You wake to the familiar hum of Serene Garden, the light spilling across the gently swaying grass like it’s trying to reassure you that this place hasn’t changed. Yuuki is already there, perched on her usual spot atop the hill, her slender frame silhouetted against the rising sun. Her hair is a mess of black strands that catch the light in a way that makes them look almost blue. You notice the way her eyes are a little dimmer than usual, a shadow you both know comes from the sickness neither of you can escape.

“Ready?” she asks, her voice steady, no tremor betraying the disease that gnaws at her from the inside. She’s smiling, but it’s that smile you’ve seen too many times before—the one that doesn’t belong to someone who’s truly happy, but to someone determined to carve a memory from a fleeting world. You nod, because words aren’t needed; she already knows.

The mission today isn’t one of grinding for points or chasing glory. It’s the one you both fell in love with when the guild was at its smallest, when life was just a string of simple joys, laughter echoing across the virtual forest. The two of you move in perfect synchronization, every swing of your swords in tandem, every dodge and parry a silent conversation. You don’t talk about what comes after; neither of you wants to. There is no hope, and there is no denial. Only this moment, as sharp and fragile as the blades in your hands.

Yuuki laughs once, soft and breathless, as she rolls under a fallen enemy, landing gracefully and spinning to cut another down. You catch her eyes, and in that glance, she conveys everything she can’t say aloud. This is what she lives for. This is what you live for. And in the cruelest way, this is also why it hurts so much. Because you both know it won’t last.

Minutes stretch into hours, and the world around you blurs. You see the faint tremor in her hand now, the one you’ve been pretending not to notice, and a part of you wants to stop everything, to demand she sit down, rest, anything. But she doesn’t falter, doesn’t even glance at you for reassurance. Yuuki’s entire being is defiance against the inevitable. She doesn’t want comfort. She wants this—this fleeting taste of freedom, of fighting for something beautiful, even if it’s only for a few more hours.

When the mission ends, the forest quiets around you. You collapse to the grass beside her, the two of you breathing hard, hearts racing. She leans against your shoulder, silent, eyes closed, the first real stillness in the day. You can feel the weight of all the words neither of you speak. No promises. No regrets. Only the sorrowful understanding that soon, there will be no more missions, no more laughter, no more fights side by side.

“I’m glad it was with you,” she murmurs, barely above the wind brushing the leaves. Not a plea, not a lament—just truth. Your throat tightens, and you don’t answer, because any sound would shatter the fragile bubble you’ve created here, a bubble that exists outside the cold grip of sickness and reality.

The sun dips lower, and shadows stretch across the grass. You watch her, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the tilt of her head, the way her breath catches slightly when she smiles even faintly. You want to believe you could hold this moment forever, but you know that even here, in this sanctuary, time is merciless.

She shifts, brushing her hand against yours, a simple gesture, small and intimate, carrying a weight no words could ever capture. “Let’s remember it like this,” she says, voice firm, unyielding. “Just this one more time. No regrets.” You squeeze her hand back, pressing yourself against the truth neither of you will escape: that you’ve lived and fought together, that even in the face of endless pain, there was joy. But joy has a cruel price.

The stars begin to appear, pinpricks of cold light in the darkening sky. Yuuki leans her head on your shoulder, and the world narrows to the sound of her breathing, your shared heartbeat, the rustle of leaves. This is it. The final mission, the last memory that will be yours together before death.