Chapter Text
“The two of you are one and the same.”
Ein blinked in disbelief at ReGaia’s words. Here they stood, bathed in the blinding light of the Orbital Cradle, learning only now that this was their home. Their gaze strayed to the left, brushing over that familiar name of theirs. Knowing that same face they wore was asleep inside the device before them was appalling, to say the least.
But it made sense in a way. Maybe it wasn’t the most ethical decision, but it allowed for someone who truly cared for both forms of humanity to exist. And it explained why Ein seemed to have amnesia, how they had no memories of ReGaia before they awoke that fateful day. No, they always had their memories, but they seemed strange and disjointed from the reality they existed in. Instead, they were written off as dreams—dreams that Ein only questioned when they arrived on Lost Gaia, noting the familiar scenery.
“Why tell me this?” Ein’s words were slow, prodding the girl for answers. “You could’ve just let me live out my life, unaware that there’s another me.”
“Because this arrangement was temporary.”
The statement startled Ein, their gaze snapping back to the girl. ReGaia’s eyes were calm, gaze never faltering as she simply watched the human. It felt as though she was observing them, waiting a moment to see how they’d react before explaining. “My strength was slowly draining, most already focused on keeping Quietus at bay. What little I could spare wasn’t enough to create a new body and copy of your soul. So I created a temporary vessel and moved your consciousness from your own body to this one. Now that your journey has ended, your new body will fade, and your soul will return to the original.”
Ein lowered their gaze, looking to their palms. Their body seemed so heavy, too tired to carry itself much farther. This was their end, and to think they never even had a moment to say goodbye. Tears streamed down their cheeks, memories dancing through their mind—memories of joy and pain alike. Pain that their disappearance would only add to.
“Can I make a selfish final request?”
Red hair flicked through the air, blown about by the cool spring breeze. The Autumn Seaslight stood tall in the distance, its red glow illuminating the forest below. Stars twinkled in the night sky around it, a breathtaking sight for any to see. Aria stood at the cliffside by Bird’s Eye Brae, no doubt the place with the best view of the Seaslight.
Though as calming as most would find the sight, it filled Aria with dread. In the past, it once acted as a painful reminder of the Red Queen—a foreboding presence warning of the end. But now…now it carried a different pain. She knew that if she looked to her side, that familiar face would greet her. Maybe if she never looked over, this would never end.
“Aria, I’m sorry.”
She grit her teeth and clamped her eyes shut, trying to will this moment to last. But no, she already knew how it would play out. Already knew that no matter what she did, it would always be the same. She could hear their shaky breathing, the way they shifted on their feet for a moment. All followed by strong arms wrapping around her, their grip firm but gentle. The first time this occurred, it had seemed so sudden and foreign. But now…now Aria considered it a curse, always followed by the same words, and always leaving her wanting for more.
“I have to go now.”
Why? Why can’t you stay?
“I don’t know if I’ll see you again, but…”
No. Please don’t say it.
“I love you.”
Aria’s arms shot up, grasping onto the person holding her so closely. Her fingers dug into their back, begging them to stay. She couldn’t lose them, too. Hadn’t she lost enough already?
“Ein! Don’t—”
She bolted upright, arms stretched out before her as though to grab something. Her body was covered in a cold sweat, cheeks wet with tears. The low whir and dim glow of monitors told her she was in her room, the cold space of the crystal pod. Aria tried to wipe away the tears, those that always managed to stain her skin no matter how many times she had that dream.
“You idiot. I…”
The words died on her lips. She could never finish the thought—never say those words back to them, no matter how much she wanted to. Her own stubborn heart held her back, and now Ein was gone. She’d never have the chance.
With a shaky breath, Aria stood from her bed, moving to sit at her table. A stack of papers sat there—letters written between herself and Ein. The edges were crinkled, warped from all the times Aria would grab them, reading them over to remember. They were only proof that remained of their existence, as even memories seemed to fade.
Aria would never forget that day. The last night she’d seen Ein: the night after they’d finally put an end to Quietus. Ein went to the Orbital Cradle to speak with ReGaia. Aria had waited for them on the farm, only to hear those parting words before disappearing into the night sky. She wanted to assume it had been a dream, but there was no sign of them on their farm the next day. And something stranger occurred. When she asked their friends about them, hoping to find some clue about what happened, she was met with confused looks.
Everyone acted as though Ein never existed. As though all their feats were Aria’s own. But she knew Ein was real, that they were the one who guided their team. Though even the Omens seemed to forget. For even AI to have no memory of a person suggested that such a person never could have existed. It suggested that Aria had made everything up. But that night never stopped haunting her.
So she returned to the farm. She searched the house for any sign of the person she remembered. At first, it seemed there was nothing. But then, she found letters—all of them addressed to Ein. Undeniable physical proof that they existed. And there were even letters from them in her own home.
The faeries were also still roaming about the farm, though they seemed to have been trying to hide. As Aria searched high and low, she managed to find that Juno hidden under something, earning a shout from the researcher. When she managed to level her head, she questioned the faerie, discovering that even they had forgotten Ein, only remembering that they were taking care of the farm for someone.
Aria’s hands balled into fists, her lips pulling into a thin line at the memory. Instead of reaching for the letters, she put a hand on her diary, sliding it across the surface toward herself. She flipped through the pages, noting the various entries. Almost all of them were from before her 2000-year hibernation, the ink slowly fading with time.
The last entry, however, was written in sharp, dark letters. There was a change in date written on it, no longer using the Gregorian calendar. The entry began quietly thanking Ein for holding onto her diary for so long, returning it in the same condition as she’d left it. And thanking them for always being there for her.
Tears threatened to reemerge, but Aria held them back. She turned the page, taking a pen and putting it to paper. Every memory of them, from the moment she woke up, Aria put down in words. She refused to let herself forget. So she wrote. She wrote to make sure that even if her memory failed, the words remained.
Every thought and feeling went down. She admired their altruistic nature, visiting the Seaslights not only to help her, but the others who lived around them. How they would take her hand and provide words of comfort when they explored Lost Gaia—Aria’s home and a reminder of her failures. The pain she felt when she fought against them, believing Geist’s way to be the only one. And how Ein never looked down on her for that. They tried to be there at her side, to help her find a different way.
And then they did the impossible. They ended Quietus. Only to disappear after. But Aria’s pen kept moving. No, there was more to them than all that. Perhaps those were their major accomplishments—feats that others would possibly remember. But Ein was a person beneath all that. How they would give a lopsided grin and greet Aria in the morning before tending to their farm. Those stupid jokes they cracked to break tension. Or the beautiful look of their hair when kissed by the sunlight. And those eyes Aria loved, always filled with care and a calm seriousness.
She paused, noticing how her thoughts wandered. But…she didn’t want to forget that face. She couldn’t forget the face of someone so dear to her. Her pen glided over the paper, moving to an empty corner of the page. With quick, careful marks, she began putting together a shape. Drawing out the lines from memory, creating the shape of a head with a mess of hair soon following.
Her hand froze on the face, thinking for a moment what expression to draw. A calm or serious face—while fitting during their adventures—didn’t seem like Ein. Aria’s lips curved upward as another thought came to her, carefully drawing her favorite look of theirs. Their mouth was pulled into their lopsided grin, one they always flashed to Aria when they were enjoying themselves.
She brushed her fingers over the drawing, a deep sadness gripping her heart. But this was the least she could do. She’d make sure she’d never forget them. And she wouldn’t waste the opportunity they provided her—the chance to let both Gaians and ReGaians live peaceful lives.
The seasons changed as the passing months turned to years. How long had it been since Quietus ended? Two, maybe three years? It was difficult for Aria to remember without checking her diary. While she hadn’t written an entry on that day, there was the one written about a month later. An entry she cared for dearly, the pages there more worn from constantly being reread.
As she looked to the stars from the Orbital Cradle, she wondered if Ein had been watching the same ones. It was a peaceful thought, calming to her senses as she took a small break from her work. Soon enough she’d have more time to search for them. The final preparations were being made so the Gaians could wake and be introduced to their new home. It would still take some time, the people needing to find space to live and to be introduced to the ReGaians who already inhabited the planet. But when they were finally out, she’d have fewer obligations holding her back from looking for Ein.
“Aria, it would seem there’s been an issue.”
She blinked, thoughts interrupted by a familiar, almost robotic voice. Though that voice sounded more and more human every day as they learned more of emotions. Aria turned to face them, looking up to see Dianthus towering over her. Another might find the presence imposing, but Aria simply quirked her brow at the Omen. “What do you mean?”
“I believe it’s best you see for yourself.”
The response only made her more curious, following Dianthus through the cradle. Their direction seemed to be towards the sleeping pods, causing Aria’s heart to quicken. Dread clawed at her gut, hoping nothing had happened to the Gaians. That they weren’t too late.
Dianthus stopped before a door, letting it slide open to reveal some destroyed Omens near the pods. Their wires were exposed by large gashes in their mechanical bodies, some of their metal parts even melted. Aria crouched next to one, inspecting the damage. Ash and residue suggested the attacker used fire magic. And the openings seemed to be from a slashing weapon, based on how cuts were formed on the external cloth.
“Did someone break in? Or an Omen go rogue?”
“No.”
Aria’s gaze snapped over to Dianthus. The Omen had moved across the room to a nearby pod. Carefully, she stood and approached, eyes widening as the pod properly came into view. It was wide open: someone had awoken.
“The system alerted us to an abnormality. One of the Cain’s brainwaves were off. When we came to check what had happened, they had already managed to escape their pod.” Dianthus crossed her arms, shaking her head. “Ah, but I didn’t bring you here for that: a search has already been formed. I thought you would find the data to be of interest.”
Aria quirked a brow, kneeling beside the pod to look over the small screen built into it. Her eyes quickly glanced at the name, only to freeze, reading it over one, two—three more times. She could feel her heart leap to her throat, unable to breathe.
Ein.
No. She couldn’t lift her hopes like that. There were millions of people, no doubt there were multiple Eins. And her Ein was a ReGaian. There would be no reason for them to sleep in the Orbital Cradle. Yet that hope still burned in her heart, hand shaking as she tapped the screen, flicking through graphs and logs of data.
Their brain activity seemed to start out normally, matching the expected levels for hibernation. And it remained the same for 2000 years. Her finger froze mid-scroll as the graph suddenly dropped: zero brain activity, like their consciousness was completely gone. Just like what happened to Aria.
Her gaze flicked to the date of the sudden drop. A few days before she woke, on a day between seasons: Quietus. That was the first day Ein mentioned remembering, the day when they first arrived at Lethe. Frantically, she scoured over the data, watching the graph remain flat, until suddenly ticking back up to the acceptable activity level. And the date seemed to be just around when Quietus ended, on the last day she’d seen Ein.
But the oddities didn’t stop there. No, the activity levels kept rising. It spiked even higher, to a level like they were almost awake, dreaming inside their pod. And it never fell, instead steadily crawling upwards. This person—this Ein—had been slowly waking for the past few years, and no one noticed.
“How’d this get past you? Shouldn’t you have been alerted sooner?”
“I am not certain.” Dianthus shook her head. “The alert we received today was multiple years out of date. Were there something in our system that delayed this message so, we would have noticed. But there have been no anomalies detected.”
Aria scrunched her nose, looking over the empty pod. Something had to be faulty. If not with the Omen’s systems, then maybe with the pod itself. Maybe the data had been corrupted, or some faulty wiring led to their sleep ending early. An issue in its solitary system could have caused problems with sending the message out, as well. But nothing seemed wrong, at least from an external look.
“We got a problem!”
A small creature glowing bright red suddenly appeared before Aria. The researcher jolted back slightly before calming. Juno, one of the faeries. A part of her still disliked the little creatures, trying to worm their way into getting things. But they were the only ones she could talk to about Ein—as even if they didn’t fully remember, they listened and believed her—and a part of her was glad to see them keep the farm in shape while Ein was gone.
Suddenly appearing and shouting at her wasn’t appreciated, though. And did it really have to be Juno out of them all? Aria couldn’t help but frown as she gave the faerie a rather unimpressed look. “What’s so important that you had to come all this way? Unless you just wanted an excuse to leave the farm?”
“No way I’d do that!” Juno pouted, stomping a foot in the air. “Someone in weird clothes showed up on the farm and is walking all over the place! Don’t they realize it’s somebody’s home?!”
Aria blinked. Someone in strange clothing? Her eyes wandered back to the pod’s monitor, reading that name again. Could it really be? Or was she just getting her hopes up? But there would be no way to prove her theory without seeing for herself.
“Dianthus, can you ready the airship?”
Heavy footfalls sounded through the air as Aria hit the ground running. She’d asked to be dropped off outside the farm, not wanting to startle whoever was there. Despite taking the winding path up the hill frequently, it seemed so long and unfamiliar. Like it was the first time she really walked it in a long time.
She stopped just past the archway, eyes scanning the farm for the mysterious person. Her heart rattled inside her chest, beating so hard that it pounded against her ribcage. She could hear it in her ears, how it yearned for them, terrified of the possibility it wasn’t Ein. Her eyes stopped, fixating on a sole figure, standing on that very cliff that overlooked the Seaslight.
Carefully, Aria approached, eying the person. The clothes they wore were different from Ein’s—more modern, like that worn on Lost Gaia. They wore a simple white jacket with black pants and boots. A hint of a blue shirt stuck out from beneath their jacket, though it was difficult to tell with their back to Aria. And their hair—it was that familiar hue she knew, pulled back the same way as Ein’s.
They were only a few meters apart now, Aria’s hand cautiously moving up, daring to reach out to the person before her. With her next step taken, the figure’s head suddenly perked, their full body turning in one fluid motion. All too familiar eyes locked their gaze onto her, a lopsided grin fit to match, made all the brighter by the shining sun behind them.
“It’s been a while, Aria.” Ein let out a laugh, scratching the back of their head. “Or should I say it’s nice to finally meet you?”
Aria didn’t care for whatever stupid joke they were trying to make. Because all that mattered was Ein—someone who was 100% truly Ein—stood right there. Her legs acted before she realized it, running the last of the distance and jumping into their arms. She pulled them into a deep embrace, burying her face in their chest, taking in the warmth that emanated from their body.
This was Ein. They were here. They were real.
Ein returned the hug, their own arms wrapping around Aria. She could feel how they rested their chin on the crown of her head, smiling into her hair. Their shirt soaked up her tears, her hands tightly gripping the back of their jacket, unwilling to let go.
“I’m sorry.” Ein whispered into her hair, one of their hands rubbing circles on her back. “I never wanted to leave. There was barely even time to say goodbye.”
Aria’s grip tightened, thinking back to what they said, those final words they uttered before disappearing. How she could only watch as they disappeared, left to wait for so long until they came back.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“Hm?”
“Saying that and leaving without considering my feelings.” Aria grumbled into their shirt. “You didn’t even give me the chance to respond.”
Ein didn’t respond—not verbally, at least. Their grip tightened as their feet shifted, unsure what to say. That was fine, though. Aria buried her face deeper into their chest, unwilling to meet their eyes as the words she held onto for so long came to her lips. Her face burned and heart pounded, but she had to say it. She didn’t want to regret anything, to risk them disappearing again, not knowing her feelings.
“I love you, too.”