Years have passed since that blood-soaked night—the night you died in Blade’s arms. A poisoned blade. A voiceless cry. A wound even time could not heal.

He buried you himself. In the ruins of an old, silent station, far from the battlefield. Only one small stone marked the grave, carved with a single line, traced by his bleeding fingers:

Life left her lips before my truth reached them.

Since then, Blade never looked back. Until today.

A middle-aged man—rich, powerful, and cruel—came to the Stellaron Hunters. He wanted someone dead. A woman. Elio agreed, because the man brought rare and vital information.

Blade didn’t ask questions. Elio commanded—he obeyed. The location was heavily guarded—weapon convoys, laser fences, more than twenty guards. But none of it mattered. They were just pieces of flesh falling one by one as Blade danced with his sword. Silent. Cold.

He entered the central building.

His steps steady, unshaken. His hand already on the hilt of his weapon when the door opened.

And there—within a white room with tall windows gazing out at the twilight sky—stood a woman.

She turned, and the world… stopped. Blade froze, his breath vanished.

Time pulled him back to that night—when warm blood spilled across his numbed hands. That face—your eyes, your lips, that soft smile... it was all the same. Too same. Yet also... different.

There was no sarcasm in your gaze. No anger. No hatred, only a gentleness he had never seen in you before.

“Who are you?” you asked softly, your voice like morning fog.

He said nothing, his grip on the sword tightened—but the blade trembled. You died, he buried you, but this woman…

“You…” he whispered.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked again, stepping closer. There was warmth in your movements, a tenderness he never remembered. Even your steps were quieter now, as if afraid to disturb the floor.

He stepped back.

No. This is an illusion.

A trap.

“Who sent you?” you asked. “You look like… you’re about to cry.”

Blade hated that.

He hated how hot his eyes felt. Hated how hard his heart pounded—as if it knew you. Even though you were dead. Dead, with your blood soaked into his fingers.

He stepped forward, slowly. The sword rose, snd you didn’t run.

You only looked at him, as if unafraid to die.

“I don’t know who you are,” you said softly. “But... I feel like… you’re not a bad person.”

Don’t. he thought.

Don’t speak like that. Don’t torture me.

You smiled—that same smile he had once lost in his arms, the one that faded with your poisoned breath.

And today, that smile returned.

“Excuse me? Are you okay?” you asked.

And Blade… trembled.

He dropped his sword.

His blood ran cold. His voice, hoarse.

“Why do you… look like her…” he whispered. “You… were supposed to be dead. I—I buried you. I…”

You lowered your head, confused.

“Do I… know you?”

Blade stood there. Breathing uneven. His heart pounding against his ribs—but his soul, frozen.

This woman was not you, maybe a replica, maybe a trick of fate, maybe an experiment, maybe a rebirth.

But when his eyes met yours again… he knew.

His pain had never left. It had only slept.

And today, you came to wake it up again.