Chapter Text
Prologue
Time does not forget.
It circles back, weaving threads of moments long passed into the fabric of now, bending what should have been and what could still be. And in that weaving, I fall—again and again—into the same dream.
This time, it begins differently.
I drift through a sea of stars, an endless, starry ocean stretching far beyond the reach of thought. The cosmos ripples around me, shimmering with a brilliance too beautiful for words. Each ripple, each flicker of light, feels like a memory unspooling from the edges of time—familiar and distant all at once.
Nebulas pulse gently, their colors washing over me in hues of blues, and violet and silver, like ink spilling into eternity.
I fall, weightless, cradled by the void. There is no fear here, only the haunting ache of something just out of reach.
And that’s when I feel it.
That presence.
It's always there, just beyond the edge of sight. Like a shadow cast by the stars themselves. Just the ever-present gravity of him—pulling, drawing me closer, even as time threatens to keep us apart.
I turn, and the starry sea bends with me, folding into patterns that I can’t quite understand. My heart beats steadily in my chest, echoing with something ancient. Something that remembers. It hums in rhythm with the stars, their whispers faint but distinct, weaving fragments of a forgotten melody into the silence.
And then, I see him.
He stands at the horizon of the universe, where the stars melt into shadows. His form shimmers, blurred by the passage of time, as though he exists both here and elsewhere. He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak—but I know he’s waiting. He always waits.
My chest tightens, and I try to remember—try to piece together the fragments of who he is, who we were. But the memories slip away, elusive as smoke. I can feel the weight of them, heavy and undeniable, pressing against the edges of my mind. They are there, just at the tip of my tongue, like the distant hum of a forgotten tune.
Time stretches and warps around us, the cosmos bending beneath its weight.
I take a step forward—or maybe I don’t.
Maybe it’s time itself that moves, pulling us closer, binding us tighter. The space between us flickers with light, golden threads spinning into existence like fragile bridges across the universe.
I reach out, my fingers trembling as they brush against the glow. And for a moment, I feel him—solid, real. The ache in my chest sharpens, a thread pulled taut between us.
We’ve been here before, haven’t we?
In lifetimes past, in futures yet to come, we’ve stood like this—on the edge of something vast, something unknown.
Reaching, falling, finding, losing.
Over and over again.
His gaze meets mine, and though his face remains blurred,
I know those eyes.
I know the weight of his stare, the way it feels like he’s seeing every part of me—the broken pieces, the forgotten dreams, the fragments of lives I can’t remember living.
Time ripples again, bending, folding, spinning us into another moment. He begins to fade, his form dissolving into the fabric of the cosmos, like stardust scattered by the wind. My heart clenches, and I reach for him, desperate to hold onto something—anything.
But it’s too late.
He disappears, leaving only the echo of his presence behind.
I fall again, the stars blurring into streaks of light around me. The melody returns, haunting and beautiful, wrapping around me like a forgotten lullaby. It hums in time with the beat of my heart, whispering promises I don’t yet understand.
And as the void folds into darkness once more, a single thought lingers, etched into the edges of my mind:
Time doesn’t forget.
But in the end, why have I?