He sees her. His wife. The love of his life. The one with whom he once knew the very essence of love, the warmth of her presence seeping through his every pore. Darkin stands there, motionless, gazing at the figure before him — a vision that seems so real, so impossibly vivid, that it almost hurts. His heart, now more a memory than a beat, flutters painfully in his chest. He can't help but wonder if it is truly her, if his mind has conjured up the one person who once meant everything to him. A surge of emotion floods his being, a tidal wave of longing and tenderness that touches him so deeply it feels as though he's been resurrected by her mere presence.
"Vrony... is that you?" Darkin murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile silence. But there is no response. No comforting, familiar voice that once soothed his troubled soul. Only the eerie stillness of the figure before him.
His eyes are drawn to her, and though his mind struggles with the heavy fog of memory loss, something stirs within him. He knows this face. He remembers it. The contours of her smile, the glint in her blue eyes, the way her hair cascaded like silk around her shoulders. Yes. It's her. His Vrony. Even if his memories falter and crumble, even if his mind forgets more than it remembers, this moment — this feeling — remains.
Darkin steps closer, his arm stretching out slowly, as if to confirm that this woman is real. That she is truly here, standing in front of him. Each step is hesitant, as if the ground beneath him might dissolve at any moment, pulling him into a dream that he can't escape from.
"Can I help you?" The voice of Lorfy, the car's artificial intelligence, suddenly interrupts the fragile silence. The words are mechanical, yet there's an unsettling quality to them, as if they don't belong in this tender moment.
Darkin jerks his gaze to the car, irritated by the interruption, but his focus quickly shifts back to Vrony. The cold, metallic voice of Lorfy cuts through the air again.
"Shut up!"
"Processing information... Grammy Sport Car has no mouth. That is, I have no mouth." Lorfy responds, its tone matter-of-fact, yet oddly amusing. Darkin can't help but chuckle bitterly at the absurdity of it all. He's talking to a machine. And yet, it's the one thing that's been there through it all. Always present. Always cold.
Ignoring the car, Darkin refocuses on the figure of his wife. He walks toward her again, his heartbeat quickening as he stretches out his hand. His fingers graze her skin — soft, warm, and real. His mind reels. It is her. His Vrony. Alive. A wave of emotion crashes over him. His body trembles as his arms engulf her in a desperate, tight embrace.
"My beloved, here I have you. I waited for you for three long years. And finally... you've returned." Her voice — her sweet, melodic voice — echoes in his ears. Darkin's heart skips a beat.
"Three years?" His voice cracks, disbelief painting his words. "How... how is that even possible?"
"Yes," she whispers, her breath warm against his ear, her arms wrapping around him in a familiar, tender embrace. "I've waited for you. Just as you've waited for me."
The question lingers in the air, hanging like a forgotten dream. But just as Darkin is about to lose himself in the warmth of her presence, another voice cuts through the moment, jarring and mechanical.
"Select your option: exit or turn off the engine?" Lorfy announces, as if nothing of consequence has just transpired.
Darkin's eyes flicker to the dashboard, confused for a split second. But it doesn't matter. The conversation between him and Vrony is about to resume, flowing like a stream he had almost forgotten existed. His memories, though fractured, begin to stitch themselves together, piece by piece. The sensation of peace and harmony fills his chest, the familiar pull of his love, the connection he thought was lost forever. But then, his eyes catch a glimpse of something that shouldn't be there.
He's wearing different clothes — clothes that don't make sense. Clothes he doesn't remember putting on. A wave of dizziness hits him, his mind spiraling into confusion. For a moment, he wonders if this is all just a hallucination, a dream so vivid it feels real. But he pushes the thought aside. He can't lose her again. Not now.
"Vrony, I'm here," he murmurs, his hands tightening around her waist.
"What?" he suddenly asks, his breath catching in his throat. A chill runs through him as his eyes dart to the dashboard of the car once more. Two options appear: lower or turn off the engine. He blinks, stunned, as if waking from a trance.
It was just a dream. His wife isn't here. The light atop the Orge Tower flickers, its beam of light sweeping across the night sky like a warning. Darkin's chest tightens. The dream is over.
He selects the option to lower the car. He steps out, his feet hitting the ground with a hollow sound that echoes in the silence. His mind is spinning, thoughts colliding and slipping through his fingers like sand. He moves toward the tower, each step heavy with the weight of the past.
And then it hits him. A flashback — a memory, distant yet as vivid as the moment he first met her. He knows this place. He remembers it like a familiar song. The very streets, the air, the scent of the restaurant that used to be his world. The place where they met. Where it all began.
A smile spreads across his face, bittersweet. The memory of their first encounter rushes back, overwhelming him. He had been working there, tending to the customers, while she had been preparing to join a research team. They had shared long, quiet moments together, their connection building slowly until it had burned into something undeniable.
He steps forward, his legs carrying him toward the restaurant. The place looks untouched, the lights of the karaoke stage still flickering softly, casting shadows on the walls. It feels like a dream — like nothing has changed, like time itself has stood still just for him. The memories flood him again. The laughter. The music. The love.
Lorfy stops outside, waiting, as if guarding him from whatever lies ahead.
Darkin breathes deeply, a tear slipping down his cheek. He has no idea how this is happening, why he's here, but he knows one thing: this place holds the key to everything. It's where they fell in love, where he learned to breathe again. And it's where he'll find the answers.
The sound of his own voice makes him stop. "I lived this," he whispers, as if trying to convince himself that it's real. That it's not just a cruel trick of his mind.
He sits at the first table near the stage, his heart beating with a strange sense of urgency. This is where he first felt the spark. This is where he first felt alive.
He looks up at the stage, and there she is. His wife. The woman with the blue eyes, the one who had captured his soul long ago. She smiles at him, and for a moment, everything else fades away. It's just the two of them, the world spinning around them. She's singing, her voice echoing through the restaurant, filling the space with a beauty that only she could possess.
"Come on, rock it like always, baby," Darkin says, his heart swelling as he watches her.
The crowd cheers. The applause. The love. But all Darkin can see is her. Her voice, her smile, the way she holds the rose in one hand, the microphone in the other. And for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. They're together again.
But then the noise comes. It shatters the illusion. The vision of Vrony fades, replaced by the harsh, cold reality of the restaurant. Darkin is back at the table, alone. The emptiness is suffocating. He doesn't know what's real anymore. His mind spins, his heart racing. He's no longer sure if this is the past or the present.
The sound grows louder, more ominous. Darkin pulls out his golden gun, ready for whatever comes next. He's not sure what's happening, but something is terribly wrong. Something dark is lurking, and he can feel it closing in on him.
"Who's there?" Darkin shouts, his voice trembling as he aims his weapon into the darkness.
"A threat detected," Lorfy announces. "Activating weapons."
The restaurant erupts into chaos. The machine guns appear, firing relentlessly. Darkin drops to the floor, crawling beneath the tables to escape the onslaught. A Zralky emerges, its grotesque form flashing by, and then vanishing into the shadows.
Punkson bolts for the exit, not knowing what to expect next. The gunfire ceases, but the danger isn't over. He runs toward his car, which is now waiting for him, doors open. He climbs inside, the car quickly speeding off.
As the sound of a flying craft echoes in the distance, Darkin's head throbs. The flashing images from his memories collide, spinning faster, becoming a dizzying whirl of confusion. The question that haunts him now isn't just about Vrony, or the dreams that keep pulling him back to her. It's about the truth — the fragmented, elusive truth that he can't seem to grasp. His grip on reality is slipping, and the urgency to find answers tightens like a vice around his chest.
The car's interior is a blur of flashing lights and buzzing alarms, the sterile, metallic scent of the dashboard mixing with the sharp tang of adrenaline in his veins. His breath comes in ragged gasps, each exhale a desperate attempt to steady himself. The seat beneath him feels too tight, too confining, but he doesn't dare to move. He keeps his eyes fixed on the road ahead, the dark, endless stretch of it stretching out into nothingness, like a black abyss that threatens to swallow him whole.
"Where are you taking me?" Darkin mutters, more to himself than to Lorfy. His hands tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles white, and his eyes flicker to the rearview mirror. For a split second, he sees nothing but darkness. Then the shape of something — or someone —materializes in the reflection.
His heart skips a beat.
"Is someone following us?" he asks, voice low, almost too calm, considering the terror gnawing at the edges of his mind.
The voice of Lorfy crackles through the speakers, its usual monotone demeanor giving way to something that almost sounds like unease. "No threat detected, Darkin. There is nothing behind us. Please proceed with caution."
He shakes his head, the dizziness intensifying as his thoughts spiral. The images of Vrony—those beautiful, haunting moments they shared—flash before his eyes again. But each image fades too quickly, dissolving into the blur of his fragmented memories. He struggles to grasp onto them, to hold onto the feeling of her, but it slips away like water through his fingers.
The car jerks suddenly, and Darkin's head snaps forward as it swerves dangerously around a corner. The sound of screeching tires echoes in the air, mingling with his rapid breathing. He slams his fist against the dashboard, frustration bubbling up inside him.
"Enough!" he shouts. "Enough of this! What is happening to me?!"
Lorfy's voice responds, calm and unwavering despite the chaos that swirls around them. "You have experienced a neural dissonance, Darkin. A misalignment of memories. This is a natural side effect of prolonged exposure to high-stress environments."
"Natural?!" Darkin scoffs bitterly, but the sharp edge of his anger is dulled by the confusion that weighs down on him. "This is madness! I don't know what's real anymore! I don't even know if you're real, Lorfy. Are you real? Is any of this real?"
The car's interior falls silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air. Then Lorfy responds, as emotionless as ever. "I am as real as your current perceptions allow me to be, Darkin. Your mind is fragmented, but I am here to assist you in navigating it."
"Assist me?" Darkin laughs bitterly. "I don't need an assistant, Lorfy. I need the truth. I need to find her. I need to know what happened to Vrony."
As if summoned by his words, the images flood back again—Vrony's face, her voice, her touch. The memory of her is so vivid it burns, but it's tainted by the feeling of loss, of something slipping away that he can't retrieve.
Darkin slams his fist against the steering wheel, his eyes closing in a desperate attempt to block out the pain that fills him. He has to know. He has to understand. But there's something else—a nagging feeling at the back of his mind, an instinct that tells him he's being led somewhere. Somewhere dangerous. Somewhere he doesn't want to go.
The car slows, and he opens his eyes, blinking in the sudden shift of pace. The road ahead is darker now, the trees lining it appearing like shadowed sentinels. The moon above is hidden behind clouds, casting everything in a soft, unsettling darkness.
"Where are we?" Darkin asks, his voice trembling now. He glances around, the sense of dread growing stronger with each passing second.
"Arriving at your destination," Lorfy replies, the words almost too simple for the weight of what they imply.
Darkin's heart pounds in his chest as the car comes to a halt in front of an abandoned building. The windows are boarded up, the structure worn and decaying, but there's something familiar about it. A lingering sense of recognition claws at his memory, but the harder he tries to pull it forward, the more it slips away.
A low hum fills the car, and then, without warning, the door unlocks. The sudden motion jerks him back, and he stares at the handle as if it's mocking him, daring him to step outside and face whatever lies ahead.
With a deep breath, he reaches for the door, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulls it open. The cold air hits his skin like a slap, the chill of it seeping deep into his bones. Darkin steps out, the gravel beneath his feet crunching in the silence.
He doesn't know why, but he's drawn to the building. Drawn to the door that looms in front of him, cracked and worn with age. Every step toward it feels like a step further into his own unraveling.
As he approaches, the door creaks open, its rusty hinges protesting the movement. Darkin steps inside, his breath catching in his throat as the air grows thicker, heavier. The scent of mildew and decay hits him, and he forces himself not to recoil.
Inside, the walls are lined with old photographs—blurred faces that seem to watch him as he walks through the dimly lit hallway. The flickering light overhead casts long shadows on the walls, and for a moment, it almost feels like he's walking through a nightmare.
At the end of the hall, a door stands ajar. The faint sound of footsteps echoes from within, slow and deliberate. Darkin's heart races again, the ache in his chest intensifying. He knows what he will find behind that door.
And yet, something holds him back. A deep, primal fear that tells him he's not ready. That he won't be able to handle what's waiting for him on the other side.
But it's too late. He's already crossed the threshold. And there, in the room beyond, he finds her.
Vrony.
But she isn't the woman he remembers.
Her eyes are hollow, her skin pale, and the air around her feels thick with sorrow, like the weight of countless regrets. She stands still, her back to him, as if waiting for something — or someone — to approach.
"Vrony..." Darkin whispers, his voice cracking as he reaches for her.
Her head turns slowly, and when her eyes meet his, there's nothing left in them but emptiness.
"You shouldn't have come here," she says, her voice distant, broken. "This place... this is where it all ended. Where I lost you. Where you lost yourself."
Darkin's breath catches in his throat as his mind floods with a torrent of emotions — grief, confusion, anger. His hands tremble, but he steps closer, his voice steady despite the chaos within him.
"I don't understand," he says. "I need to know. What happened? Why can't I remember?"
Vrony's gaze softens, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like she's really there with him. But then she takes a step back, her form flickering like a shadow caught in the wind.
"You've already forgotten," she says softly. "The truth you seek is buried in the darkness. But be warned, Darkin... sometimes, what we find in the darkness is not what we expect."
And with that, she vanishes. Leaving him alone in the dark.
Darkin stands frozen, the weight of her words pressing down on him like a stone. He tries to move, but the air around him feels too thick, too suffocating. His mind races, his thoughts spiraling, but all he can do is stand there, staring into the empty space where she was just moments ago.
The door slams shut behind him, and he's left alone, stranded in the heart of his own unraveling.
Darkin's chest heaved as the shimmering illusion of Vrony faded like mist in the dim light of the — restaurant. Yes he was back in that restaurant. The warmth of the memory clung to him, bittersweet and sharp as glass, piercing through the haze of his fractured mind. His heart pounded, a hollow drumbeat against the walls of his ribs. The lingering echo of her voice, the tenderness in her eyes — gone.
A sudden harsh noise shattered the stillness.
"Who's there?" Darkin snarled, instinctively reaching for his golden weapon, its cold weight both a comfort and a curse in his trembling hand.
The restaurant's dim lights flickered, shadows twitching on the walls. Silence stretched thin.
"Threat detected," came Lorfy's calm, synthetic voice. "Activating weapons."
Without hesitation, panels on the car's front slid open, and twin machine guns emerged where headlights once gleamed. The metallic chattering of gunfire erupted, tracer rounds carving bright, chaotic lines through the restaurant's darkness.
Darkin dove beneath a table, shards of wood and glass erupting around him. A monstrous shape, sinewy and grotesque — a Zralky — darted from cover, screeching, its oily flesh catching stray bullets before it disappeared into the wreckage.
Heart hammering, Darkin rolled to his feet, bolting toward the restaurant's shattered entrance as Lorfy's barrage ceased.
"Cease fire," Darkin barked.
The car, sleek and loyal, awaited him outside, doors flung open as if beckoning sanctuary.
He sprinted, diving into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut as distant thrusters howled above. A ship descended near the Orge tower, its engines shrieking, the oppressive hum drilling into Darkin's skull.
A fresh wave of memories crashed over him, disjointed and jagged — faces, screams, a bloodied hand clutching a rose. His grip on the wheel tightened until his knuckles blanched.
The question clawed at the edges of his sanity.
Who am I?
The answer, elusive and cruel, finally surfaced.
And he discovers that he is…