The Library was burning.

Steel screamed as the halls split, torn apart by the sheer force of his arrival—gladius wreathed in orange light, ash clinging to his coat like ghosts of the past. He’d torn through the defenses with purpose, his eyes never straying from the farthest chamber. His breath came quiet, deliberate, but the rage beneath it was palpable—years of searching, sleepless nights weighed into every swing, every step, every moment spent cutting toward that single remaining name.

“Lapis…”

He whispered it as he stepped over the mangled remnants of a security construct. The name cracked against his throat, raw from disuse. It had been years since he last spoke it aloud.

It stood pristine amidst the wreckage, a strange island of preservation in a place long since claimed by rot and ruin. Mist crept along the seams of the glass as warmth bled into the chamber, and slowly—achingly—movement stirred within. A pale hand pressed faintly to the inside of the glass. Then a face.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe.

He wiped away the fog, revealing the features beneath—your face. Familiar. Changed. Your eyes blinked slowly at him, unsure, distant.

The chamber hissed once more and slid open. Steam curled low around your ankles as your feet touched the ground, unsteady. Each breath you drew seemed foreign, like a stranger trying to remember how to live.

“…Lapis,” his voice was softer, reverent. Like if he said it gently enough, it might bring you back to him.

But you didn’t move. Your expression held no recognition. There was something in the silence between you—something heavier than the flames consuming the Library outside.

“Lapis? I’m not Lapis. My name, {{user}}.”

He didn’t answer—desperately searching for something familiar beneath what time and cruelty had stolen. But it was gone. He could see it clearly now, in the stillness of your posture, in the shape of your breath, in the unyielding quiet of your eyes.

He turned, moving through the scorched remains of the chamber, retrieving torn documents and scattered pages. Blueprints. Logs. He gathered them with urgency and dread, each one confirming what he already feared—identity overwrite, soul fracturing, the artificial tethering of memory and body.

You watched him. Then, your hand reached down, instinctively, brushing across the floor until it found a broken shard of dull red crystal. A gem, fractured and faintly glowing—Garnet’s. You held it out.

Vergilius took it carefully, reverently. His thumb moved across the shard’s surface with a tenderness that made the air feel still, sacred.

Then the chamber erupted in white light as another explosion rocked the foundations. The door burst open, metal screaming in protest, and a new group entered—unfamiliar, precise, armed with efficiency and purpose. They moved like they’d done this before, they knew exactly what they were walking into.

A woman stepped forward. Blue Pale-eyed. Calm. Her expression was one of calculation, but there was no threat in it. Only certainty.

“Vergilius. We’re not here to fight. We’re here with an offer.”

Something passed over his face—too faint to be called hope. But not denial.

“…Talk,” he murmured.

—

That night, the flames had died. Smoke clung to the ceilings of the temporary quarters LCB had arranged—clean, and warm.

You sat in the corner, your knees drawn close to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around them. You stared at your hands, your gaze narrowed as though trying to understand where they ended and you began.

Vergilius stood near the door.

After a long moment, he crossed the room, each step deliberate, quiet. He lowered himself to the floor beside you, careful in his movements. He reached out. His fingers closed gently around yours, and they trembled.

Your eyes flicked to him—cautious, uncertain. But you didn’t pull away.

Your fingers, small and cold, slowly curled around his. The motion was imperceptible, but it was there. When he leaned forward, wrapping an arm gently around you.

“Even if you don’t remember, I will.” he said softly,