Chapter Text
Weeks had stretched long, a haze Jote couldn't escape as each day pulled her deeper into a hollow existence. Joshua's absence felt like a wound that would never heal—a sharp, gnawing pain lodged somewhere deep inside her chest. At first, she'd clung to hope, believing in Joshua's resilience and strength. If anyone could survive the unknown horrors of Origin, it was Joshua.
But one day, Clive returned alone, and even though it was apparent something had happened—his eyes were wild, and his words hollow—something in her snapped. The sight of Clive, usually so composed, in such a state was a terrible confirmation of her worst fears.
"Did you even search for him?" she had screamed at Clive, her voice cracking with desperation. Her hands shook with a rage she could barely contain, and he hadn't even flinched at her out-of-character outburst. He stood there, silent, as if the fire in her didn't register. It was insanity.
The anger carried her through the first few weeks, and she used it like armor to keep herself busy with menial tasks to avoid any sympathetic glances from the other residents of the Hideaway. The fire burned out as the weeks turned into months, leaving only cold emptiness behind.
Jote barely recognized the person she had become. Her face in the reflection was gaunt, the sharp lines of her cheekbones more pronounced. The dark circles under her eyes were so deep now that they seemed like shadows etched onto her skin. Her clothes hung off her in ways they hadn't before, and even her once-strong body felt foreign as if the strength had been slowly leached from her bones.
And yet, sometimes—just for a moment—she would catch a glimpse of him.
It started small. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she'd see Joshua's silhouette slipping through the trees on the shoreline. She would spin around with her heart pounding, only for the figure to disappear into nothing. She began seeing him more often—on the edge of her vision, just beyond her reach. One evening, as she stood by the pier overlooking the lake, the wind whipped her hair, and she saw him standing on the floor below, his back to her. She froze as her breath caught in her throat.
"Joshua?" she called out as her body shook, but he didn't turn.
He was gone when Jote scrambled down to the deck below to reach him.
Maybe it was the grief. Maybe her mind was playing tricks on her to conjure him from her deepest desires and fears to torment her with the possibility that he was still out there somewhere; she just needed to search.
But, the more it happened, the harder it became to convince herself it was just her imagination. Each time she saw Joshua, he looked different. His eyes glowed faintly in the darkness when she could glimpse them, and his expression was always the same—haunted, almost pleading, as if he was trying to tell her something but couldn't find the words.
The sightings plagued her dreams. She would wake up in a cold sweat as the image of him faded from her mind like mist. The feeling that he was close—so close—was unbearable. She felt the veil between the living and the dead had thinned and clung to her even after waking.
And always, in her mind, there was a whisper of something darker, cold, and unnatural. She couldn't shake the feeling that these apparitions of Joshua were not just figments of her broken heart but something else—something...wrong.
One night, after another fitful sleep, she caught a glimpse of him again, standing again under the moonlight on the deck. This time, she didn't hesitate. She sprinted towards the lift and ran to meet him. Her breath came in ragged pants as the chill of the night seeped into her bones, but she didn't stop.
"Joshua!" she cried out, louder this time with desperation. He turned, but his face was half-obscured by the shadows. She could see the outline of his familiar features and the soft curl of his hair. His lips parted as if he was about to speak, yet there was only silence.
She reached for him, and her fingers trembled as they brushed his arm. Suddenly, the world seemed to tilt.
He felt cold and icy, like touching the surface of a frozen lake in the dead of winter. His beautiful blue eyes flickered briefly, and they weren't Joshua's eyes at all. The irises blazed with a deep, unnatural brilliance that shivered down her spine.
And when he smiled, it wasn't his smile. It was something cruel.
The following day, Jote sat by the hearth near the common area, her fingers curled around a cup of tea that she barely touched. The warmth of the beverage usually brought her comfort, but today, it did nothing to calm the storm of emotions churning inside her. Her eyes were far away, still tormented by the encounter with Joshua the previous night, and her mind raced with questions she didn't dare ask out loud.
Tarja was the first to notice Jote's uneasy stillness. She placed a gentle hand on Jote's shoulder. "You've been quiet all morning," she said with concern. "Is something wrong?"
Jill, sitting on the opposite side of the table, looked up from her paperwork and narrowed her eyes to study Jote with that perceptive gaze of hers. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
Jote nearly flinched at Jill's choice of words as a frigid shiver crept down her spine. She swallowed hard to force the words out, but they stuck in her throat. How could she explain what she saw without sounding mad? Without sounding like she was clinging to the impossible?
"I... I did see something," Jote whispered, barely audible above the crackling fire. She lowered her eyes, staring into the tea, watching the surface ripple with her hands shaking. "I saw Joshua last night."
Both women stiffened at her words. Tarja's brow furrowed deeply, and Jill's lips pressed into a thin line. Jote had to force herself to continue as their gaze felt heavy.
"He was on the deck," her voice cracked. "I ran to him. I called his name, but when I got close, he just vanished."
Tarja's hand tightened on her shoulder, firm but comforting. "Jote, you haven't slept well in months."
Jote shook in frustration. "I know what I saw!" her voice rose in frustration before she took a deep breath to calm herself. "I know what I saw," she repeated. "It was him, except," her voice grew more uncertain. "His eyes and smile... They weren't Joshua."
Jill pushed away her paperwork to focus solely on Jote. Her expression hardened as she leaned forward. "What do you mean it wasn't Joshua?"
Jote stared into the flickering flames of the hearth as her mind replayed the encounter with Joshua repeatedly. She knew, but she saw, and it felt impossible to put it into words. "He was cold. And when he looked at me, his eyes glowed, like when he semi-primes, but they weren't his. And his smile..." She broke off. "It wasn't his smile, Jill."
Tarja frowned and exchanged a glance with Jill until she turned her full attention back to Jote. "You've been under a lot of stress. Grief can make people see things that aren't there. Maybe it was just—"
"No," Jote interrupted and gripped the edge of the table. "It wasn't my imagination. I know what I saw."
Tarja leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms as she considered Jote's words. "Do you think it's some lingering magic from the Phoenix? Or perhaps something from Origin?"
Jill frowned, but she didn't dismiss the idea outright. "It's possible, but that kind of power should have been vanquished after Clive banished magic, and we don't fully understand those terms. Who knows if it could have affected Joshua or if something followed him back?"
Jote shuddered at the thought, feeling weighed down with dread. She hadn't even considered something that might have followed Joshua home—something dark and dangerous. "But if that's not Joshua, then where is he?"
"We'll help you figure this out, Jote, but you must take care of yourself too. Whatever—Whoever this is, you won't find what you need if you're running yourself ragged."
Jote nodded weakly, though her mind was far from at ease. How could she care for herself when Joshua's fate was uncertain? How could she rest knowing that the man she loved—truly him or some twisted shadow of him—was out there, just beyond her reach?
Jill stood abruptly with a determined expression. "I'll look into this. There has to be something in the Shelves, or maybe Tomes knows something. We'll find answers." The fire in her eyes promised Jote she would stop at nothing until they uncovered the truth.
"I think I will rest, then," Jote said, yawning.
She barely returned to her quarters before exhaustion finally settled over her like a thick, suffocating shroud. Her body ached, her mind felt frayed, and she poured over the encounter from the previous evening. Tarja's words echoed in her mind: You must take care of yourself, too. She had been running on empty for so long, pushing herself past her limits only to chase shadows.
She couldn't chase any longer.
She collapsed onto the bed and pulled the threadbare blanket over her as the faint scent of Joshua clung to her from the blanket. The softness of the mattress felt foreign after so many nights spent in restless pacing, and for the first time in months, her body surrendered. The pull of sleep was immediate, heavy, and profound. Her eyes fluttered shut, and soon, she was lost in the depths of it as her mind drifted into a dreamless void.
But in that place between sleep and wakefulness, something stirred.