The metallic hum of the facility echoed faintly as the steel doors slid open with a sharp hiss. The sound shattered the stillness of the room, making me instinctively straighten.
I wasn't sure what I expected, but when my gaze landed on the two figures stepping inside, my breath hitched.
Hikari entered first, her pristine white lab coat swaying with every calculated step. Her sharp eyes flickered across the room, dissecting every detail with that same cool precision I remembered so well. Ayase followed closely, her combat boots clicking against the floor with an effortless confidence. Though she carried herself casually, there was a certain weight behind her gaze—one honed by countless battles, too many to count.
For a moment, no one spoke.
The silence between us was heavy, filled with things left unsaid. I felt my fingers clench at my sides, my heart pounding. Were they real? Or just another fragment of memory trying to deceive me?
Then, as if something inside me snapped, I took a step forward.
"Hikari! Ayase!"
My voice cracked, raw with disbelief and relief. I ran toward them before I could stop myself, throwing my arms around them in a tight, almost desperate embrace. The weight of loneliness, fear, and uncertainty melted—if only for a second.
Hikari stiffened slightly at first, caught off guard by my sudden hug, but after a pause, she gently patted my shoulder. Ayase, on the other hand, smirked faintly.
"You're real," I whispered, pulling back just enough to see their faces. My hands trembled as I gripped Hikari's sleeves. "You're actually here."
"Of course we are." Hikari's voice was soft but firm, her eyes searching mine.
Ayase crossed her arms, letting out a light scoff. "Come on, Izumi. Did you really think we wouldn't show up?" She ruffled my hair playfully, a rare warmth in her expression. "It's been way too long."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, my emotions too tangled to put into words.
"We thought you wouldn't come," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "That maybe… we'd have to face this alone."
"We'd never leave you alone," Hikari said simply, adjusting her glasses. There was a quiet certainty in her words that made my chest tighten. "We're in this together. Always."
I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
That's when Daichi stepped forward.
Unlike me, he didn't rush toward them—his steps were slower, heavier, as if he were measuring each one. When he finally reached them, he extended a hand first to Hikari, then to Ayase.
"It's good to see you both," he said, his voice calm but laced with something deeper. "We're going to need all the help we can get."
Ayase clasped his hand firmly. "Then it's a good thing we're here." Her amber eyes met his, unwavering. "Whatever this is, Daichi, we'll find it—and we'll stop it."
Hikari's expression turned serious as she pulled out a tablet, the glow reflecting off her glasses. "We've been monitoring the disappearances," she began, her voice clinical but tinged with concern. "They're accelerating. It's no longer isolated cases. Entire towns have been wiped clean. Just last night, over five thousand people vanished." Her fingers tightened around the device, her knuckles turning pale. "At this rate… there might not be anyone left to save."
My stomach churned.
Five thousand people.
Gone.
I instinctively reached for Daichi's hand. He took it without hesitation, squeezing it just enough to ground me. But his jaw was tight, his eyes shadowed with something dark.
"We thought the Vanishing had ended," he said at last, his voice rough. "I gave up everything to stop it. So why—" He exhaled sharply, frustration bleeding into his tone. "Why is it happening again?"
"Daichi…" I murmured, looking up at him.
I could see the weight of his past, of all the sacrifices he had made, pressing down on his shoulders. It made my chest ache.
"You've already given so much," I said softly, gripping his fingers tighter. "You don't have to do this alone."
He looked at me then, something flickering in his gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was quieter.
"I know."
And for a fleeting moment, the burden he carried didn't seem quite as heavy.
Hikari placed a firm hand on Daichi's arm. "You don't have to ask for our help," she told him, her voice steady. "We're here because we believe in this fight—and in you." Her gaze shifted briefly to me. "In both of you."
Ayase stepped closer, smirking. "Don't think you're the only one carrying scars, Daichi. We've all been through hell, but we're still standing. And as long as we are, we'll fight." Her expression softened slightly. "Together."
I felt my throat tighten.
For the first time in months, I felt… lighter. Like the unbearable weight I had been carrying wasn't mine alone.
I looked at each of them, my voice trembling but sure.
"Thank you."
Ayase rolled her eyes. "Don't get all sappy on me now, Izumi."
Hikari adjusted her glasses, a small smile playing at her lips. "She's right. We need a plan, and we need it fast."
Daichi took a deep breath, straightening. A familiar determination settled in his eyes—the kind I had seen countless times before.
"Then let's get to work."
We stood there for a long moment, the silence between us heavy but not empty. It was a silence filled with understanding. A silent promise.
Outside, the world was unraveling.
But inside these steel walls, a family had come together once more.
The forest loomed ahead, its ancient trees towering like silent sentinels.
Every step we took, the leaves crackled beneath our feet, the sound unnervingly loud in the still air. Shadows stretched long and eerie, swallowing the fading daylight.
A strange energy hung in the air, a quiet hum that sent an uneasy shiver down my spine.
"This place…" I muttered, trailing my fingers along the rough bark of a tree. "It feels like it's watching us."
Ayase, walking a few paces ahead, glanced over her shoulder. "You're not imagining things," she murmured. "Places like this… they have a way of making you feel small. Like we're trespassing on something ancient." Her hand hovered over the hilt of her knife. "Stay sharp. This kind of quiet—it's never a good sign."
Beside me, Daichi's hand brushed mine briefly, his touch warm despite the cold air.
"Whatever's out there," he murmured, "we'll face it together."
I swallowed hard but nodded, gripping my flashlight tighter.
It wasn't long before we reached a clearing. At the center of it, like a wound carved into the heart of the forest, stood something so alien, so utterly out of place, that my breath hitched in my throat.
A massive spacecraft loomed before us, its sleek metallic hull scarred by the passage of time and the violence of battle. Vines and moss crept along its surface, their delicate tendrils trying—and failing—to claim it, as though even nature hesitated to consume something so foreign. The ship's surface shimmered faintly, reflecting the dim light with an eerie, otherworldly iridescence.
I took an unsteady step forward, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag. "This… this isn't from Earth," I whispered, pushing my glasses higher on my nose. My voice trembled, caught between fear and fascination. "The technology… the materials… it's light-years ahead of anything we've ever seen."
Beside me, Daichi moved closer, his sharp eyes scanning the ship's smooth curves and intricate patterns. His expression was unreadable, but I could see the gears turning in his mind. "How long has it been here?" he murmured. "It looks abandoned—maybe decades. But something about it…" He trailed off, his brow furrowing in thought.
Izumi shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. "It doesn't feel dead," she said softly. Her voice carried an unease that settled deep in my bones. "It's like it's waiting for something—or someone."
Ayase's hand instinctively moved to the hilt of her weapon. Her movements were sharp, deliberate, her gaze scanning the treeline like a predator waiting for an ambush. "I don't like this," she muttered. "This ship… it doesn't just feel abandoned. It feels hostile."
I shot her a look, shaking my head. "The ship itself isn't alive, Ayase. It's just a machine."
She met my gaze with a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You don't need something to be alive for it to kill you."
A lump formed in my throat. I knew she was right.
I turned to Daichi, who was still studying the ship with an intensity that made my stomach twist. "We need to know what's inside," Izumi spoke up before I could. Her voice, though soft, carried undeniable determination. "If this thing has anything to do with the Vanishing, we can't ignore it."
Daichi glanced at her, then at the rest of us, his jaw tightening briefly before he nodded. "You're right. We can't turn back now." His gaze met mine, then Ayase's. "Stay close. We don't know what we're walking into."
We moved cautiously toward the ship's entrance, which was partially hidden beneath a thick tangle of vines. Ayase took the lead, her blade flashing as she sliced through the overgrowth with swift, precise strokes. The metallic door beneath creaked ominously as Daichi pressed his shoulder against it, forcing it open with a low groan of effort.
The moment we stepped inside, a chill ran through me.
Darkness swallowed us, thick and oppressive, broken only by the beams of our flashlights as they illuminated the corridors ahead. The ship's interior was sleek, metallic, and unnervingly pristine, untouched by the decay that had begun to claim its exterior. Strange, alien symbols lined the walls, glowing faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the ship's low hum.
The air was stale, tinged with something metallic—something unnatural.
Izumi shivered beside me. "It's so quiet," she whispered. "Too quiet."
"Let's hope it stays that way," Ayase muttered, fingers tightening around her weapon. "Because if something jumps out at us, I'm not going to pretend I wasn't expecting it."
I would've rolled my eyes at her sarcasm if I weren't too busy trying to calm my racing heart.
We pressed on. The ship's corridors stretched endlessly ahead, twisting and turning like an elaborate maze. The deeper we went, the more the unease in my chest grew.
Then, my flashlight flickered over a dark stain on the floor. I stopped abruptly.
My breath caught as I crouched down, my fingers brushing the edge of the dried substance. The texture was rough, cracked. My throat tightened. "Blood," I said quietly. "It's old, but not ancient. Whatever happened here… it wasn't that long ago."
"Guys," Daichi called from ahead, his voice tight. "You need to see this."
We hurried forward, and my stomach dropped.
Bodies. Scattered throughout the room.
Some were humanoid, their elongated, delicate features unmistakably alien. Others were grotesque amalgamations of insect-like limbs and chitinous armor. Their forms were frozen in twisted positions, as if caught in their final moments of agony.
Izumi gagged, covering her mouth. "What… what happened to them?"
Ayase crouched beside one of the corpses, flipping it over with her blade. "These wounds…" Her sharp gaze softened, if only slightly. "Some were killed by weapons. But others… it's like they were ripped apart by something bigger. Stronger."
A cold sweat formed on the back of my neck.
Daichi stood in the middle of the carnage, his flashlight illuminating the destruction. He was silent, his expression dark, calculating. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. "This wasn't random," he murmured. "Whatever happened here, it wasn't an accident. This ship… it came here for a reason."
Ayase rose to her feet. "And whatever killed them?"
Daichi's jaw clenched. "It might still be here."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to move, to breathe, to push forward. We couldn't stop now.
Deeper into the ship, we found a massive chamber—a control room, its walls lined with shattered consoles and dead monitors. But among the destruction, one screen still flickered with life.
Hikari rushed forward, her eyes gleaming with fascination as she connected a small device to the terminal. Alien text scrolled across the screen in erratic bursts. I watched her, my pulse pounding.
"Hikari?" Ayase stepped forward, wary. "What does it say?"
For a moment, she said nothing. Then, her fingers froze.
Her face paled.
"Hikari?" I pressed, dread curling in my gut.
She took a shaky breath, staring at the screen as if hoping she'd misread it. "This ship… it wasn't just a vessel," she murmured. "It was a containment unit."
My blood ran cold.
Izumi's voice barely rose above a whisper. "Containment for what?"
Hikari hesitated, then turned to us, her expression stricken. "A creature. Something capable of manipulating time and space itself." Her voice wavered. "They were experimenting on it. But the project failed."
Ayase tensed. "You're saying this thing escaped?"
Hikari nodded. "It broke free. And it tore this ship apart."
Daichi exhaled sharply. "If it survived the crash…"
Izumi finished for him, her voice barely audible. "It could still be out there."
The silence was suffocating.
A creature beyond our understanding. Capable of bending time and space. A force unlike anything we'd ever seen.
The Vanishing.
Was this… was this the cause?
I gripped my arms, trying to suppress the shiver running down my spine. "How do we fight something like that?" I asked, my voice small. "How do we stop it?"
Daichi's gaze burned with quiet determination.
"We find it," he said. "Before it finds us."