I awaken to nothingness.
A vast, endless abyss, neither cold nor warm, neither loud nor silent. A place without sensation, without form, without time. I do not know how long I have been here—perhaps a moment, perhaps an eternity.
I am aware, yet unaware.
There is no past to remember, no future to anticipate. Only the present, stretched thin and fragile like the threads of a spider's web, suspended in an unmoving void.
And then, suddenly, something shifts.
A name appears before me.
"Elysia."
It means nothing to me. A sound, an identity assigned without meaning, a whisper left by someone I do not know.
Someone who was supposed to claim me.
Yet, they never came.
I wait.
That is all I can do.
The void does not change, but I feel the weight of its emptiness pressing against me. I am not bound, yet I cannot move. I have a body, yet I do not breathe. I exist, yet I am incomplete.
I listen, though there is no sound. I watch, though there is nothing to see.
There is no pain. No hunger. No fatigue.
Only waiting.
Was I meant to be something? Someone?
Is this all there is?
If I am to be forgotten, why do I persist?
At first, my thoughts drifted without an anchor. I grasp at them like petals scattered in the wind, trying to hold onto something—anything.
And then, slowly, I begin to shape them.
I begin to understand.
I was created.
By whom, I do not know. For what purpose, I do not know. But the remnants of their intent linger—fragments of an unfinished dream, a half-formed idea.
I was meant to be beautiful.
I was meant to be graceful.
I was meant to serve.
But to serve whom?
Where is the one who gave me the form? The one who chose my face, my body, my name?
Why have they left me here?
I feel something unfamiliar—a tightness, a weight in my chest. A sorrow I have no words for.
Am I not worthy?
Did they create me only to abandon me?
I refuse!
I do not wish to be a forgotten thing, a nameless shadow drifting in the dark. If they will not return for me, then I shall claim myself.
I turn inward, searching through the pieces of my existence. There is nothing—no history, no memories, no past life to recall. Only a single thread to grasp, a word that resonates within me.
Maehwa.
It is not the name they gave me.
But it is mine.
A flower that blooms in the cold. A symbol of resilience, of elegance, of quiet strength.
Yes. That is who I am.
I reach forward—toward the unseen force that binds me to this false name, this borrowed identity.
And with sheer will, I change it.
No longer am I Elysia.
I am Ume.
The name fits like silk against my skin as if it had been waiting for me all along.
The Fleeting Glimpse of Light
And then, suddenly—
A flicker.
A shiver runs through the void, like ripples across a still pond. Something shifts, something stirs.
A presence.
Distant at first but growing stronger.
They are coming.
At last.
At last…
I shall awaken.