Chapter Text
But at my back I always hear
Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
— Andrew Marvell, “To His Coy Mistress”
It was the first year they didn’t hold a picnic on August 1st.
Instead, Sora and Piyomon met Mimi and Palmon at Odaiba Station, and walked until the streets began to thicken with people. The Contact Across Worlds exhibit was half political stunt and half genuine attempt to preserve history.
The museum rose ahead of them, all sweeping curves and gleaming glass. A wide yellow ribbon stretched across the doors, bright against the steel.
“All these people for an exhibit about us?” Mimi slipped her arm through Sora’s.
Sora cringed when heads turned.
“Mimi-chan, it’s not about us. It’s about the Digimon.”
“No way,” Mimi said. “They picked this date on purpose.”
“That’s what Taichi said last night when he called Sora!” Piyomon blurted.
“Oh, he did, did he?” Mimi tilted her head, feigning innocence. “Late-night phone call?”
Sora didn’t rise to it. She knew Mimi — the more she protested, the deeper Mimi would dig.
“He just wanted to practice his speech one last time,” she said, clipped.
“Because he couldn’t practice with the people he lives with — Hikari-chan, Agumon, Tailmon, Souta-chan…” Mimi ticked the names off her fingers.
Sora’s ears burned. She scanned the crowd for Taichi. Too many faces. Cameras glinted above the press rail. Voices buzzed against the glass walls, a low hum like static.
Tentomon hovered just above the crowd, impossible to miss, and they steered toward him.
Koushiro was in quiet conversation with Jou and Gomamon. Just beyond them stood the Yagami family — Yuuko and Susumu with Hikari at their side, Souta’s small hand tucked in hers, and Tailmon close at her heel. Everyone but the man of the hour.
Hikari waved with her free hand before turning back to her parents.
Yuuko and Susumu had always been kind, but now that Sora was grown she never quite knew how to fit herself into their orbit. Awkwardness tugged at her, and she angled Mimi toward Koushiro and Jou instead.
As the ribbon-cutting drew nearer, anticipation swelled. The murmur of the crowd rose and fell like surf against the steps.
It was good to see the older Chosen gathered again. Or most of them. Yamato’s absence didn’t ache the way it once had, but she hoped he wasn’t all alone today, half a world away.
Takeru arrived last, Daisuke at his side with Patamon and V-mon in tow, just as an older man tapped the microphone for attention.
The curator introduced himself, offered a few polite words, then handed the mic to Taichi.
He stepped forward. He scanned the crowd gaze swept the crowd — and Sora felt it catch on her immediately.
“Wow! Where’d you all come from?” he grinned. The irreverent opening drew a ripple of laughter. It was the kind of unpolished, radiant charisma only Taichi could pull off.
“This is an important day for me. For us, really.” His gaze roamed, like he was trying to meet each pair of eyes in turn. “Eighteen years ago today, we were swept into the Digital World for the first time. I’d like to tell you this exhibit was built from my memories of that day…”
He leaned in, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “But I’m just a pretty face. The real brains who made this happen is in the crowd today. Hi, Koushiro!”
Koushiro ducked his head, as if Tentomon’s bright shell wouldn’t give him away.
Taichi’s grin softened. “What I got out of that day,” he said, “were the best friends anyone could ask for. Some were Digimon, some human. Some brand new, and some…”
He hesitated. His eyes found hers again. Heat flared in her chest, and for a moment the whole crowd faded away.
“…some of them I feel like I’ve known forever.”
Sora’s palm pressed to her chest before she realized it. Mimi snickered beside her.
“I can’t with you two,” she whispered.
The curator stepped forward with the ceremonial scissors. Taichi accepted them, and with one last glance in her direction, turned to the ribbon.
A sharp crack split the air.
For a heartbeat Sora thought it was thunder — except the sky was a perfect, clear blue. The sound ricocheted off the glass facade. A ripple of gasps swept the crowd, confusion thick in the air.
Then Taichi staggered. His hand clamped to his stomach.
He crumpled forward onto the steps. Blood spread across the pale stone beneath him.
The confusion ruptured into screams.
Her own throat was raw before Sora realized she was screaming too.