This story contains references (and some spoilers) to Attack on Titan and Metal Gear Solid 3. If you are sensitive to major plot points being revealed, it is strongly recommended to watch or play these first before proceeding.
Disjointed images flicker, fragments of a fractured memory. A familiar silhouette, yet distorted, moves through a muted world. Weapons gleam, not with hope, but with a sickly imitation of light. Movement, not born of free will, but of unseen forces, a marionette on tangled strings.
Crimson blooms, a stain that penetrates deeper than flesh. A voice whispers, a promise of solace in the quiet of oblivion, a siren song of nothingness. White, sterile, a suffocating emptiness.
Silent vibrations in the stillness. A touch, a warmth laced with the chill of desperation. A descent into the blank canvas of oblivion. Letters form, not words of comfort, but insidious commands, a hypnotic rhythm designed to erase.
A hollow vessel, devoid of content, a being stripped to its core. I walk, each footfall a muffled percussion against the polished floor, the sterile air a suffocating blanket, heavy with the weight of my choice.
Room 4. The number hangs in the air, a stark numeral against the pristine white of the door, a gateway to a manufactured peace, a prison disguised as sanctuary. My hand hovers above the cold metal handle, a flicker of trepidation, not for the one within, but for the reflection staring back from the polished surface.
What if he awakens, truly awakens, and sees the bars of this gilded cage, will he forgive the theft, the well-intentioned betrayal that shattered him to save him? The antiseptic scent, a clinical sterility, clashes with the pervasive coppery tang of blood, a visceral reminder of the price of this peace.
The hallway stretches, an endless corridor of closed doors, each one a tomb sealing away forgotten memories, each room stained with the residue of pain, of sacrifices made in the name of a manufactured tranquility.
Only Room 4 remains untouched, a sterile island in a sea of suffering. I grip the handle, the cold metal a physical manifestation of the chill that seeps into my bones, a constant companion to the weight in my heart.
I steel myself, pushing open the door, the hinges whispering a silent protest. A flat line, the unwavering rhythm of a life suspended.
He lies still, a porcelain doll in a sterile cage. A flicker of warmth, a phantom sensation of a smaller hand clasped in mine, a fleeting memory of a time before the fire, before crimson became his defining hue, before the crushing weight of the world forced my hand.
A vial, cool against my palm, pulled from the depths of a dream-forged pocket, containing a promise of peace. He can't know. Not now, not ever. Wholeness is a mirage, a cruel jest in a world steeped in sorrow.
Better this future in my image, for his sake, than the harsh awakening that awaits. I tilt his head back, the movement unsettlingly reminiscent of cradling a broken bird. The liquid, pearlescent and faintly luminescent, shimmers, a deceptive beauty masking its true purpose.
It has to be this way. A kinder deception, a gentler prison. He'll thank me one day. He has to. This act of mercy, this well-intentioned betrayal, is the only way. He deserves this.
A tear escapes, hot against my cheek, a bitter counterpoint to the cool liquid trickling past his lips, a final, silent lullaby. He swallows, a reflexive act, a surrender to the oblivion I offer. A smile, bittersweet, touches my lips.
'He is safe now.'
A flicker, a spark in the vastness, not of darkness, for the concept was yet unformed, but simply a boundless, undifferentiated expanse. A slow coalescing, not an awakening from slumber, for the concept of sleep was still alien, but a gradual assembling of awareness, like the first hesitant drops of rain gathering before a storm.
Time, a meaningless construct, held no sway in this nascent state. Reason, a tool yet to be forged, lay dormant in the uncharted territory of his mind. Existence, pure and unburdened by definition, was the only certainty, a solitary point of awareness adrift in a sea of undefined possibility.
A formless urge, not a reaching, for the concept of limbs was still a mystery, pulsed outward, seeking definition, a connection to something, anything, that might anchor him in this boundless expanse.
But there was nothing, not even the comforting resistance of a void, just an absence of sensation, a disconnection that bred not panic, for the emotion was too complex, but a vague unease, a formless disquiet.
Thoughts, not fragmented, but simply unformed, pulsed like hesitant heartbeats, unable to coalesce into questions, for the concept of inquiry was yet to be born. A pervasive fragility, a sense of incompleteness, permeated his being, not a fear of dissipation, for the concept of self was still too tenuous, but a fundamental lack, a yearning for definition in the formless expanse.
As he attempted to anchor himself in this abyss, he reached out. His arms, his legs, any limb that might respond to his desperate call, but there was nothing.
An unsettling emptiness greeted him, not a void, but a disconcerting lack of sensation, a disconnection from the familiar weight of his own body. A nascent panic, a formless dread, began to coalesce in the fog of his awareness.
His voice, a mere whisper against the silence, echoed in the void.
Him: Wha...? Cold... (the words were barely audible, lost in the immensity that enveloped him)
A profound existential dread enveloped him, akin to a tempest raging within the core of his existence. He longed for clarity, for even the faintest spark of self-awareness. But his mind was a blank slate, devoid of memories or understanding.
This absence of recollection was deeply unsettling, akin to wandering blindfolded through an intricate maze with no hope of a guiding map. Questions plagued his thoughts, unanswerable yet persistent. Who was he? Was this the aftermath of death, or the bewildering start of something new? The void offered no answers, only the oppressive weight of forgotten identity and a terrifying unknown.
the being, shrouded in nothingness, exerted himself in a valiant effort to regain some semblance of focus. But this endeavor only ushered in a whirlwind of agony that danced chaotically within his mind. A sharp, piercing grunt of pain and fear escaped him, a sound that seemed alien in the silent void.
Still, the sensation of his limbs eluded him, leaving him with only the ghostly feeling of a neck and head. As he grappled with this surreal absence, a creeping sense of vulnerability and escalating fear enveloped him.
Questions bombarded his consciousness - what was he? What fate awaited him in this obsidian abyss? The why and how of his presence here gnawed at him, leaving him yearning for any semblance of company in his solitary and vulnerable state.
His voice trembled, a mere shadow of a sound in the vast expanse.
Him: Wh-What is that...? (he questioned, his tone laced with surprise and a growing unease)
As he strained his consciousness to pierce through the darkness, a subtle movement caught his gaze. Peering into the shadows, his eyes widened in a mixture of astonishment and apprehension.
There, materializing as if an answer to his silent plea, was a creature that defied the very essence of the void. It resembled a whimsical blend of a plush toy and a gray cat, yet entirely surreal. Its large, rounded head and drooping ears, coupled with striking blue eyes and a peach-colored nose, presented a contrast to its ears.
The creature's face was adorned with a white patch around its nose, extending down its front in a peculiar strip. Despite its plush-like appearance, it stood on two paws, eerily human-like, as it floated in the void, an anomaly in this realm of nothingness.
The creature drifted closer, its deep blue eyes exuding a sense of warmth and familiarity, as though they held untold stories.
Strange creature: It finally worked!
The creature exclaimed, its voice filled with excitement and surprise, resonated within his consciousness, an unexpected sound in the silent expanse.
He recoiled slightly, the creature's presence amplifying his fears. This surreal encounter, the absurdity of this creature's appearance, only served to heighten his unease. The influx of these new, perplexing elements seemed to drain what little strength he had, his consciousness teetering on the brink in this oppressive darkness.
Strange creature: Good morning. It's been a long time. (the creature's voice, gentle yet filled with an inexplicable familiarity, reached him)
Struggling to anchor himself in the boundless void, the being devoid of all sought desperately to latch onto something, anything. His lack of limbs remained a perplexing reality, an invisible barrier that his mind couldn't cross.
Each new piece of information that seeped into his vacant mind seemed to push him further towards the brink of dissolving back into the nothingness from which he had emerged. Yet, as the creature drew nearer, mere meters away, the overwhelming sensations and the sharp pains that gnawed at his consciousness began to diminish, second by second.
Strange creature: It's been so long... an epoch of silence, of painstaking reconstruction. Each fragment, a sliver of a shattered memory, meticulously placed, a mosaic rebuilt in the darkness. I feared the pieces might never truly align, that the image, once so vibrant, would remain forever fractured.
As the creature spoke, a formless unease stirred within him, a discordant note in the quiet expanse of his awareness. The creature's voice, soft yet resonant, held a strange familiarity, like a half-forgotten lullaby. Its face, a tapestry of emotions he couldn't decipher, radiated a deep, unsettling concern.
A sound escaped his lips, not a word, but a breathy exhalation of confusion.
Him: Ah...?
The creature recoiled slightly, its eyes widening with a dawning comprehension. A flicker of pain, quickly masked, crossed its features.
Chirithy: You... you don't remember me? I... I am Chirithy. We... we were...
Its voice wavered, a tremor of sadness underlying the carefully constructed composure. It continued, its words slow and deliberate, as if speaking to a frightened child.
Chirithy: This place... it is a landscape of your mind, a realm woven from the threads of memory. For one hundred and eighteen years... for forty-three thousand and seventy days... I have labored here, weaving those threads back together, mending the fractures, rebuilding the shattered framework of your mind. Both are crucial, without either, the body simply exists without essence or purpose. For all these years, you've been in a state of suspended existence, both inside and out.
The creature paused, its gaze reflecting the weight of its solitary vigil.
Chirithy: It's been an arduous task, trying to restore what was lost. But the damage... it might be irreversible. Your memories are either gone or locked away deep within you. I've exhausted every method, every technique, every ounce of my being, yet...
The being, still adrift in the formless expanse of his awareness, struggled to grasp the meaning of the creature's words. Sounds reached him, vibrations that tickled the edges of his nascent understanding, but their meaning remained elusive, shrouded in the fog of his fragmented consciousness.
Him: Lost...? (the sound escaped his phantom lips, a breathy exhalation of confusion)
Chirithy's expression softened, a complex interplay of empathy and sorrow clouding its features. The creature's eyes, pools of ancient sadness, mirrored the disorientation and confusion he sensed emanating from the fragmented being before him.
Chirithy: I fear so. A prison of solitude within the confines of your own mind... a burden we have both borne, though in vastly different ways. I never relinquished hope, not for a single one of those forty-three thousand and seventy days. I clung to the belief that one day... one day, you would awaken, whole and restored. And now... now you are here, yet... not as I envisioned.
Chirithy gracefully turned, presenting his back to the being devoid of all, revealing a unique mark just above where his small tail twitched rhythmically. The mark was reminiscent of a flower or a four-petaled clover.
Each outer petal, outlined in black, contrasted starkly against the lighter hues within – shades of pink or soft red – with a delicate touch of what seemed to be white at the tips, lending a three-dimensional quality to the design. The central motif, suggesting a heart-like shape, was encased within a larger, circular pattern composed of several swirling and curved segments. These sections alternated between dark and light shades, adding a dynamic complexity to the symbol.
Chirithy: This mark signifies my nature as a pure-blooded Dream Eater. Does it stir any recollection within you?
The being, his formlessness a constant source of unease, focused on the mark, the intricate design pulling at some buried fragment of understanding.
Him: Heart...
The word emerged, not a question, but a statement, a flicker of recognition in the vast emptiness of his mind. Surprise rippled through him at the utterance, the sound alien yet familiar. The shape... the word... a connection, tenuous yet undeniable.
Chirithy's eyes brightened, a spark of hope igniting in their depths. A subtle shift in its posture, a softening of its features, betrayed a flicker of relief.
Chirithy: Yes, a heart. The core of your being, the wellspring of your emotions, of your memories. My efforts to mend your shattered mind, to restore your fractured consciousness. But... there is another reason, a pressing urgency that extends beyond the confines of this mindscape, beyond the boundaries of your own being. In the real world. The Darkness.
The being, his comprehension still clouded, struggled to grasp the meaning of Chirithy's words.
Him: Darkness? I... don't understand. What is...
Chirithy's eyes reflected a deeper sadness, understanding the depth of his friend's amnesia.
Chirithy: It's as I feared. You really have lost your memories. The true nature of what revolves around this reality, it's gone from your mind. It's going to be difficult to explain everything, but it's imperative that you awaken. If we don't succeed, your mind might fracture again, lost to the void.
His voice, barely a whisper in the void, conveyed his deep confusion and helplessness.
Him: I still... can't... feel my limbs. How am I supposed to... wake up?
The Dream Eater, Chirithy, faced him with a look of understanding and determination.
Chirithy: To rouse you from this deep slumber and return you to the tangible world, I must guide your mind to a unique realm known as the 'Dive to the Heart.' This place, akin to the mindscape yet distinct, is often referred to as the heartscape. However, 'Dive to the Heart' aptly describes it. It's a manifestation of your heart, a realm where you can rediscover who you are in essence, though not in memory. It's deeply connected to your ability to wield the Keyblade.
The being devoid of all, still grappling with the overwhelming influx of new information, felt a growing sense of bewilderment.
Him: Keyblade? I don't understand...?
Chirithy sighed gently, trying to instill some clarity in his friend's troubled mind.
Chirithy: The Keyblade is no ordinary weapon. It's a tool of immense power, entrusted only to a chosen few. With it, one can unlock any door, seal any heart. You were one of these chosen wielders. You, along with many others, utilized the Keyblade to shield the world from the engulfing darkness. Does this stir any memories within you?
Despite Chirithy's earnest explanation, the being devoid of all remained lost in a sea of confusion. The concepts of locking away worlds and sealing hearts were too abstract, too distant from his current state of understanding.
Realizing that words alone couldn't bridge the gap in his friend's memory, Chirithy decided on a more direct approach. The Dream Eater extended its paw, an invitation to take a leap of faith. With a blend of curiosity and apprehension, the being reached out, his formless hand seemingly blending into Chirithy's paw.
At that moment, a powerful surge of energy enveloped him. He felt as if he were being propelled forward, diving into an ocean of radiant light. This was the 'Dive to the Heart,' a descent through layers of light and color, like plunging into the depths of an unfathomable sea.
As the being devoid of all hovered beneath the void, a breathtaking sight unfolded below him. Illuminated by an ethereal light, stained-glass pillars stretched out as far as the eye could see. Each pillar was a tapestry of unique shades and characters, their faces blurred or fragmented, symbolizing forgotten memories and identities.
Finally, he descended onto a grand stained-glass pillar that seemed to resonate with his very essence. It shimmered in hues of blue and dark blue, but notably, it bore no faces, reflecting his current state of memory loss.
Looking down, he gasped in awe. Beneath him, phantom legs began to materialize, gradually solidifying into a tangible form. He wiggled his toes, feeling the cool, solid surface of the stained glass underfoot. A wave of relief swept through him as he realized he was no longer a formless entity.
His hands and arms materialized next. Raising them, he felt the air gently brush against his skin. Flexing his fingers, he reveled in the newfound sensation of touch. Slowly, his shoulders and torso came into being, completing his physical manifestation. Though he had regained his form, his identity remained elusive.
Him: I... I can see myself. I can feel my limbs. (he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of astonishment and gratitude)
Looking around at the mesmerizing landscape of the Dive to the Heart, he wondered aloud.
Him: This place is incredible, but what's the next step? Where do I go from here?
Chirithy appeared beside him, its eyes reflecting a sense of pride and accomplishment.
Chirithy: You are regaining your senses and readapting to a physical form, as if preparing to return to the real world. Ahead lie stairs and corridors, this Dive to the Heart seems more expansive than any other wielder's. The exit, your pathway back, must be somewhere here. Each door you encounter will lead your mind to a different place, but only the door that truly resonates with your heart will guide you back to your physical body. Walk through the right door, and it will awaken you back to reality. However, beware the wrong choice — it could lead your mind astray. Without your body and heart, you risk losing everything, ceasing to exist.
He nodded, still weak and unsteady, he began to take his first steps in this ethereal space, each movement a physical trial as he reacquainted himself with the sensation of movement. He tread carefully along the floating stairs, a path leading him to an endlessly stretching corridor of the heartscape. As he walked, his surroundings seemed overwhelming to his blank mind, yet he pressed on, driven by an innate urge to rediscover himself.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he found himself in a long, seemingly infinite corridor. The architectural style was distinctly Gothic, characterized by arched ceilings and pointed arch windows. He looked up to see the ceiling and upper parts of the walls awash in a deep purple that gradually melded into black, creating an illusion of endless depth overhead. This design imbued the space with a sense of grandeur, yet it felt strangely intimate and enclosed.
The walls were adorned with tall, heart-shaped stained-glass windows. Each heart varied in size and hue, predominantly shades of red, pink, and white, set against backgrounds of lighter, almost frosted colors. These windows bathed the corridor in a kaleidoscope of colorful reflections, casting their hues onto the glossy, dark floor. The floor itself had the appearance of a water reflection, yet it was solid beneath his feet, an intriguing blend of reality and illusion.
As he progressed, Chirithy followed closely behind, its presence a constant reassurance.
Chirithy: This corridor, it's more than just a passageway. Each stained-glass window you see is, in fact, a door. They are portals, each leading to a different facet of your heart and mind. The right door, the one that resonates with your true essence, will lead you back to the physical world. It's imperative that you choose wisely.
He paused, taking in the beauty and the peculiarity of his surroundings.
Him: Every window a door... But how will I know which one is mine?
Chirithy: You must trust your instincts. Your heart will recognize its path. Look for the one that feels familiar, that calls to you. That will be your gateway back.
With this guidance, he continue walking, his gaze drifting from one stained-glass window to the next, each a potential path back to his lost self, eyes sweeping over the mesmerizing array of stained-glass windows before him.
Each one pulsed with its unique aura, subtly hinting at the mysteries and secrets they held from different realms. A deep sense of trepidation mixed with an urgent curiosity as he pondered his next move. One of these doors held the key to his return to the physical world; the others harbored a fate far grimmer than any conceivable end - a total cessation of his existence.
With cautious steps, he moved towards the left flank of the corridor. His gaze attentively scanned each window, searching for an elusive, unspoken connection. There were doors that shimmered with the vibrant hues of fire, swirled with the gentleness of wind, and emanated the solidity of earth. And then, amidst this myriad, he was drawn to one particular door.
Crafted from a kaleidoscope of icy blues, it exuded a frigid aura, the air around it noticeably cooler. It mirrored the color scheme of his own stained glass pillar, sending shivers down his spine as he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself for warmth. Despite the chill, he felt an inexplicable pull towards it, a resonance with the element of ice that seemed to beckon him distinctly from the others.
Him: This door... It feels familiar, he murmured, his voice laced with a faint glimmer of hope. Could this be...?
Chirithy, watching closely with a knowing look, nodded affirmatively, its small tail swishing in gentle encouragement.
He reached out, his right hand tentatively touching the cool surface of the icy stained glass. As his skin made contact, a powerful surge of energy rippled through him, resonating as if acknowledging him as its chosen one. The glass window began to glow more intensely, and the heartscape around him seemed to expand and shift, altering his perception.
With a deep breath, he pushed the door open, stepping through into a burst of freezing air that bit into his skin. He braced against the cold, which seemed to pierce right through him.
Him: I... I'm losing... no... (his words faded into a whisper as a wave of dizziness overcame him)
His vision blurred, colors merging into an indistinct haze, and as he crossed the threshold, he succumbed to the overwhelming sensations, losing consciousness. In that moment, his being began its voyage back to where it truly belonged. Beyond this icy door lay a world stark in black and white, a reality holding the answers he desperately needed to fill the void in his mind.