I glanced at the clock.
11:17 PM.
I should've laughed it off. Called it a weird encounter and gone back to my anime marathon. But I couldn't. Not with the coin still pulsing against my leg like it had a heartbeat. Not with my reflection staring back at me like a stranger—like someone waking up from a very long sleep.
I slipped the coin into the small inner pocket of my hoodie, the one I never used. Then I threw the hoodie over my head, pulled the drawstrings tight, and stepped out into the night.
The air had cooled, but not enough to stop the sweat. The heat still clung to the buildings, rising from the pavement like a ghost that refused to leave. The city had quieted. Streetlights flickered. The traffic buzz had faded into a low hum. Everything felt like it was holding its breath.
The library wasn't far—fifteen minutes, tops. But I took the long way. Maybe I needed time to think. Maybe I was stalling. Or maybe, deep down, I already knew—after tonight, nothing would be the same.
The old library had been closed for years. No one ever bothered to tear it down. It just sat there, tired and forgotten, like a gravestone time had stopped reading. The front doors were chained shut, thick rusted loops twisted through the handles.
But she hadn't told me to use the front.
She'd said the basement.
I slipped through a side alley, stepping over broken glass and half-rotted flyers. That's when I saw it—a narrow metal door, half-buried behind a dumpster, left open just enough to tempt the stupid or the desperate.
Apparently, I was both.
The air shifted the moment I stepped inside—heavier, older, like time had thickened. The scent of dust and ancient paper clung to the walls. The stairwell creaked beneath my feet, lit by a flickering bulb that buzzed like it was dying a slow death.
At the bottom, the door clicked shut behind me.
Too soft.
The basement was lit by a single bulb. Shelves lined the walls—some bare, others crammed with cracked books, broken tools, and relics I didn't understand. But none of it held my focus.
Because she was there.
She stood in the center of the room—same long coat, same unreadable eyes. She looked like she'd stepped out of another reality. Like gravity bent a little around her.
"You came," she said.
I stared. Something about her had changed. Or maybe I had. Her face seemed sharper. Clearer. Like the world had started drawing her in finer detail.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
My mind swirled with questions:
Who are you?
What do you want from me?
Why does this coin match my eye?
But before I could speak, she dropped to one knee.
"Master."
I froze.
That wasn't what I expected.
"My name is Rae," she said quietly, head bowed.
And something cracked open inside me.
Not pain. Not fear. Something deeper. Like a door flung wide in the dark. And behind it—stars. Fire. A throne made of silence. A place I didn't remember, but somehow knew.
I stepped back. "Why… why did you call me that?"
She looked up, her eyes shimmering with something too vast to name. "Because I swore to serve you. Long ago. Before this life. Before the veil took your memories. I bound my life to yours beneath the Vaulted Sky."
"What sky? What are you talking about?"
"You don't remember. Not yet. But you were more than human, once. And I was your blade. Your shield. Your shadow. I chose that path. Freely."
I shook my head. "I'm nobody. I aged out of the system. I have fifty bucks and a hoodie."
"To this world," she said, soft but sure. "But that's not who you are. That's who you were buried under."
"Buried under what?"
"Time. Silence. The fall of your abyss. When the last seal broke, your spirit was cast into sleep. Mine remained. Waiting. Watching. Until the coin—your world—returned to your hand."
My fingers tightened around it. The warmth had become a low, steady burn.
"You've been waiting for me?" I asked.
Rae nodded. "Through silence. Through lives. I remembered everything. I had to. My oath held."
"What oath?"
She raised a hand to her heart. There, just above her chest, a faint mark pulsed—more carved than inked, like a symbol etched directly into her soul.
"I, Rae of the First Circle, Bladebound to the One-Who-Remembers, do swear upon all stars and all stones: my life is his to command. My blade is his justice. My shield, his sanctuary. Until the last flame dies… or he releases me."
As she spoke, the mark shimmered. The air bent around her like the room itself was listening. Approving.
I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
"I didn't ask for this," I whispered.
"I know," she said. "But it still belongs to you. It always did."
The coin burned hotter against my side.
And somewhere deep inside me—older than this city, older than this world—something stirred.
Something that remembered.
Rae's POV
I had imagined this moment a thousand ways.
What he might look like. What he might say. If he'd smile the way he used to.
But when I looked into his eyes—those same eyes I'd once trusted with my soul—I knew: it was still him.
Even if he didn't remember me.
Even if he'd forgotten everything.
Even if he says the words…
Even if he releases me—I'll stay.
He doesn't remember the abyss he built, the world forged from shadow and silence. He doesn't remember finding me there, hidden at the edge of nothing, when no one else could see me.
But I remember.
He gave me a name when I had none. A purpose when I had only pain.
I love him.
Not because I was bound.
Not because of an oath.
But because he chose me. In that place between creation and dreaming—where time folds, and gods are still allowed to be lonely—he saw me.
This coin… this world… it was his once. Ours.
And now that it's back in his hand, the doors will begin to open again.
So no matter what he says—no matter how far he runs—I will never leave.
Even if he commands it.