The rain came again that night.
Not a downpour, just soft, steady sheets whispering against the rooftops of the Guild’s outer base. The kind of rain that made memories rise from the cracks in the world. The kind that made silence feel alive.
Ning Que sat alone on a bench just outside the med-wing, his jacket pulled tighter around him, though the chill wasn’t what made him uncomfortable. Denz lay inside, unmoving. Viera had said his vitals were stabilizing—but his mind? Still lost.
Around him, the base was a half-lit sprawl of stone and steel. The others kept their distance. Linx hadn’t spoken since the mission. Aeris was buried in comm calls and orders. Viera was working herself to the bone.
And Ning? He was drifting.
The system hadn’t said much since the Sovereign prompt. As if it, too, was waiting.
He stood up, restless. He didn’t know where he was going until he heard the sound.
A loud bang echoed from one of the auxiliary storage units near the far edge of the base. Sparks flashed through the cracked door. Ning reached for the Katana of Light instinctively—before remembering it was still in the vault.
Cautiously, he approached.
The door was half-open, a blue light spilling from inside.
Gears, wires, blueprints, and glowing mana cores covered nearly every surface. In the center of it all, kneeling with a welding visor over her face, was a girl about his age, surrounded by half-finished constructs and humming mana coils. Loud instrumental music buzzed from a speaker nearby.
She didn’t notice him until a spark arced and smacked him in the leg.
"Ow!" He winced, grabbing his shin and stumbling backwards.
She yelped, lifted her visor, and blinked. She recognized those pair of golden eyes anywhere.
"Oh shit. You’re... the guy." She muttered.
Ning tilted his head, brushing off the pain that still stung slightly. "You gonna finish that sentence, or...?" He leaned against the door.
She stood up, brushing off soot from her gloves. "You’re the guy who blew up the Rift and made Linx throw up on his own boots." She found it hard to believe when she heard it too, but here he was. And for some reason, she didn’t see him as the monster he had been described to be.
Ning Que blinked, speechless. "Technically, I didn’t—"
"Relax, legend. I’m not here to kill you." She chuckled softly.
She offered him a grease-stained hand. "Lyra Fen. C-Rank Demolitions and Terrain Specialist. I rig things. I fix things. Sometimes I make things explode. But it’s all for science."
Ning Que stared at the hand for a beat, then shook it.
"Ning Que." His voice felt raw.
"Yeah," she said, smirking. "Figured."
She gestured at the mess around them. "This is my workshop. Don’t tell the captain. Technically, I’m not supposed to have power rerouted from the reactor."
"You rerouted power from the reactor?" He raised his brow.
She grinned. "It was barely humming. I needed a boost."
Ning looked around. "What are you building?"
"Portable Rift detector. Guild tech is slow, clunky and too controlled. I figured I’d try making something faster. More honest."
He raised an eyebrow. "That sounds... rebellious."
She laughed. "My brother used to say the same thing. Before the Rift took him."
And just like that, the air shifted.
Ning hesitated. "I’m sorry."
"Don’t be," she said, flicking a switch. "It wasn’t your fault. Though I guess you being a Rift baby now makes things awkward."
He smiled—just barely.
"You don’t look scared," he said.
She shrugged. "I’ve seen real monsters. You’re not one of them."
He looked down at his hands. "That’s what scares me. I don’t know what I am."
Lyra paused, her thoughts wandering. Then walked over to him.
"You wanna see something?" she asked.
"C’mon. You’ve got the ’I’m spiraling into an identity crisis’ look. I know it well."
She grabbed a tarp and threw it over her tools, then led him outside into the rain.
They walked in silence for a while, toward a small watchtower just beyond the perimeter wall. The rain tapped softly against the steel. The stars above were faint, the sky a dull bruised purple.
They reached the top.
Lyra leaned against the railing overlooking the view. Ning stood beside her, his heart pounding softly.
"Do you ever feel like... you were supposed to be someone else?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Lyra looked up at the clouds. "Every day."
He turned to her, questions swirling in his mind.
She didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t have to.
"I don’t feel real," he admitted. "Not since I woke up. The system talks like it knows me. People look at me like I’m a weapon or a murderer. The Guild either wants to use me or erase me."
Lyra nodded slowly. She didn’t know what it was like to be in his shoes, but the silent understanding she felt was all she needed. "You ever hear that quote? ’We’re not made of legends. We’re made of cracks. That’s where the light gets in.’"
He smiled faintly. "Is that from a poem?"
"Maybe. Or a cereal box. Who knows?"
Silence fell again, but it was softer this time.
"I don’t know what I’m becoming," Ning said. "But I think... I’d like someone to remember who I was." Everything that happened up to this moment didn’t make sense to him. Now? He felt a bit more grounded. Rational.
Lyra looked at him, eyes warm and steady. She felt contented.
He stared at her for a moment. Then looked away.
Not because he felt better. Because he didn’t feel alone.
Later, back in his room, the system reappeared while he thought.
{Emotional anchor detected. Risk factor: Variable.}
{Memory stabilization improving...}
{Would you like to store this memory?}
Ning Que stared at the screen.
Then he whispered: "Yeah... keep this one."