The twilight lingered.
The girl sat alone before the long-since-emptied theater. A cold wind swept through the desolate street. She clutched the ticket that had never been delivered, her knuckles slightly white.
How many times was this?
She couldn't remember.
She only knew that after every performance ended, she would always decline her companions' invitations to celebrate, returning here with a faint, stubborn hope, as if performing a ritual of obstinacy.
But that person never came.
Days passed one after another. That initial burning infatuation was gradually worn away by time, finally cooling completely, like a burnt-out flame, leaving only cold ashes on the ground.
'What am I waiting for?
What am I hoping for?
What am I expecting?'
She didn't know.
The girl lifted her head, looking at the sky.
The sky was a somber dark red, like congealed blood. The surrounding world was rapidly twisting, the silent street from moments ago collapsed and sank, flames leaped into the sky, instantly transforming into a living hell. The smell of scorched things, carrying hot wind, choked her nostrils.
Amidst wails and screams, the crowd scattered like a tidal wave. Only she moved against the flow, walking alone across the scorching earth. Ash fell like black snow, drifting incessantly. Her heart was also like this lifeless ruin.
Then, she saw that person.
The person she had waited for over and over was passing through the withering thorns, walking toward her.
Was he the hero coming to save her? Like in the stories?
Trembling, the girl reached out, using all her strength to try and grasp that blurry figure, she wanted to hold his hand, go with him, walk toward a further tomorrow.
But that person merely glanced back at her.
His gaze was calm, even carrying a trace of unfamiliarity.
He couldn't hear the wailing in her heart, couldn't see her outstretched hand. He just turned away indifferently, step by step walking deeper into hell.
"...Don't go."
"You promised... me."
Before the words faded, the girl abruptly opened her eyes, jolting awake from the nightmare. Instinctively, she tightly gripped the wrist of the person by the bed.
Ray, holding a damp cloth, was startled by her sudden movement. After a dazed moment, he tentatively spoke softly.
"Miss Phrolova?"
Phrolova remained in a daze. It took a long time before she looked up, her gaze unfocused. What met her eyes was precisely that face she "hated so deeply."
So...
it was a dream?
The girl stared blankly at him, gradually loosening her grip on his hand.
A complex, obscure emotion flashed through her wine-red eyes.
Replacing it was a feigned indifference and distance.
"You... what are you doing?"
She asked softly.
Ray, holding the cloth, frowned slightly, as if thinking about how to explain the situation to her. "Just now, I saw you seemed uncomfortable, like having a nightmare, and you were sweating heavily. So I wanted to wipe the sweat for you."
"Is that so?" Phrolova took the cloth from him, wiping the perspiration from her forehead herself. "I can do it myself. No need for your concern."
In the blink of an eye, she returned to her usual, unapproachable demeanor.
Ray was already accustomed to this.
But he couldn't help missing the vulnerability she inadvertently showed while unconscious, so different from the thorny person she usually was. That contrast had an indescribable vividness and charm.
He sighed softly. Had I known, I should have secretly recorded her soft murmurs while she was dreaming.
Maybe then I'd have a chance to hear a conscious Phrolova say such things with her own mouth.
Too bad I'm just too upright.
Ray sat down on the chair by the bed, his gaze falling on the girl's slightly pale face. "So, a nightmare?"
Phrolova turned her head, giving him a faint glance. "Are you so fond of prying into others' privacy?"
For some reason, Ray felt... the woman's gaze when looking at him, her tone when speaking, the resentment toward him, all seemed stronger than before.
So, why was that?
"Alright, alright, don't be angry. I was just concerned about you from a friend's perspective." Ray raised both hands high, feeling utterly helpless. "If you don't want to talk about it, I won't press further. Compared to that, I'm more worried about your health."
"My health?" Phrolova frowned slightly, her gaze toward him turning somewhat strange.
"Don't get the wrong idea," Ray quickly explained. "I meant earlier, at the bottom of the sea. Weren't you trying to separate the Dark Tide's frequency? I'm more worried about whether you were contaminated by the Dark Tide."
Phrolova sat up a bit straighter, the corners of her mouth lifting into a faint, ambiguous smile. "If I were contaminated, what would you do? Kill me with one strike to eliminate the threat?"
"..."
What's going on?
Why is Phrolova so aggressive today?
Could it be that she has morning grumpiness?
"...Do I seem like that kind of person in your eyes?"
"After all, that would fit your style," Phrolova said. "To achieve your goals, sacrificing everything is of no consequence."
"..."
What misunderstanding does Phrolova have about me?
Do I really look like some ruthless, terrible person?
"Don't worry, I'm fine."
After a stretch of silence, Phrolova turned her face away, her voice deliberately distant.
She paused briefly, as if weighing her words or restraining something.
"The Dark Tide had no effect on me. As for why I'm still alive, where the Dark Tide went... I think you know better than I do what exactly happened at the bottom of the sea."
"I won't press for details about what happened, nor will I tell anyone else about the events of this period."
She finally turned her gaze back, her wine-red eyes utterly cold and still.
"Whether you've truly lost your memories or are merely pretending, I don't care."
"Between you and me, we are like two meteors flying in opposite directions. Only when we fall can we redeem the sin of our encounter."
With that, Phrolova stood up.
"I'm leaving."
"Goodbye."
Before Ray could respond, she turned and left. As the door gently closed, he was left sitting alone in the room, stunned.
The girl's parting words still lingered in his ears. He understood every word individually, but strung together, they were like a puzzle shrouded in mist.
Forget it. Since I can't figure it out, why obsess over it?
We'll meet again anyway. By then, Phrolova will probably say more things I only half-understand.
"Woah!"
A golden light flashed, and Anby leaped out from his tacet mark, rubbing its sleepy eyes while patting its rumbling stomach.
"So hungry! Is it time for afternoon dinner yet?"
The little creature tilted its head, leaning close to Ray's face for a careful look.
"Huh? Why do you look so upset? Who bullied you?"
It immediately waved its tiny paws, huffing with indignation. "Tell me quickly! Let me use the strength of Solaris-3's mightiest Echo to teach them a good lesson!"
"Alright, no one bullied me." Ray sighed helplessly, reaching out to gently tap Anby's forehead. "It's you. All you do is eat and sleep. Be careful you get so fat you can't fly. Look at this little belly of yours."
Anby immediately puffed up indignantly, putting its paws on its hips and sticking its belly out even higher. "This isn't fat! This is a stomach! A big stomach!"