The world around us had long since crumbled, yet it still breathed with the echoes of what once was. As we walked, the landscapes shifted like remnants of a forgotten dream—ruins of towering cities now overtaken by creeping ivy and moss, barren wastelands where the wind howled through the remains of shattered buildings, and forests so dense they felt untouched by time.
Daichi and I spoke little. There was an unspoken understanding between us, a quiet truce formed by the weight of our journey. The silence wasn't empty—it carried the whispers of the past, of lives once lived. Every cracked street was a path someone had once taken, every rusting sign a marker of lost directions, every abandoned building a hollow shell of forgotten stories.
I often found myself pausing, my metal fingers grazing the remnants of a bygone era. A faded child's toy, cracked and missing an eye. A mural on a crumbling wall, its colors dulled but still resisting time. The air was thick with the presence of things left behind, and every object I touched seemed to ask me the same unanswerable question: What happened to us?
Daichi noticed, though he never said anything.
It wasn't until we stumbled upon an old facility, half-buried beneath tangled roots and suffocated by vines, that the stillness between us truly broke. The building looked as though the earth itself had tried to consume it, its walls blackened with the scars of fire, its shattered windows like vacant, watching eyes. The structure leaned as if it were moments away from collapse, yet it stood, defiant.
Daichi halted beside me, his gaze scanning the ruin.
"Another ruin," he murmured, his voice quiet, almost reverent.
I studied the remains of the building, the faint glow of my mechanical irises reflecting in the glass shards at our feet. "...Not just a ruin."
Daichi glanced at me, curiosity flickering across his face.
"This place mattered once," I said, stepping forward. "I can feel it."
We entered cautiously, the scent of mildew and rust clinging to the stale air. Our footsteps echoed against the scorched walls, the remnants of peeling paint hanging in long, brittle strips. The deeper we walked, the heavier the air became—not just with dust, but with something unseen, something that had long been left behind.
"Do you feel it?" Daichi's voice cut through the quiet.
I turned to him. "Feel what?"
He hesitated before answering, his eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor. "Like this place is waiting for something. Or someone."
I exhaled softly. "Yeah… I feel it too."
We pressed on, eventually reaching what had once been a laboratory. The room was filled with rusted, inert machines, their skeletal frames twisted and hollow. Papers littered the ground, some charred, others too faded to read. Shelves, long since toppled, lay broken in the corners, their contents lost to time.
Yet one thing remained untouched.
A single metal cabinet, standing perfectly upright in the farthest corner of the room, as though it had been left untouched by the chaos surrounding it.
Daichi and I exchanged a glance before he stepped forward, his movements slow, deliberate. The cabinet groaned as he pulled it open, revealing stacks of old files and scattered photographs.
He reached inside, pulling out a handful of papers, his brows knitting together. "Notes... records, maybe." He flipped through them, his eyes narrowing. "Looks like someone tried to save these."
I moved closer, my mechanical limbs making the faintest whir as I did. "Whoever worked here wanted to keep this hidden."
Then Daichi froze.
I immediately tensed. "What is it?"
Wordlessly, he held up a photograph. The edges were frayed, the paper yellowed with age, but the image was unmistakably clear.
A young boy, no older than ten, stood beside an older man, both dressed in lab coats. The boy's expression was shy but proud, his hands clenched tightly at his sides.
My breath caught.
I knew that face.
"It's…" Daichi's voice faltered as he stared at the photo, his fingers tightening around it. "This boy… He looks familiar."
I forced my gaze away from the photograph and looked at him instead. His expression was unreadable, his eyes flicking between the image and his own reflection in the glass of a broken monitor.
The resemblance was undeniable.
It was him.
I swallowed hard, my fingers curling into fists at my sides. I wanted to tell him. I wanted to tell him everything. But the words lodged in my throat, too heavy to escape.
"You recognize him, don't you?" Daichi's voice was quiet, but firm.
I hesitated. "...I don't know," I whispered, knowing full well that I was lying.
His eyes lingered on me, searching for something—an answer, maybe. But he didn't push. Instead, he let out a slow breath, slipping the photograph into his coat pocket.
"Maybe this is a clue," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "Maybe it'll help us figure out who I am."
I clenched my fists tighter. I already know who you are.
But how could I tell him?
How could I make him remember something that might break him?
"I hope so," I said softly, forcing the words out.
The silence stretched between us, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken.
Daichi turned to me then, his expression troubled. "Do you think…" He hesitated. "Do you think we'll ever find the truth? About me? About this world?"
I met his gaze, the uncertainty in his eyes cutting through me.
"We will," I said, trying to sound certain. "Together."
His lips curled into a faint smile. "Together," he echoed.
But as we turned to leave, something inside me twisted.
The photograph in his pocket wasn't just a clue—it was a piece of the past. His past. Our past. A past he had forgotten and one that I had sworn to protect him from.
Even if the truth shattered everything.
Even if it shattered me.
As we stepped out into the dying light of the world, I made a quiet vow.
No matter what we found—no matter how much it hurt—I would protect him.
Even if it meant keeping the truth buried in the ruins where it belonged.
Even if it meant breaking my own heart.