Their journey carried them through landscapes that seemed to shift like dreams—ruins of cities consumed by creeping ivy and moss, barren wastelands where the wind howled like a distant lament, and forests so dense they felt like they belonged to another world entirely. They spoke little as they traveled, letting the silence between them settle like a fragile truce. The world around them was alive with its own stories: every crumbling building a forgotten chapter, every rusting piece of metal a whisper of humanity's ambitions, and every cracked street a trail of a life long past.
Izumi often found herself lingering as they walked, her metallic fingers brushing against the remnants of a bygone era. A child's toy, faded and broken. A mural on a shattered wall, its vibrant colors dulled but not entirely lost. Each artifact seemed to ask the same question: What happened to us? And yet, no answer came.
The turning point of the day came when they stumbled across a long-forgotten facility. Half-buried in creeping vines and tangled roots, the building seemed to emerge from the earth itself, as if it had been consumed and then spit back out. The walls were blackened with fire damage, the glass windows shattered, and the structure tilted slightly, as if ready to collapse under the weight of its secrets.
Izumi and Daichi exchanged a glance.
"Another ruin," Daichi murmured, his voice quiet but thoughtful.
"Not just a ruin," Izumi replied, her glowing eyes scanning the building. "This was important once."
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of mildew and dust, mingled with the faint metallic tang of rust. Their footsteps echoed in the dim corridors as they moved cautiously. The walls were scorched, the paint peeling in long strips, but the place still carried a weight that Izumi couldn't quite place.
"Do you feel it?" Daichi asked, his voice cutting through the eerie quiet.
"Feel what?" Izumi responded, keeping her voice low.
"Like this place is waiting for something. Or someone," he said, his eyes scanning the shadows.
Izumi nodded, though she said nothing. She felt it too—a quiet, almost oppressive energy that seemed to cling to the air.
They entered what had once been a laboratory. Machines, now rusted and inert, stood like skeletal remains of the past. Papers littered the floor, some burned, others faded beyond recognition. Shelves lined the walls, many of them toppled, their contents scattered. Yet, in the far corner of the room, a single metal cabinet stood upright, as though defying the chaos around it.
Daichi approached it, his movements slow and deliberate. The cabinet creaked as he pulled it open, revealing a trove of old documents, files, and photographs.
"What's all this?" Daichi asked, pulling out a handful of papers. He shuffled through them, his brows furrowing as he tried to make sense of the faded text.
Izumi stepped closer, her mechanical limbs moving with a soft whir. "Records, maybe. Notes from whoever worked here."
Then Daichi froze.
"What is it?" Izumi asked, her voice sharp with concern.
Wordlessly, Daichi held up a photograph. It was old and yellowed with age, the edges frayed, but the image itself was clear enough. It showed a young boy, perhaps ten years old, standing beside an older man. Both were dressed in lab coats, and the boy wore a shy but proud smile.
Izumi's breath caught in her throat. She recognized the boy immediately.
"It's…" Daichi's voice faltered, his expression unreadable. "This boy… he looks familiar."
Izumi's eyes flickered between the photograph and Daichi's face. The resemblance was undeniable. The boy in the photo was him—Daichi, years before she had ever known him.
Her silence must have spoken volumes, because Daichi turned to her, his gaze questioning. "You recognize him, don't you?"
Izumi hesitated, her mechanical fingers tightening at her sides. She wanted to tell him the truth, wanted to explain everything, but the words wouldn't come.
"I…" She faltered, her voice barely a whisper. "I don't know."
Daichi studied her, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn't press the issue. Instead, he looked back at the photograph, his expression softening.
"Maybe this is a clue," he said quietly, slipping the photograph into his coat pocket. "Maybe it'll help us figure out who I am."
Izumi clenched her fists, her glowing eyes dimming slightly as a wave of guilt washed over her. She knew exactly who he was—who he had been—but how could she tell him? How could she explain the burden of their shared past when he didn't even remember her?
"I hope so," she said softly, forcing the words out.
The room grew quieter, the silence stretching between them like a chasm. Daichi turned to her, his expression thoughtful.
"Do you think…" He hesitated, searching for the right words. "Do you think we'll ever find the truth? About me, about this world?"
Izumi met his gaze, her heart aching at the uncertainty in his eyes. "We will," she said firmly, though her voice betrayed a hint of doubt. "Together."
Daichi's lips curved into a faint smile. "Together," he echoed.
But as they prepared to leave the ruined facility, Izumi couldn't shake the unease that clung to her. The photograph in Daichi's pocket wasn't just a clue—it was a fragment of a life he had lost, a life she had been a part of. And though she wanted to believe they could uncover the truth, she couldn't ignore the gnawing fear in her heart.
Some truths, she realized, were more painful than lies.
As the shadows deepened and the world outside grew darker, Izumi made a quiet vow to herself. No matter what they found, no matter how much it hurt, she would protect him. She would shield him from the past if it meant keeping him safe.
Even if it broke her heart.