Xian leaned back in his chair, the worn wood creaking softly under his weight. The faint glow of the shop's overhead light cast long shadows across the cluttered workbench, a silent witness to his nightly routine. The rhythmic hum of machinery provided a steady backdrop, its mechanical song both comforting and isolating. His gaze drifted to the cracked ceiling, tracing the fractures as if searching for answers in their jagged paths.
"Why me?" he muttered, his voice barely audible over the ticking of the wall clock.
That question had haunted him since the day his life turned upside down. A year had passed enough time to settle into Terra's strange rhythm, yet not nearly enough to accept it. Earth felt like a distant memory, a dream he couldn't quite wake from. The world of Terra, with its mix of familiar emotions and alien landscapes, was his new reality. And despite the passing months, the surreal nature of it all continued to gnaw at him.
His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of a screwdriver on the table, the cool metal grounding him. He thought of his grandparents, the people who had shaped the man he'd become. His grandfather's patience, his grandmother's gentle wisdom their teachings had molded him, given him purpose.
They had shown him that everything could be fixed, no matter how broken. It was a lesson he carried with him, a truth that had saved him countless times since arriving in this world.
"I hope they'd be proud," he murmured, his voice tinged with wistfulness.
The shop was a testament to their influence. Each tool, every repaired device, was a small victory in a world that didn't seem to want him. Here, he wasn't an outsider. He was needed. Respected, even. It was a fragile thread of normalcy in an otherwise chaotic existence.
The clock ticked on, its rhythmic beat pulling Xian from his thoughts. He rubbed his temples, shaking off the creeping exhaustion. The shop was empty now for the tome being, the day's work was almost done. But peace was a fleeting thing.
A soft chime shattered the quiet. The shop door swung open, its bell announcing the arrival of a visitor. Xian sat up, his hands instinctively moving to organize the scattered tools on his bench.
He didn't bother looking up right away customers rarely stood out, and the routine was second nature by now.
"Excuse me," came a voice, soft but firm, cutting through the ambient hum of machinery.
His hands froze mid-motion. There was something about that voice—something that sent a chill down his spine. Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
Standing in the doorway was a girl unlike any he had encountered before. Her short brown hair framed a face that was both youthful and resolute.
But it was her eyes that truly held him brilliant blue, shimmering with a depth that seemed to pierce straight through him. And then, there were her ears, long and unmistakable, twitching slightly as they caught the faintest of sounds.
Recognition slammed into him with the force of a freight train.
No way. It can't be.
His mind scrambled for an explanation, but there was none. He knew her. Not from Terra, but from Earth. From a game.
From Arknights. She wasn't just anyone, she was Amiya. The leader of Rhodes Island. The face of the conflict he had studied obsessively through his screen.
His breath caught in his throat.
"Are you... alright?" she asked, her head tilting slightly as her gaze softened. Her voice was calm, steady, yet there was a flicker of concern in her tone.
Xian blinked, forcing himself to respond. "Uh... yeah. Sorry. Just... lost in thought."
His heart raced as he tried to compose himself. Amiya. Here. In his shop. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm him, but he clung to the routine like a lifeline.
She stepped forward, her movements graceful yet deliberate. "I have a communicator that needs repairs," she said, unclipping a small device from her belt and placing it on the counter. "Do you think you can fix it?"
Xian stared at the communicator, his hands trembling ever so slightly. This wasn't just another customer. This was someone whose actions could shape the world he now lived in.
Yet, as much as he wanted to gape, to ask questions, he pushed those thoughts aside. His grandparents' lessons echoed in his mind: focus on the task. Do your best.
He nodded, his voice steady despite the storm inside. "I'll take a look."
With that, he picked up the device, his fingers moving with practiced precision. But even as he worked, a single thought lingered, unshakable and electric.
What does this mean for me? have i been caught again to a ridiculously of a coincidence?
Arknights Echoes of the Unfound Dawn
As Xian works, the shop was enveloped in an eerie quiet, the kind of silence that made even the faintest sound seem amplified. A gentle hum of machinery filled the space, harmonizing with the rhythmic clicks of tools in Xian's steady hands.
Before him lay a battered communicator, its casing marred by years of wear and tear. His movements were precise, almost mechanical, a practiced ease honed over countless repairs. Yet, tonight, something was different.
Across the room stood Amiya. She wasn't imposing or intrusive, yet her presence carried a strange weight, like a storm cloud waiting to release its downpour.
Xian could feel her eyes on him, sharp and discerning, but he refused to look up. Not yet.
It wasn't the usual discomfort he felt when someone hovered nearby. It wasn't impatience or idle curiosity. No, this was subtler a pressure, an invisible thread connecting the two of them. Tight. Unyielding.
He tried to focus on the task before him, his tools moving with mechanical precision. Still, the awareness of her presence gnawed at him. She was too quiet, too still, her silence louder than words.
What does she want?
Xian didn't need to glance at her to know she was watching. Her piercing blue eyes burned with an intensity he could feel even from across the room. Calm, composed, but scrutinizing like she was peeling back layers he didn't even know he had.
He brushed it off at first. Terra was full of odd people. But as he worked, he noticed the subtle shift in her demeanor. A narrowing of her eyes. A slight furrow of her brow.
To anyone else, it might have gone unnoticed. To Xian, it was like a flare in the darkness.
He dared a glance upward.
Her posture remained steady, her expression composed. Yet something about her presence unsettled him. It wasn't suspicion, not in the conventional sense. It was curiosity tinged with unease, as if she were probing for something just out of reach.
Does she know?
The thought came unbidden, a whisper in the back of his mind. He knew of Amiya's abilities or at least what little he'd heard.
She could read emotions, sense the unseen threads of thought and feeling that bound people together. But with him? He could only hope she found normal.
His hand faltered for just a moment, the tip of his screwdriver hesitating over the communicator. He forced himself to continue.
"Is something wrong with the communicator?" Amiya's voice broke the silence, calm but carrying an undercurrent he couldn't quite place.
Xian looked up, meeting her gaze fully for the first time. Her eyes were unyielding, sharp enough to cut through steel, yet devoid of hostility. There was something unnervingly genuine about her curiosity, as though she were seeing parts of him he wasn't ready to reveal.
"No," he replied evenly, masking his unease. "Just a few adjustments. It'll be done soon."
She nodded, her focus lingering on him a moment longer before drifting to the cluttered shelves lining the shop. Xian returned to his work, but the weight of her presence remained.
The shop's usual ambient noises the clinks of tools, the soft hum of machinery felt amplified now. Every movement seemed louder, every flicker of light more noticeable.
He could feel her gaze returning intermittently, and each time it did, his thoughts raced.
What is she trying to figure out?
Time crawled. Minutes passed in a tense rhythm until finally, with a quiet beep, the communicator powered on. Xian exhaled softly, setting the device down on the counter.
He wiped his hands on a rag, the motion slow, deliberate.
"Thank you," Amiya said. Her voice was softer now, carrying a note of sincerity that almost felt disarming.
Xian nodded. "Glad I could help."
She stepped forward, placing a few bills on the counter. Her hand lingered for a second too long, a hesitation so faint it could have been imagined. Xian noticed it anyway but chose to say nothing.
"Thanks," he said, pocketing the payment. "Let me know if it acts up again."
Amiya paused. Her gaze found his once more, but this time, it was different. There was no tension, no probing curiosity only calm. She smiled faintly, a small curve of her lips that felt more meaningful than it should have.
"Take care, Xian," she said.
Xian froze.
His name.
He hadn't introduced himself. Hadn't mentioned it at all.
The realization hit him like a spark to dry kindling, but before he could speak, she turned and walked to the door. The soft jingle of the bell marked her exit, leaving him alone in the quiet shop once more.
The communicator sat on the counter, now repaired and humming softly. Xian stared at it for a long moment, his thoughts swirling in the silence Amiya had left behind.
How does she know my name?
After that question. Xian leaned back against the counter, his arms crossed as the door clicked shut behind Amiya.
The faint jingle of the bell faded into the quiet hum of the shop's machinery, but her presence lingered, like an unseen weight pressing down on the air.
His fingers tapped absently against the countertop, the rhythm mirroring the churn of thoughts in his mind.
What was that all about?
She hadn't said much, but the way she'd looked at him, as if she was searching for something hidden in plain sight, gnawed at him.
Customers came and went every day, each with their quirks. He'd grown used to reading people, sensing their intentions, and deflecting when necessary.
But Amiya had been different. There was no malice in her gaze, no suspicion just an unsettling curiosity that felt too precise, too deliberate.
He shook his head, pushing off the counter and returning to his workbench. Tools and disassembled devices lay scattered before him, their familiar chaos a welcome distraction.
He reached for a half-dismantled gadget, his hands moving with practiced ease, but his mind refused to let go of the encounter.
Just another customer, he thought, trying to dismiss the unease creeping in. Yet the silence of the shop felt heavier now, as if the shadows themselves carried her lingering presence.
Meanwhile outside, Amiya pulled her cloak tighter against the evening chill, her breath visible in the frosty air.
The streets of Chernobog stretched before her, dimly lit by flickering streetlights that cast uneven shadows across the cobblestones.
The city's industrial sprawl buzzed with muted activity, a constant reminder of its restless, nomadic nature.
She glanced back at Xian's shop, its modest facade blending into the cluttered streets. On the surface, it was unremarkable, just another repair shop in a city full of them. But Xian…
Her brow furrowed as she turned the thought over in her mind. There was something about him, something she couldn't define. Her ability, the one that let her sense the subtle currents of emotion and intent in others, had found nothing.
No warmth, no tension, no ripples at all. It was as if he existed in a vacuum, his very presence muted.
Amiya's fingers brushed the communicator clipped to her belt, its faint hum of restored functionality a quiet reassurance.
Xian's skill with technology was undeniable. He'd fixed the device with a precision that suggested expertise far beyond what one might expect from a repairman in a place like this.
Too precise.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the thought. It didn't matter. Whatever secrets he might have, they weren't her concern.
Rhodes Island had more pressing matters to attend to, and this mission couldn't afford distractions.
Her pace quickened as she navigated the narrow streets, her destination drawing closer. The repaired communicator was critical without it, coordinating their operations in Chernobog would be impossible.
Their clash with Reunion had left them vulnerable, and every second counted.
The dim lights of a derelict warehouse came into view, its crumbling exterior hiding the temporary base Rhodes Island had established.
Amiya paused outside, her gaze flicking back toward the direction of Xian's shop. She couldn't shake the faint echo of his presence, the way it seemed so utterly disconnected from the world around him.
Detached. That was the word.
She clenched her fists, forcing the thought aside. No. He's just a repairman. Nothing more.
With a sharp exhale, Amiya stepped inside the warehouse, the sound of her boots echoing faintly against the cold, empty walls.
The warehouse interior was shrouded in shadows, the dim light of a few scattered lamps casting long, uneven lines across the cold concrete floor. Operators clustered around a makeshift table, the surface cluttered with maps, dossiers, and hastily scrawled notes.
The air buzzed with tension, their whispered conversations punctuated by the occasional sharp directive.
"Did you get it?" Dobermann's voice rang clear and authoritative, cutting through the low hum of discussion.
Amiya stepped forward, her cloak rustling softly as she unclipped the communicator from her belt. She placed it on the table with deliberate care, its faint hum of activity drawing the group's attention. "It's fixed. We're back online."
A collective exhale rippled through the room, the kind of relief that didn't entirely dispel the underlying tension.
The stakes in Chernobog were too high, and the looming specter of Reunion too close, for true comfort. But for a moment, the burden lightened.
Dobermann picked up the communicator, her sharp gaze sweeping over it before handing it off to a nearby operator. "Good work. This will make a difference."
Amiya sank into one of the worn chairs around the table, her body still but her mind restless. The briefing resumed without delay, voices rising and falling in rhythm as strategies were laid out, fallback plans debated, and escape routes plotted.
Yet, even as she tried to focus, a part of her remained anchored to the repair shop, to the man who had fixed the device now powering their efforts.
Xian's image lingered in her thoughts his steady hands, the calm efficiency of his movements, and most of all, the strange, detached void that surrounded him.
Amiya's ability to sense emotions and intentions had always been a constant, a reliable tool in reading people. But with Xian, there had been nothing. No hints of warmth or hostility, no fear or determination. Just… silence.
Why?
Her fingers traced absent patterns on the table's surface, her brow furrowing as she replayed the encounter in her mind. Was it intentional? Was he hiding something? Or was he simply… different?
She clenched her fists, forcing the questions to the back of her mind. Now wasn't the time for distractions.
Reunion was tightening its grip on Chernobog, and their mission demanded her full attention. Whatever strange mysteries surrounded Xian, they weren't her concern not yet.
Dobermann's voice snapped her back to the present. "Amiya, your input?"
She straightened, nodding firmly as she leaned forward to contribute.
The room's tension coalesced into a singular focus, each operator doing their part to prepare for the storm ahead.