Chapter Text
There's a story once that they've heard before, whispered by strangers and classmates and people alike.
Once, a girl with bright eyes, a friend that they used to have, had asked, "Did anyone ever tell you the story of Icarus?"
They had been in a park, Mizuki could still recall. A quiet June morning with sweeping pine trees. Branches swaying with every breeze, scattered leaves fluttering slowly to the ground as they had sat and talked.
Close enough for their shoulders to touch. So close Mizuki could see the dimples on her cheeks, the sunlight capturing the glow in her eyes.
"He flew too close to the sun and fell, didn't he? His wings melted. It's a story about hubris and greed."
"He died because he tried to reach out for something that wasn't ever meant to be his," the girl continued quietly, tilting her head at them with a scrutinising look. "Y'know, Mizuki-kun, I think you're an awful lot like Icarus."
Those casual words were sharp enough to cut; they were meant to hurt, intentionally dulled by the veneer of geniality. Her smile was wielded with a precision aimed at their jugular. She watched for their reaction with a vague sort of interest. They flinched, but pushed past the discomfort with a mild, "How so?"
"You're different, somehow. Something about you, in the things you do and what you say, makes you not like other people."
"Is... Is that a bad thing?"
The girl hummed. "Who knows? But trying to be different will always have its repercussions. That's the sort of price you pay for vanity."
They looked down, faltering, trying to find the words. A gaping void, defined by sickness and rot, began to give way. That inherent sense of wrongness that came from sweeping their fingers through short wind-swept hair, how the clothes they wore never seemed to fit right.
"You're misunderstanding. I'm not— I'm not trying to be different. I'm just trying to be myself."
"Then be careful, Mizuki-kun. Being you might not necessarily be what's best. Nothing good ever comes from trying to be special. In the end, pride will be your fall."
They heard a story once, about Icarus and his melted wax wings.
A girl had smiled at them with the sun in her eyes, before doubling over, laughing with mirth. "Don't look so worried, haha! You're not ever getting rid of me that easily. I'll always be a friend. I promise."
They had reached out to grasp it, trying and trying only for the sun to slip past their fingertips, only to plummet into free fall, words screamed yet unspoken yet never to be heard—
You promised— You told me you would stay—
Perhaps all it had ever been was a story about greed. A story where Mizuki will never learn, will never be enough.
Always selfish.
Always alone.
"...you're telling the truth? Wow. What a weirdo."
She was right in the end.
Pride had been their fall.
In the aftermath, though the world remains quiet and the buzzing in their head a constant companion, they do not fall apart. Inevitable breakdowns in the shower and sleepless nights aside, life goes on.
Mizuki goes to school. They continue making cute clothes and MVs. Each day is gone through with their usual grin, a rinse-and-repeat process like they aren't bothered by the sudden distance between them and Ena, pretending not to notice how their usual nightcord meetings are now tapered with tension and cordial discussions — nothing like the usual light-hearted banter they had before.
Today, like all the days before, they wave goodbye to Rui and part ways to go shopping at Scramble Crossing. It keeps their mind busy, to not think about anything at all; muscle memory serves its purpose as they stroll around the many pop-up stores in the downtown alley. The constant lurking presence of the chill beneath their skin is kept at bay by the warm afternoon sun.
They grin wider to compensate for the way their heart twinges at the sudden memory of chains and duty, reminded of braids and sunsets and static in their ears. Steps kept deliberately light, like tiptoeing across empty halls, sneaking out to meet a girl that waits for them at a forgotten alcove.
"Oho? There's a new cafe near the station? Let's see, let's see! Hopefully it's not crowded..."
Slow afternoons encompassed by calloused hands and gentle touches, a voice that calls out to them, that lingers in the chasm that they try to fill with the menial and the meaningless, a person whispering out a name, a forgotten name, and it's—
"Mizuki!"
They're getting really, really tired of getting called out when all they really want is to be left alone.
They turn, smile fixed firmly in place.
The sight in front of them registers.
Shoulder-length hair and narrowed brown eyes – Shinonome Ena in all her glory, an intense frown on her face.
"Do you have a minute?"
Mizuki's smile drops. Their steps slow, stumbling to a halt, movements punctuated by a sudden wary stillness.
"Ena." The chill returns with a vengeance, cold and unforgiving, a slow sinking descent into rot and despair. They keep their eyes averted. "Don't you have to get to night classes?"
"I wanted to talk to you. Shiraishi-san told me you'd be shopping here after school."
An, you traitor!
"Ah... haha... I'm a little busy right now though... Maybe some other time?"
"Don't you dare try to run away!" Ena snaps, all but storming to up to Mizuki to stop their discreet attempt at sidestepping past her. This close, they can see the circles under her eyes, the way her hair has been stressfully mussed. The sharp ache between their ribs throbs to the frantic beats of their heart.
"Listen, okay? I don't care that we're not talking, or fighting, or that you're being an idiot right now. I won't stop being friends with you. Not like this."
The words are warm. Sincere and resolute, so much like Ena that it should have filled Mizuki with joy, culled that pathetic simpering thing within them that always, always wanted to belong. And yet, accompanying the sweetness on their lips is a despair that is unrelenting and cruel. Inescapable.
Around them, they can hear the faint buzzing of a tittering crowd, faceless individuals that shadow over their trembling form. They were having this conversation here, in public, subject to the judgement of those who will never care for anything beyond shallow materialism; casting their eyes aside in the name of ignorance, ensuring them of their solitude.
Ena doesn't seem to be bothered by the eyes on them, heavy and judging.
She asks, "When did you remember your Chosen Words?"
Mizuki's heart freezes, cracking from heartbreak and the paralysing fear. They cut themselves on its sharp unpolished edges, bleeding grief and the bitterness of remembrance.
A gaping void stares back at them. The whispers grow louder.
"Does it matter?" Their voice inches towards desperation, fists clenching as they stand, rooted in place, wanting to flee but unable to find courage. They don't want to remember. They don't.
"Of course it does!"
The look on Ena's face remains stubborn and unrelenting, yet her hands are clenched tightly to the cotton of their cardigan. She stands there, eyes furrowed with tension.
"Please, Mizuki." Her voice breaks at their name. They jolt at the sound of it — the sharpness of heartbreak in that single polysyllable. They had never wanted to hear it, never wanted to be reminded of their own selfishness and cowardice.
This is all your fault, that same unbidden whisper in their ear, pressing and stubborn. The plight of honesty; hubris and vanity. But they don't have a choice, do they? Not when it's Ena that's asking, not when guilt still festers in their chest, and they do not want to lie. Not anymore.
"That day on the rooftop. When you said that you'd wait forever. I remembered, then."
"I... said your Chosen Words? But doesn't that mean that you..."
"Died?"
"...I don't understand. What are you trying to say?"
Mizuki smiles bitterly. "Can't you put it together? I died, Enanan. And so did you, all because you tried to save me— all because you cared enough to be my friend."
"Trying to save you?" A look of incredulousness seems to dawn on Ena's face, before shifting into one of sheer irritation, complete with gritted teeth.
"Is this why you don't want to be friends anymore? Because you're feeling guilty?"
Mizuki looks away.
"It is, isn't it?"
The silence drags on, leaving Ena in lieu of an answer. But she groans and smacks a hand to her forehead all the same, with that impressive scowl still plastered onto her face.
"God I'm an idiot! Why are you like this?"
She snatches them by their hand, entangling their fingers together. Mizuki blinks, bewildered.
"What on earth are you doing?" They try to tug their hand away.
Ena makes a sound of protest. Her hand doesn't let go, remaining a vice-grip that is grounding, no matter the dread that they feel.
"Making sure you don't run," she says.
Mizuki grimaces.
"Tell me my Chosen Words. Whatever it is that happened between us, I want to know for myself. You said mine, didn't you? Say it to me now."
"No."
"I have a right to remember, Mizuki! It's my memories too!"
"You would be happier if you forgot. It wasn't a good life, not for Amia, and not for you. It would've been easier if we'd never met, if we weren't friends."
"You don't get to decide that! Stop trying to make decisions for me!"
Their blank smile is cold, drenched with scathing acerbity.
"I can and I will, Enanan. I don't want you to know, so there's nothing to tell."
The floored expression on Ena's face morphs into fury. "Amia, you—!"
She never finishes her sentence.
And it's funny, really, how the softest of voices, the most quiet words, can make the ground beneath them crumble into such devastating pieces.
"...Amia? Your name... is Amia?"
Every cell in Mizuki's body freezes.
No, no. But it couldn't possibly be. Not when the odds of meeting a single person from your past life were already so low. Meeting two... Meeting—
It was statistically impossible, wasn't it? It had to be a lie, right?
"Hey... Your name... you said it was Amia?"
But that voice. Familiar, for all the wrong reasons, grating and hoarse; a quality that could've once been described as warmth, that now only drenches them with panic and despair. Chains, duty, home, pain.
And when Mizuki turns to look, it's the Head Priest that is standing there, and he looks just as he did before.
"Lilith. It really is you." He is smiling genially, like he isn't guilty, like he isn't the one person Mizuki had never hoped to meet, not in this lifetime, not ever again.
He remembers, is what Amia's brain manages to choke out. The panic sets in slowly, sticky like miasma, leaving their heart pounding and breath escaping in wisps. He remembers me. How?
"Amia, do you know him?" Ena grabs onto their wrist again, tight enough that they can feel like their pulse beat in a frantic, sporadic rhythm. The chilling realisation that the Head Priest remembered, and Enanan was still here.
"Ena—" they gasp, the words coming out jumbled and nearly incoherent. "Let go! I have to go—"
The crowds around them that they hadn't even noticed before, strangers who had gradually swarmed them and Enanan in the midst of their argument – they begin to part.
The Head Priest approaches with stumbling steps, and the expression on his face is so twisted, despite the smile that remains plastered on. White robes, crooked gnarly fingers, a low voice that says, "Come, come. Let's catch up for a bit, away from the crowd."
An unspoken order, the implicit threat in those carefully veiled words. Come peacefully or I will hurt them all. I will hurt her.
Their body rebels against them, an age-old primal instinct for flight flooding their system, as they tug desperately at their arm. "Let me go!"
But Ena doesn't let go, her grip bordering on painful. Mizuki has no choice. They surrender to the grip, readjusting their fingers to fit snuggly against Ena's, who only has the time to let out a startled sound before they're running; away from the crowd, the growing murmurs and the casting eyes that narrow in mistrust. Away from him.
They fly by alleyways, brilliant shop displays blurring into colours and light. And it's so nostalgic; the wind in their eyes, their hair falling out of its loose sidetail and Ena by their side.
Eventually, they stop at a residential area, sleepy and quiet. Ducking into an alleyway, they loosen their hold on each other's hands. Mizuki reaches out to tug at the few strands of hair obscuring their vision, sweeping it back to join the curls that cascade down their back. Their lungs are burning, and their heart is pounding from adrenaline and the remnants of fear. Beside them, Ena heaves from exertion, face flushed and sweaty.
"Who... was that?" she pants.
"No one," they rasp out desperately. "Leave it, Ena. You have to run, now!"
"What? Mizuki, what's going on–"
"Now Lilith, that's hardly a way to acknowledge your Father."
They shudder, slamming their eyes shut.
The cold insidious chill, the plummeting weight in their stomach; a monster with dim eyes, crooked hands closing around their throat, tightening slowly.
A man saunters into the narrow alleyway.
(There is no running.)
"You remember, don't you? Answer me, Lilith. We've been here before."
They keep their silence, just as they've always done, in the lifetime before and so it seems even now. Defiance born from fear, propagated by the sheer amount of hatred they hold for this man, that makes them reckless and bold. They glare at those dimmed eyes, baring their teeth like they're a wild animal.
"Nothing to say?" the man scoffs. "How very like you, murderer."
"Oi! Just who are you to call Amia that!"
Mizuki startles, jumping back to stare at Ena. Ena, who will never keep her silence, who is defiance personified.
No, they think desperately, shaky hands reaching out to tug discreetly at Ena's skirt. No, don't be stupid. Don't provoke him!
Ena tugs back at their own skirt. She stands her ground, glaring.
The Head Priest smiles ugily. "Ah, it's you."
Mizuki's heart twists.
"Really, Lilith. I'm impressed. What are the odds to have found your beloved Enanan again?"
"Don't call me that either!"
Ena's glower deepens, but he pays her no mind. Those eyes crinkle into that familiar smile, terrifying and off-putting, as he comments mildly, "She doesn't remember, does she? Not like us."
Their hands are trembling, and they can feel the way their chest heaves from the effort of their uneven breaths. It's so cold. Frost settled over their veins, leaving them frozen in place, unable to move.
"You remain a liar still, it seems."
They have no excuses to give, nothing else to defend themselves with, when confronted with the honest truth of their deceit. The Head Priest's ugly words, along with the confused fury in Ena's eyes stare back at them. Mizuki can't make a sound.
"I..." their voices trails off pathetically, quivering.
The silence makes them uncomfortably aware of the way their sweat-soaked hair sticks to their skin, and how their chest aches from the binder that hides yet another awful secret they cannot bear to face.
They don't have the words, so they simply do not speak. Pliant and passive, wearily accepting of whatever accusations the Head Priest might spit at them, of the inevitable rejection that would follow from Ena.
"Just who are you?" Ena tries again.
This time, the Head Priest turns to acknowledge her, likely knowing that Amia wouldn't say another word, and that he would be free to mold reality, to shape truth, into that which he desired.
"I was the one who gave that monster a home and a name. Lilith, she was called – it was a beautiful name, wasn't it?"
Then, he chuckles, as though nostalgic. Mizuki feels vaguely sick.
"You don't remember, Enanan, but that monster you called friend killed me. The very Father who took her in, the Church who gave her a home. Lilith chose to forsake it all. The truth, Enanan, that you didn't live to see. A foul beast hides behind that facade of innocence."
His slow steps brings him closer and closer to them both. The smile that had been plastered on his face all the while had gradually begun to drop, revealing the malice in his eyes, the sheer hatred he holds for them.
"It's still trying to lie to you now. Why else wouldn't it let you remember, if not to trap you unwittingly forever?"
And Ena falters. For the first time, that stubborn expression on her face twists into uncertainty, and she glances back at Mizuki with a complicated look.
Mizuki breathes out shakily. Silence, the only thing they have left, keeps them captive, utterly aware of the sheer disgust they have for themselves. Despite everything, they are guilty, and the truth of it is rooted in fact.
Fact: Amia was a monster. Mizuki, even more so. They're selfish and greedy, and they ruin everything they touch. All that ever remained were the shattered fragments wrought from their destruction, everything they chose to leave behind – the tenuous peace, the lies they uttered, the pretence that began to crumble under the weight of before.
Fact: Enanan was dead, and she was dead by Amia's own hand. The curse that they bore was a disease that had long since sentenced them to painful solitude and inevitable farewells.
And they're a coward. Always running, even as they fool themselves into thinking every time, this time it'll be different. This time I'll tell them. This time, they'll stay.
Ena is still waiting for them to speak, for false platitudes and comfort, but the truth is so ugly, isn't it? Mizuki would've hid the truth forever, if they could. Amia still lingers amidst the cracks of everything that had been shattered; it's the price they'd paid for being honest.
Those slow ambling steps come to a halt as the Head Priest surges forward to snatch at Mizuki's wrist. It's nothing at all like Ena's gently firm grip. The calloused hand leaves bruises on their skin, reminiscent to the chains clasped tightly around their limbs, meant to hurt and punish.
They cry out, trying to pull away. The hand remains tightly locked. And there is a crazed look in his eyes, glimmering with a madness that contrasts so starkly with the genial facade he had adopted before. Everything falls away, revealing the chilling cruelty of the person who had taken everything from them, who despite all their courage to defy before, they still fear with all of their soul.
"Let me take care of Lilith, dear Enanan," he says. "It is my duty to purge the beast."
This is not a kind man. Amia once remembered him a person whom people revered in equal parts fear and wonder, commanding respect and admiration for his righteousness.
Was that person ever real? Or had the man standing in front of them always been drawn to greed and delusion, who would not hesitate to be cruel in the name of duty?
Duty. It all came back to duty.
("We gave you a home, child. It is your duty.")
So they ask again: what is duty? What is a home? Amia doesn't know if they can remember, still. They once thought it born from love, from sacrifice; now, it seems that all it ever was, was a curse. They're cursed to lose over and over again. To be alone, to never be free, to never love in peace—
"Let go of Amia."
The words are quiet, but no less tenacious. Ena spits them out with such venom, that even the Head Priest hesitates with a faint bewilderment in his eyes.
Mizuki turns to stare at Ena, watching as the Head Priest tries to soothe her. "Now, now, Enanan. Do not be stubborn. The longer this beast remains free, the more destruction will be wrought. You have already died once, before. Surely you know the danger, my child."
The words are so patronising, they have to hold back a wince. And sure enough, Ena is already turning red.
"Just who are you calling a child!" she snaps, and then storms forward to grab at their other hand, blocking the Head Priest's means of dragging them off to god-knows-where.
"Amia's my friend! I'm not going to believe your religious spiel over her!"
Her.
The word spears itself into their very chest. Right. Right. The secret that they'd hidden away, tucked under frilled clothes and hair ties and the mask of a liar.
It's all so sad and pathetic. They're a coward through and through, unwilling to fight or tell the truth. It would be easier to bow their head and accept defeat, because they don't want to fight anymore, not if it meant Ena would be in danger.
This way, she would be safe. She'd be free.
"Ena," Mizuki smiles tremulously, the desire to have to never face the world ever again overwhelming them in an instant. "It's okay. I'll be alright. You can just... go on first."
"Haah? What the hell are you saying?" Ena yells. "He's literally about to kill you — look at him! He's insane!"
"Ah... well, maybe you're overreacting, haha..." They laugh, just a little too loudly. The smile that they wear feels like plastic. They tug their lips upwards higher, shaking their hand off from her grip. "It's fine. Really. The Head Priest— he won't— he won't hurt me. I promise."
"You can't guarantee that, Amia!" Ena hisses. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
The Head Priest's own grip around their arm only gradually tightens, and they can feel their wrist get more bruised as he begins to twist it, trying to drag them away.
Mizuki stares mutedly at those crooked fingers wrung tightly against their hand, then lifts their gaze to the man.
Wrap it up, his narrowed eyes warn them. Time is ticking. Do not make me hurt her.
It's chilling how even a lifetime later, Mizuki can still make out the minute changes in his every expression, pick out all the warning signs and be conditioned to react with overwhelming fear.
They laugh again, and it comes out sounding a lot more desperate, a lot more deranged this time.
"Just let it go," they try again. "I told you, didn't I? We're not friends anymore."
"You—!" Ena rears back, fury closing in once more. "Do you realise how stupid you sound right now? You're actually going to walk away with a psychopath?"
"Go home. I'll still see you on nightcord tonight."
"Like hell I'm leaving—!"
"Go, Ena!" they finally snap, the words cutting as they are loud. They're done talking. "I don't want you here!"
—because they recognised that dangerous look of cold fury in the Head Priest's eyes; one that makes him unpredictable, that makes him cruel.
It was that look in his eyes that had Amia locked away for three days and whipped for their talking back. He'd plucked the feathers out of their wings and left them hunched over the cold tiles of the stone floor, cowering pathetically.
Last time, the very last time, it was that same glimmer that had stuck a blade through Enanan's chest, him laughing as she had crumpled, choking on her blood.
Ena's lips quiver, and she trembles like a leaf in the wind. They aren't sure if it's from sheer rage or the hurt that seeps through that facade of anger that they see in her wrung hands and bitten down lips.
"Amia. Please. Don't do this. Let's go together."
"Lilith."
Mizuki flinches.
Cold fear sinks into them once more, and it's like all the air has been sucked out from their lungs.
"Just— give me a bit more time to convince her," they plead.
They whirl back to yell at Ena.
"LEAVE!"
Ena does not move.
Mizuki's eyes well with tears.
"Why?" they whisper pathetically. "Please, please just go, Enanan."
I don't want to see you die again.
At Ena's lack of response, The Head Priest begins to laugh, and the smile that spreads across his face is cruel. Mizuki renews in their struggles to get free, but he only drags them along to get closer to Ena.
"You're an interesting child, Enanan," he says pleasantly, as though Ena is not glaring daggers at him. He leans in, giving her an imploring look.
"I gave you a chance to leave, but perhaps you have become to ensnared by that demon's grip. Then, I will grant you mercy. I will free you from its awful, awful curse."
Utter panic sets in, and they twist to land a hard kick at the Head Priest's shin.
"Mercy?" Mizuki laughs desperately. "What part of this is mercy? When have you ever been merciful?!"
Pure unadulterated rage flits across his face. He disregards Ena once more, grip tightening to the point Mizuki cries out.
"I gave you a home!" he spits. "I gave you a name. I gave you everything. That is my mercy! How dare you disparage my kindness!"
"Like hell you did! My name is Amia! It's always been Amia, and it will only be Amia! A home isn't a place where you're starved and beaten. Duty is not meant to feel like a curs—"
"SHUT UP!"
The blow to the face catches them off-guard, sudden and striking. They get backhanded, and they're flung straight into the wall, landing deeper into the alleyway. The air is knocked out of their lungs as they cough painfully, nausea rearing its head as a goose-egg begins to rise.
"Amia!" Ena cries out, running to them and falling heavily to her knees as she reaches out to steady them. A warm arm is swung over their trembling frame. Mizuki reaches up a hand to cup at their stinging cheek. Their ears are ringing; fear and anguish tearing their soul into two.
The Head Priest remarks coldly. "I suggest you watch your mouth."
Ena slips her free hand into their own, intertwined fingers slotting into place. Their hands are clammy as Mizuki scans their surroundings for another way out.
His looming figure blocks the exit of the alleyway, his shadow casting over their cowering form in the shape of a boogeyman. They're trapped with nowhere to go.
"Lilith." he says that cursed name once more. "Get up."
"That's not my name."
"It was the name that I gave, that you will bear nonetheless."
He doesn't listen. Nobody ever does, in this life and the life before. Time and again, those reproachful eyes linger on their cowering frame, before they're inevitably cast aside, in ignorance and indifference. Amia walked forward to a stake and a roaring crowd, succumbing to their hate. Mizuki will never be free.
("I'm still here. I'm still waiting.")
Ena's fingers grow tighter. Mizuki cannot breathe.
"You're alone, Lilith. No one can save you. Not even your beloved Enanan, because she doesn't remember."
No one is coming for them, not for Amia at the stake, not for Mizuki, lingering at the edge, hands reaching out to grab at open skies. They can't drag Enanan down again. And so there is no one left in this world able to save them, no one else that waits for them.
But—
"That's just not true, isn't it?"
But someone comes.
Someone has always been there.
"Kamishiro-san!" Ena gasps, fingers finally loosening from Mizuki's own.
"What—" the Head Priest never finishes his sentence, crumpling instead from a hard blow to the head, complete with firework pops as the alleyway lights with a myriad of colours.
Mizuki stares with wide eyes.
...Rui?
The word remain trapped in their throat. They can only stare dumbly as the Head Priest stumbles heavily to their feet, an ugly expression of rage on their face.
"My, my. What a scene for me to have stumbled upon." Rui's eyes seem to glow dangerously. His smile is anything but nice, and he is armed to the toe with gadgets and contraptions. The glint in his eyes is telling of an inventor at work, brightened by an untameable anger.
He stalks forward casually.
"Amia will not be going with you. They aren't alone either, so I suggest you leave before something... undesirable happens."
"Just who do you think you are, boy?" the Head Priest snarls. "You have some guts to—"
"Katagiri Natsuhiro. Married with no kids. An orphanage director, beloved by the board and the children at the orphanage."
"...How do you know my name?"
"How I found out doesn't matter, Katagiri-san." Rui smiles holding up his phone. "But I suggest you leave my kouhais alone, unless you wish for this to find its way to the police."
It's a video recording. The see their own trembling visage, a hand clutching their cheek as the weariness in their eyes paints a portrait of hopeless defeat. Beside them, Ena's eyes are still alit with stubborn desperation. Bright and determined; a stark contrast to Amia's ugly, quivering form.
"And what if I have nothing to lose? What would you do then?"
Rui's smile loses its sardonic edge, until he finally drops the act altogether. He regards the Head Priest carefully.
"I think you'll find that you have everything to lose," he says.
The Head Priest's scowl deepens. He exhales once, sharply, and those gnarly hands clench briefly.
"Are you threatening me, boy?" he spits, his pin-pricked eyes flickering, almost obsessively, towards Mizuki, and then back at Rui.
Mizuki swallows, barely daring to breathe. The frozen silence stretches on between them, crushing and heavy. Their chest feels tight. They can't feel much more than the wave of panic sweeping over them at the sight of the Head Priest's anger.
"No, I'm only suggesting, Katagiri-san. I believe the question remains whether you're ready to give it all up. Your career, your family. All of it gone, in just a matter of minutes."
Rui doesn't waver, and in the silence, the dangerous madness in the Head Priest's eyes settles into something more tame — something akin to fear.
His gaze lingers on Mizuki's crumpled form, and he curls his lip back at the sight of Ena's defiant glare beside them.
He takes not a step further, and just like that, Mizuki knows, intrinsically — it's over. Tongue feeling like lead and still unable to speak, they watch as his breathing quickens, enraged desperation flitting across his sallow face, before he snarls.
Fear for the life he has built, the poisoning sleuth of lies he has fed those around him, the veneer of holiness that he still clings onto like gospel from a holy sacrament, it makes him a coward.
He runs, leaving behind his past, leaving behind Amia, who can only cling onto Ena, uneven gasps wracking their body. A steady hand settles onto their back, rubbing it in soothing circles.
An orphanage director.
The Head Priest was— and the children there loved him. He was loved, and he loved in return.
So just— what made Amia so different? What did they do to deserve the sheer hatred in his eyes, to be whipped and beaten and tossed aside? Why had they not been wanted?
Perhaps you have always just been unlovable.
The thought is staggering, leaving them almost doubling over from sheer agony. Their breathing stutters, and the sound that escapes them is a pathetic whine. They curl away from those unflinching eyes that peer upon their form, scrutinising their every flaw, every imperfection — and they want to scream.
"Don't— look at— me—" they gasp out, grabbing fistfuls of their hair to obscure their vision from what surely must be judgement. "Please."
Mizuki never wanted this. They had never wanted to remember. But they do, they do now, so what are they supposed to do with the weight of it all?
Abruptly, they feel sick. Right down their stomach, accompanied by a wave of nausea that makes their vision swim, tilting the world off its axis.
"Mizuki, listen to me. Can you hear me? No, don't turn away. Listen." A hand reaches out to unclasp their hand away from their tear-stained cheek, ignoring their flinch. "I know it feels like there's no air, but there is. You need to breathe, Mizuki. Slow down."
Their hands, sticky with sweat, intertwine with familiar fingers. Floral perfume, a soft cream sweater. Through the haze of panic, they lock eyes.
"Ena—" they choke out, closing their fingers around her hand desperately, feeling the steady thrum of a pulse beneath their joined grip. Alive. "I'm sorry—"
"Just breathe. Four breaths in, seven breaths out. Now follow." Ena sets their hand against her chest, taking in an exaggerated breath.
They feel the rise and fall beneath their palm. A steady rhythmic movement, reminding them of the methodology of days spent sorting out herbs in the safety of an alcove; even phrases of songs sung by a girl with braided hair, who smiles at them with gentleness in her eyes.
They breathe, and they do it again and again and again. Each one coming out easier than before, before slowly, their vision clears. The buzzing fades and their limbs loosen. They slump, trying and failing to detangle their hand from Ena's, before leaning, almost bonelessly, against the wall.
"Where did you learn to do that?" they croak.
Ena sighs. "Well, Akito was prone to these bouts of anxiety when he was younger. I learned, in case he ever worked himself into a panic, so I could help. Not that he has to know that."
They can't help but smile tiredly.
"That's very on brand of you, Ena."
"What's that supposed to mean? Some sort of insult?"
"A compliment, Ena. A compliment."
"Seems rather backhanded."
Mizuki bites back a snort, before turning their gaze to the person crouched next to them, staring at them with an odd intensity in his eyes.
"Feeling better?" Rui offers a pained smile, having kept quiet all the while. There is no judgement on his face, nothing but kindness and relief.
"I didn't realise you and Ena knew each other," they murmur tiredly. "But thanks. You really saved us there."
"Fufu, of course. Shinonome-san was rather kind to send your location. It's fortunate we decided to exchange numbers after I saw her looking for you on the roof once."
Ah. The ache in their chest unfurls gradually like a bloom after rain. Something warm and honey sweet, lingering in the aftermath. From behind the veil watching over them quietly, Amia asks, do you see it now?
Mizuki thinks, I do.
They had never been alone. In the life before, and even until now. Every moment alive, gazing up at those open skies, barefoot on concrete floors on an empty roof, even till the end, flames engulfing them whole with the promise of forever. They had always, always been loved, and they had loved in return.
Mizuki laughs, a short sharp clipped sound. The web of lies that they had let hide them before — as Mizuki, as Amia, it finally unravels. Their soft laughter fades into quiet, stuttering sobs.
"I'm sorry for lying all this time," they say.
Ena shakes her head vehemently. "It's not your fault. Don't you dare apologise for not being comfortable to talk."
"I'm sorry for everything else I said then. About— about us not wanting to be friends anymore. For telling you guys to leave. I know I hurt you both."
"Mizuki." Ena scowls.
"...What?"
"Shut up. Stop apologising. We're friends, alright? I'll say it over and over again, no matter how long it takes to get it through your thick skull. Until the day you feel safe enough to tell me, I'll wait for you forever."
Beside her, Rui chuckles. "Seconded. But... well, Mi-zu-ki, if you're really sorry, then you could do me a favour."
Ena shoots him a dirty look. "Oi. Why are you trying to garner favours of all things, you—"
Mizuki interrupts. "Sure, what do you need?"
"Come to a Wonderland Showtime show." he smiles, a cheshire grin that makes his eyes light up. "You haven't seen Nene-Robo's outfit on stage yet. The outfit you made."
There is a knowing look on his face, one that is imploring and heavy. Mizuki swipes at the tears still pooled in their eyes, nearly bowled over by the kindness they have been gifted.
"Okay," they acquiesce. "I'll go."
I'll stop running.
And Amia whispers, tell her.
They give in.
"Ena, I... It's a little overdue, but..."
There is the weight of a promise settled in the crevice of their chest, right next to their battered heart, brittle and scruffy. A promise Ena wouldn't yet know to be significant, that Mizuki clings tightly onto; that promise of forever, a lifetime ago. The promise of remembrance.
"Hm? What?"
Ena's smile is so bright. Through their teary vision, they still see the shadows of a girl that had died too young, who had left everything behind for them, who had loved and been sacrificed, who despite everything, was still choosing to wait nonetheless.
They reveal the fragile remnants of their battered heart, offering it whole, wanting to believe.
"It's really late, but you're... you're here now, and— and so am I. So there's something I need to tell you."
And perhaps realising just what was being offered, the irreversibility of what was to come, Ena's eyes widen. "Wait, Mizuki, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to—"
They shake their head. "I want to."
Ena blinks, stunned. Mizuki smiles.
"A lifetime ago, I made a promise to a dear friend of mine. It was something I couldn't believe in, maybe it was even a lie. But it's different now. It's not a lie anymore — because of you. Do you remember, Ena? I told you then—"
And it feels like free fall, wings unfurling to leap into sunlight, the open arms of a girl who waits for them, who was their friend, whom they loved, until the end and beyond.
"—I'll come back, I promise."
And Enanan remembers.
Mizuki drags it out for as long as they can, letting the minutes tick away, further and further from the assigned 25:00 of their meeting time.
Fumbling with their hands, they pick at their cuticles and fiddle with their headset, cursor hovering over the nightcord logo before bracing themselves and clicking in.
"Is... everyone here?" They finally enter the voice chat, clicking the unmute button. Their voice comes across as timid – nothing like the larger than life, bubbly facade they usually try to present.
Three rapid things happen at once:
1. There is a loud clatter, accompanied by an equally loud curse as Mizuki hears several objects hit the ground.
2. Three different mics unmute at the same time; pinging shrilly amidst the chaos.
3. K, Enanan and Yuki's voices, coming alive at varying volume levels: "Amia's here?" "Mizuki?" "You're late." – all at once.
Mizuki can't help but smile faintly.
"Mn," they say quietly. "I'm sorry I was away for so long."
"It's alright, Amia," K responds gently. "It's okay to take some time for yourself. I know you were handling a lot of personal things."
They exhale softly, wringing their hands together anxiously. "Did... Enanan tell you guys?"
"As if, Amia!" Enanan is quick to retort. "You can tell them yourself."
Mizuki's heart squeezes.
"Thanks, Enanan. Sorry for all the trouble I gave you."
There's a deliberate weight to Enanan's name now, different from how Mizuki would typically call it before in that distinctively teasing manner.
"I told you to quit apologising."
They let their eyes flutter shut, a smile unwittingly flitting across their face. "Ahaha... Old habits die hard?"
"You're literally so annoying," Ena complains.
"I wouldn't be me if I weren't."
"Ugh."
"Did something happen between you two?" Yuki finally interrupts, having been silent all to this point.
Mizuki chuckles uncomfortably. "Ah... Where to start? It's been a rollercoaster of a journey."
"Understatement of the century!" Enanan groans empathetically.
"Right?" They smile wearily. "Well, how do I put this, haha...."
Clearing their throat, they take a breath in, before surrendering to honesty. "I remembered my Chosen Words."
Their heart squeezes tightly in their chest. They take slow steady breaths —four in, seven out— listening as the silence lingers, before:
"I'm assuming they weren't good memories," Yuki remarks slowly, if not a little blandly. Normal. Normal, without a hint of judgement or reproach.
The relief that hits them nearly topples them over. They wring their hands together, staring at their white-knuckled grip, daring to hope.
"No." Their voice cracks. "Not all of them. But, well, turns out I knew Enanan here from before, and... it was bearable, with them."
K's icon hovers between the mute and unmute button, as though she's hesitating. Then, finally, she says, "Do you want to talk to us about it?"
Once upon a time, they would've lied and laughed it all away; retreating into safety to watch from a distance, refusing to be honest as they smiled politely with false assurance. A person who, despite the teasing and the outings and how much they cared, ultimately still remaining a stranger holding everyone at arm's reach.
That person is not there anymore.
Mizuki doesn't want to be that person, not ever again.
"...Mn," they whisper. "I want to tell you guys everything. And, well... I guess I just really want a hug right now."
"Let's meet at the Sekai in a bit then?" Ena suggests. "Yuki? K? You guys up for it?"
"Always."
"It's fine. I have a bit of free time before bed."
"Let's go," Mizuki says, and presses play on 'Untitled'.
It was happening. It was really, really happening. Tonight, they would tell them everything. Everything would end. And yet, oddly enough, there is no dread – only a fluttery sense of anticipation.
Forever didn't exist, not really.
But they were starting to believe it could.
Ena is the first one there.
Mizuki sees her from afar, and they take big steps, nearly running, to close the distance between them. Ena grabs their hand and intertwines their fingers, squeezing them tight.
Mafuyu and Kanade join them after a few minutes, and for a moment, all they can really do is stare.
None of the Virtual Singers are in sight, and the barren white landscape of the Empty Sekai reminds them of a snowy backdrop, a vast terrain.
It begins, like it always does, with those same quiet words:
"What was your name?"
It's a name that touches them dearly, that reminds them of a family long gone, of a person who had loved enough to wait, even now, for Mizuki to come home.
"Amia." They smile. "Like my username. Although that came from Mia, my favourite character from MiraMagi."
And when Kanade and Yuki smile too, Ena letting out a huff in exasperated fondness, they feel warm.
The chains are no longer there. Amia had been freed from them a lifetime ago. A girl with braided hair had set them free, calloused hands closing over their own and telling them to live. A boy with gentle eyes tells them, you are not a monster.
And they're both waiting still, for Mizuki. Here, even now, a lifetime and a world of hurt later.
Perhaps you have always been loved.
So wouldn't it be nice to find courage once more?
"I have something to tell you guys," Mizuki confesses. "A secret that I've been keeping, that I want to stop running from."
And there's a story once that they'd heard before. Its ending was one that had yet to be finished.
A girl with bright eyes and dimples in her smile. A once-friend who had leaned in to whisper, "Pride will be your fall."
That was not the end.
Let me fall, Mizuki thinks. Let me just be me.
I have people there to catch me.
And it begins like this, and it's just that – a beginning.