The sky isn't entirely dark. But it doesn't know light either.
Gray clouds seem to crouch above the city, motionless, as if too weary to float. The sky no longer sheds rain, but its traces remain on the streets—small puddles reflecting a world that barely moves.
I sit on an old bench in the middle of the park. A park that never blooms.
The swing beside me sways gently, without any wind. Its chain creaks with each movement, like the weeping of iron left abandoned too long. The park is surrounded by gaping buildings. Mold covers the walls, windows are cracked, and the voices of the world... they never reach here.
This is where I am now—a body that can still move, but no longer feels alive.
I was once happy in this park.
At least... that's what my memory says.
"You used to love playing there, Knnight,"
my mother's faint voice once whispered in my memory.
"You laughed the first time you rode the swing."
I don't know if that's true. But the memory exists. And it's the only source of feeling I have left.
I don't feel. I only summon memories, like pulling a faded photograph from a dead drawer.
I'm not a monster. But I'm not a sane enough witness to call myself human either.
"How many times have you sat here?" a foreign voice suddenly echoes.
I turn my head slowly.
No one.
Or maybe there was. Maybe I just can't tell reality from fragments of memory anymore.
I'm used to voices.
Some talk like old friends. Others... like judges inside my head.
But today, all the voices are silent. No words, no whispers.
Just this park, this bench, and the gray sky watching silently.
I once believed in the law. I lived by it, upheld justice. I even turned down bribes when I worked in the eastern district's legal administration.
But what did I earn?
A curse. Déjà vu.
Fragments of time looping like shards of glass piercing my eyes.
I remember a little boy running towards me, crying, lost from his mother. I wanted to help. But I hesitated, afraid of what would happen.
Those sharp stares directed at me.
They would see me as a criminal.
And the worst part wasn't the accusation.
It was that I had seen it all before.
Over and over again...
The hatred in their eyes.
The repeated words.
The echoing screams.
Even the smell of the air when it happened... never changed.
I'm trapped in a recording of my own life. And when I try to break free, the world... just repeats.
I can't change this world. I'm not a magician.
I'm just a spectator, staring too long at a cracked mirror—until I realize, I am the crack.
I'm not a creator. Never was.
I'm merely a keeper of an old museum... its walls lined with dusty portraits of pain.
And every time I lift a frame, the world outside crumbles, as if remembering the agony it buried.
I call that place Remnactum.
A mental realm I've never fully understood.
Silent, cold, and barely alive.
That's where I saw it.
The figure that once shone.
But its light had faded.
And so I reached for an emotion—not to warm it, but to destroy it.
Because every feeling I summon is not a flame,
but the fire from ruins.
I can call forth an emotion, if I choose.
But it's like tearing open a wound—letting the world taste its blood.
If I pull too deeply...
this world will shatter with me.
But why would I do that?
"Because feeling something is the only way you still feel alive,"
whispers a voice within.
I lower my gaze to my hands.
Cold.
Not from the air, but because my soul no longer resides in this body.
I can feel my pulse—but it's like watching someone else breathe for me.
I summon a memory.
My sister's smile when I bought her a cheap doll at the night market.
It feels warm.
But too brief.
Then I replace it.
The laughter of people as they accused me of stealing public funds.
Even though... all I did was refuse to join their corruption.
Heat. My vision trembles. My hands shake.
Remnactum: Type Despair.
The ground beneath the bench starts to crack slowly. Grass wilts. The air thickens.
I quickly suppress it. I must not— not again.
I can still hold it back.
This place will never bloom.
Because I bring ruin wherever I go.
And somehow...
I no longer care whether this world deserves saving or not.
I stand slowly, as if my body weighs ten times heavier.
I leave the park, but it never truly leaves me.
It clings to my mind—like an old wound that keeps bleeding no matter how far I walk.
Through the haze of my sight, I see an old building at the end of the street.
No signboard, no paint left on its walls.
Just layers of dust and the smell of old iron seeping from every crack.
It stands silent,
like a hollow shell too large for one soul... but perfect for someone wishing to vanish.
I approach.
Every step feels heavy, as if the earth itself tries to hold me back.
With a slow push, I open the door.
The hinges screech, breaking the silence.
Inside—only a thin darkness, almost like mist.
Sunlight refuses to touch this place.
I don't turn on the lights.
Why should I?
Light lost its meaning to me long ago.
My footsteps echo alone across the dusty floor.
I know this place.
It used to be a small office.
Where I worked, filing documents, compiling reports, handling administrative law.
I did it all diligently.
With the belief that law... meant truth.
But now...
Only piles of empty folders remain.
Some stamped with red ink: "CANCELLED," "INVALID," "TRAITOR."
I stand still, letting my eyes read each mark one by one.
I don't regret believing in the law.
I'm just... disappointed.
Deeper than time could ever heal.
The desk at the end of the room is still intact.
I sit there, open a drawer, and pull out an old book.
Not a personal journal, not a law book, not a strategy guide.
Just a collection of memories.
I call it that because the book is filled with scribbles—an emotional log.
On the first page, it says:
"If I cannot feel, then let me remember."
Each page after holds a single emotion.
"Fear – when they looked at me like a beast."
"Happiness – when she gave me a piece of cake and said I deserved something sweet."
"Anger – when I was accused of hiding evidence, though I was the only one trying to be honest."
"Love – when she said I was strange, yet stayed with me that night."
I don't know who she is.
Maybe just a memory I stitched from despair.
Remnactum always works like a cracked mirror.
Every emotion I pull reflects into the world in wilder forms.
The deeper the emotion... the greater the scar it carves around me.
But every pull—
eats away at me.
Little by little, I become a stranger to the world... and to myself.
One night, I cried.
But I didn't know why.
When I saw my reflection in the mirror, I didn't recognize who was staring back.
I started to realize...
the person I am now is not the person I used to be.
And worse...
I began to get used to it.
"Why don't you try talking to people?"
That question often arises.
From inside my head.
From the occasional strangers I meet.
The answer is simple.
I'm afraid.
Not because they'll reject me.
But because I know... they'll break me without meaning to.
Someone once gave me a smile.
I remembered it.
Stored it carefully.
But when that person returned...
they turned away.
Laughed with others.
Said things that stung, whether they meant to or not.
And as always... I kept that too.
My memory bank doesn't distinguish love from hurt.
It absorbs everything.
Becomes energy.
And when it's full...
the world mirrors my broken mind.
Yet before I could completely fall apart...
I hear small footsteps outside the building.
Light. Hesitant.
I hold my breath.
The steps approach...
and stop right outside the door.
Three soft knocks.
I remain silent.
The door slowly opens.
A girl stands at the threshold.
Long hair, sharp eyes, but... there's confusion there.
"Sorry," she whispers. "I was looking for shelter... may I?"
I stare at her silently.
One second. Two.
Memories surge in.
Her eyes remind me of someone.
Her posture... like someone I once protected.
"You..."
my voice comes out hoarse.
"Aren't you afraid... this place is cursed?"
She pauses. Then smiles faintly.
"Sometimes... the scariest places are more honest than people."
That smile triggers a memory.
I reach for it.
Warmth spreads from my chest.
But at the same time, the sky outside begins to tremble.
Remnactum responds.
I quickly turn away, suppressing the emotional surge trying to break free.
"You must leave," I say.
"Before something happens."
Thunder rolls in the distance.
The building trembles.
The emotions inside me surge—blending joy, fear, and an unnamed sense of loss.
I need control.
You're not a monster, Knnight,
I mutter inside.
Don't destroy anything again.
But the world never understood warnings.
And the Law of Remnant knows no mercy.
I am not the one who draws the blade—
the world answers when my heart erupts.
It bites, tears, punishes anything reflecting my emotions.
I just wanted peace.
But peace... never meant safety.
---