3rd January 2016 (2116)

6:49 AM - HOG-Stein Military Base, Bungalow (B-2B), Room 377

The scent of lavender fills the room, curling around me like a familiar embrace. It's a comforting fragrance, one that reminds me of my childhood-the days when I would run to my mother's arms, feeling safe and loved in the warmth of her presence. Even now, I find myself drawn to it, as if it holds a secret promise of home.

"Oshi, dear! Hurry up, or you'll miss the bus!"

Her voice floats into the room, soft but laced with the familiar note of urgency. I look up from my breakfast as she calls out to me. Leaning against the doorframe, my mother stands with a gentle smile, her violet eyes reflecting both warmth and a quiet amusement as she watches me dawdle over my cereal.

I can feel her gaze on me, loving yet expectant. She's always been this way, her presence a constant in my life. I finish the last of my food quickly and slide off the chair. My legs feel unsteady for a moment, but I catch myself.

With a soft shuffle of my feet, I walk toward her, the fabric of her dress brushing against my fingers as I reach up and tug at the hem. My small hand, still too young to understand the weight of the world, pulls at her gently, seeking her attention. My head tilts slightly as I look up at her with big, wide eyes-eyes full of doubt and hesitation.

"Do I really have to go, Mom?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her smile falters just for a moment, a shadow crossing her face, but it vanishes almost instantly. She crouches down before me, her hands resting on her knees. A soft, almost secretive chuckle escapes her lips as she reaches up to ruffle my hair, her fingers warm against my scalp.

"It's for your education, my dear," she says, her voice calm and reassuring, as though it's something she's said a hundred times before. "You said you wanted to have lots and lots of friends, remember?"

Her words are light, almost playful, but my heart sinks. I bite my lip, the weight of her expectation pressing down on me. I hadn't realized how big the world would seem outside of the walls of our home.

"But... will Father visit me? He promised he would, right?" My voice quivers a little, the question heavy with the innocence of a child who is scared of being alone. I instinctively reach up and cling to her leg, the feeling of her warmth a small comfort against the growing pit in my stomach.

For a brief moment, her expression shifts, as though a memory flits through her mind-a memory I'll never understand. Her eyes narrow just slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face.

"Trivoer said that, did he?" she asks, her tone soft, almost as if testing the words. Her brow arches in a way I hadn't seen before.

Then, she lowers herself to one knee, her gaze locking with mine. Her violet eyes are full of something deeper than love, something that feels almost as though it transcends this moment. She cups my cheek gently with one hand, her touch warm and familiar, but I sense an underlying urgency.

"Maybe... maybe twice a year," she says after a long pause, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertain. "If possible, I'll come visit you, too. I promise."

The words are comforting, but they feel distant, like a promise made to someone else. She holds me close, her arms wrapping around me in a hug that feels tighter than usual, as though she's trying to hold on to this fleeting moment.

"Mom will miss you so much, Oshi," she whispers into my hair, her voice thick with emotion. "But you have to promise me one thing-be successful, okay? When you come back, show me what you've achieved."

Her words are heavy, her grip tightening slightly as she presses her cheek against mine. My chest tightens with a mixture of fear and excitement, but I nod against her, wanting to please her.

She pulls away just enough to look me in the eyes, her expression softening again. "Promise me, Oshi."

Without thinking, I extend my small pinky finger toward her. I hesitate, my heart racing in my chest, unsure of the promise I'm about to make. But I wrap my finger around hers slowly, my small hand trembling as I echo her words.

"Promise."

Her smile spreads, a soft, knowing smile that reassures me even as it breaks something deep within. We shake our pinkies, the connection between us unspoken but strong.

I can't help but smile, the warmth of the moment filling me with an odd sense of excitement, even though a part of me still feels unsettled.

She stands up, her movements graceful and fluid, and hands me a small copper suitcase-shiny and new-along with a doll, a little purple zombie bear with a patchwork body.

"Don't forget your 'Hug Lover,'" she teases lightly, waving the doll in front of me.

"Pookie!" I squeal, snatching the plush toy from her hand. I hold it tight against my chest, the familiar softness of the doll a small comfort in this strange moment of change.

Her laughter is soft and melodic, and she takes my free hand in hers, guiding me toward the door. The sunlight streaming in through the windows bathes the room in a golden glow, casting long shadows across the floor.

As we step outside, the sun falls over her face, obscuring her features for a brief moment. The light is so bright, it almost feels as if it's swallowing her whole. But I don't understand yet. I can't see it.

When we reach the bus, I feel a lump form in my throat, my heart beating faster in my chest. I climb the stairs and pause at the top, looking back one last time.

"I'm off now," I say, my voice trembling with uncertainty. I raise my hand in a small wave, my fingers curling around Pookie.

"Bye, Mom!" I shout, my voice a little louder now, hoping she can hear me.

Through the glass, I see her raise her hand in response, her lips curling into a faint smile that's almost too faint to be real. The sunlight still bathes her face, casting an eerie glow over her features.

And in the split second before the bus pulls away, I swear I see her lips move. The words don't reach me, and I strain to hear them, but the doors begin to close with a soft hiss.

I think I hear her whispering something, but I can't make out the words. The bus begins to pull away, and the glass door slides shut, separating us.

---

I thought my promise would be enough. I thought I would see her again. I thought everything would be okay.

But she never visited. Not even once.

And now, after all these years, I know what she said.

Her last words, spoken just before the door closed between us, still echo in my mind:

"Stay strong, my son... Protect your sister in my stead."