. Yet everyone bound by fate must part at least once. Your time there is over; you have to keep living without mixing things that shouldn't be together," Balthazar says, squeezing my shoulder.
I think of my sister, whose memory has resurfaced. It hurts, but I'm glad she can live without being haunted by what happened. Sofia's world changes daily, but it no longer holds guilt over things she can't change. Her subconscious no longer carries a selfish brother who, through foolish choices, led the family into hardship.
Unfortunately, this lost brother once again belongs to that world. I'm overwhelmed by emotions I can't control, and for a moment, I feel like letting it all out just to make it stop.
"Do you understand?" Balthazar's voice cuts through my thoughts.
I look up at him. Balthazar smiles gently, as if unaware of the storm in my mind, yet comforting as though he knows everything. I nod slightly.
"That's why the mutual memory lock exists. Bardo does it not because it can, but because it's necessary to contain chaos."
Balthazar's words make sense, but it's almost laughable that an organization meant to control chaos chose someone like me. I'm doubting not just myself but Bardo's choices as well. My beliefs are crumbling, and I'm not sure if I can hold them together.
"Has any hunter ever remembered everything?" I ask.
"What do you think happens to the countless memories of everything you've heard, seen, and felt? Bardo can erase stories from your mind, but your essence remembers. It never forgets. The system isn't perfect; gaps remain. Sometimes hunters remember everything on their own. Sometimes, memories return from others. Unfortunately, this can't be fixed, and it's dangerous. When the merging of consciousness and the subconscious breaks the known rules of reality, when dreams take control, madness is all that follows. And a hunter can't spread chaos; it violates the core principle of this role."