“You are all just controlling, fake friends! I am not Kartheina!”
RubberBand’s words echoed in my mind, a painful reminder of our fractured relationships.
It had been a few weeks since our friend group had gone our separate ways. The bond we once shared felt frayed, primarily due to our connection to Kartheina and the burdens of our existence as Dafael angels—a mysterious state we barely understood and could hardly explain.
Andre, now Correction, was always the rule follower. He believed our transformation was necessary and that adhering to the rules was crucial. In his view, we were fulfilling a greater purpose, even if it felt like a hollow facade. Max, or LoggerHead as he preferred now, would do anything to stay close to Kartheina, even if it meant losing himself in the process.
In the quiet moments, I questioned whether we had lost more than we had gained. The sacrifices we made seemed increasingly futile. Max often reminded me that this change was necessary to prevent further tragedies. But even his reassurances felt hollow now, a faded echo of a time when we believed we could make a difference.
I could hardly recognize them anymore. We had adopted codenames to forget ourselves, to bury the past deep enough that it wouldn’t haunt us, yet the weight of our choices lingered like a shadow. Andre's insistence on following the rules often clashed with Max’s devotion to Kartheina, creating an undercurrent of tension between them.
Was it worth it? Yoyo? We have separated, and the group is no longer together.
RubberBand’s words were like daggers, piercing through the fragile fabric of our unity. Her absence left a hollow ache in my chest, an unfillable void that echoed with the memory of our shared past. It felt as though we were aimless, lost in an ever-changing sea of uncertainty, struggling to navigate a world that had evolved while we remained biologically and instinctively stagnant.
I had never found my apartment's grey walls to be bland or depressing—no, they never were. When we were together, they seemed to shimmer with the vibrant hues of possibility and the serene shades of peace. But now, lying on my worn, creaking chair and staring at the ceiling, they appeared more lifeless than ever before.
We staged this performance solely for her, hoping she'd reciprocate our effort out of sheer selflessness. Her departure felt like a betrayal to us, and perhaps to herself as well. Where do supporting characters go when the protagonist has exited the stage?
Still, we had to honor her wishes and trust her decision, despite the ache of longing in my heart. We must carry on this charade, clinging to the hope of her return.
I am RoseBud... I am RoseBud... I am...
“Rose!” A familiar voice cut through the gloom of my thoughts from the entrance of my apartment. “RoseBud! I'm here!"
I had been helping people repair their weaponry in this city, and Lizy Pion had become a regular client. Despite her ancient age, her spirit exuded youthful energy with each visit.
I've known Lizy through LoggerHead; she is apparently a frequent visitor to his farm to purchase food. Log had referred her to me when her greatsword was first almost broken.
I opened the door to welcome her. Lizy’s arrival was like a sudden burst of sunshine, her presence cutting through the gloom that had settled in my apartment. She wore a dark red dress that blended casual elegance with a profound depth—one she might not fully recognise. Lizy’s bright mask seemed almost defiant, an emblem of hope in a world that had grown dark. Her youthful energy was a stark contrast to the weariness that had settled in my bones. However, that mask could never conceal her true self better than I had hidden mine.
“Here’s your greatsword,” I mumbled, handing it over. “I changed and oiled the screws, and I adjusted the wheels…”
Her sword was unique—a scooter that could transform into a greatsword. Few would dare to modify something so niche, fearing its fragility. Thankfully, my experience with various weapons made the task manageable.
I took pride in my work, believing that every person’s choice of weaponry told a story. Each repair was a connection to the past and a promise for the future, which is why I dedicated myself to this craft in Oriken.
As Lizy examined her greatsword, my thoughts drifted back to RubberBand’s departure. 'This is amazing work, Rose,' she said, pulling me back into the moment. “I can’t wait to try it out.”
But at that moment, my facade began to crack. Lizy caught me drifting into my thoughts, my words faltering.
“Is it about RubberBand?” she asked, her voice slicing through the silence like a sharp blade.
“I’ve heard a bit about it from LoggerHead,” she continued, her tone softening. Of course she had; LoggerHead was her mentor. I remembered when Lizy struggled to swing her sword with any force.
Back then, I worried for her—she might have had to leave Oriken for her own safety. Seeing her now, her hand resting firmly on my shoulder, I felt a swell of pride.
Her grip had strengthened—a testament to her growth. But it also revealed her keen observation skills, reminding me of what I had lost—of the friends who no longer stood beside me.
“Do I just... wait?” I whispered, my voice barely audible, the words heavy with uncertainty. “She is the reason I’m here, like the rest of us.”
The room fell into a suffocating silence. I had thought I could live better with Kartheina by my side, but slowly, she had become my only anchor, the one person who kept me grounded. Now, without her, I felt adrift, struggling to find my place.
Lizy’s eyes softened with understanding. She squeezed my shoulder gently, offering silent support.
What was I thinking? Lizy was trying to comfort me, and here I was, lost in my thoughts. I forced a smile, though it was tinged with uncertainty and a hint of sorrow.
“Maybe time will reveal the solution one day,” I said, trying to infuse my voice with hope. “Oh, you should try out the sword!”
I quickly shifted the topic, gesturing for us to leave the apartment. Lizy’s innocent eyes sparkled with excitement, though I sensed a hint of concern lingering in her gaze.
As we stepped outside, the bustling sounds of Oriken enveloped us, the city's unique blend of serenity and chaos reflecting my own inner turmoil. I directed Lizy to a nearby alley wide enough for her to try out the sword. Oriken was known as the land of duels, where every alleyway held the echoes of past battles, and the graffiti told stories of warriors' triumphs and defeats, creating a tapestry of chaos and beauty.
Tourists flock here, but to survive, everyone had to learn at least some combat. Worldwide fighters comes to participate in the annual duelist tournaments, drawing prominent combatants to our streets. If you fought in the middle of the road, you were bound to get your ass kicked, but in the alleyways, it was fair game.
Handing her the greatsword, I mumbled the technical details, but my mind was still tangled in thoughts of RubberBand. Lizy’s enthusiastic reaction pulled me back into the moment, her energy a stark contrast to my own weary soul.
“It’s way easier to hold!” Lizy exclaimed, swinging her sword with newfound confidence. She took a few practice swings, her movements becoming more fluid with each attempt. The sword glinted in the fading light, and I could see the determination etched on her face.
I felt a rush of pride for her as she twirled and swung, her laughter ringing out like music. But as I watched, a pang of nostalgia hit me. I remembered the days when I too felt invincible, before the weight of our choices had pressed down on me.
“The center of mass was off, so I reduced some weight at the bottom,” I explained, detailing the adjustments I’d made. Lizy seemed genuinely impressed, her enthusiasm infectious.
She stepped back, her face lit with exhilaration as she took a stance, her footwork surprisingly graceful. I watched, heart swelling with pride, as she struck at the air, the blade slicing through the space with an elegance I hadn’t expected.
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Lizy’s laugh was a pure, joyous sound, momentarily lifting the weight from my chest.
“Let them come! I’m ready!”
After a while, she stopped, panting slightly from excitement. “I have to pay 70 vylons for this, right?”
Yes, normally she would, but...
“Can you bring me to LoggerHead tomorrow? You won’t have to pay anything.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you, Miss RoseBud!” she replied, her voice tinged with childish glee, yet I could tell she understood the significance of my offer.
Lizy transformed the sword back into its scooter form and rode away, her shadow disappearing from view.
“Isn’t she quite an innocent girl?” a voice echoed from behind me.
I turned, startled, to see a woman in a green robe. She felt familiar, yet I couldn’t place her.
“I don’t have much time,” she said, pulling a large folder from her bag and placing it in my hands. Leaning closer, I looked again at her face.56Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVzk2SCHJpZ
She was, unmistakably, me. The woman in the green robe felt familiar, yet I couldn’t place her. Her eyes, so like mine, held a depth of experience I had yet to face. I felt a rush of questions bubbling up, but deep down, I knew I wouldn’t get any answers.
“Who… how?” I stammered, but hesitation gripped me.
The ponytail was gone—of course, since it was fake—but the side bangs had grown out. Her features were sharper, more defined, yet still familiar. She wore a confident expression, one that carried the weight of experiences I had yet to face. It was me from the future. At some point, I could time travel.
I stepped forward, comparing our heights. To my shock, she was slightly taller. That shouldn't be possible! Dafael Angels were supposed to remain unchanged, but she had grown. This meant I had learned something in the future that allowed me to break free from our constraints.
A strange feeling welled up inside me—a flicker of hope, mingled with anxiety.
“I’m supposed to be on a separate mission,” she said, her eyes earnest, “but I wanted to come and meet you."
She handed me a journal. “Read the first page.”
Before I could respond, she fidgeted with a watch on her wrist. “Best of luck,” she said, and vanished. I caught a glimpse of the device; it was a prototype I had designed back when I was still enrolled in the Technology Department at the College of Valance.
A wave of assurance washed over me, mingled with anticipation for the future.
I clutched the folder tightly and hurried back to my apartment, my heart pounding with a mixture of fear and excitement.
Inside, I sat down, the dim light of my room casting long shadows on the walls.
My hands trembled as I opened the folder, revealing the journal inside.
The first page was filled with neat, precise handwriting—my own. The words seemed to pulse with a life of their own, promising answers and secrets I had longed for.
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