A Fractured Resurrection

It felt like swimming.

Not in water, but in something thicker—slower. A liquid void, dark and endless, cradling me in its silence. No sound. No light. No weight. Just… stillness. The kind of quiet that wraps around your bones and whispers, "Stay. Rest." For the first time since I woke up with no memories, no past, no self… I wasn't afraid. Here, there were no Hunters. No blood. No fractured echoes of a life I couldn't remember. Just… peace.

Is this death?

The thought drifted lazily, untethered. If so, it wasn't so bad. No screaming. No claws of regret tearing at my ribs. Just… surrender.

Then—

A voice.

Melodic, warm, like sunlight filtered through autumn leaves. "You are safe, Echo."

Echo. The word reverberated, shaking the stillness. I knew that voice. Knew it. Not from yesterday, or last week, but from somewhere deeper. A place buried under layers of ash and forgetting. My chest ached, sudden and sharp.

Who are you? I wanted to scream. Why does your voice feel like home?

But the void swallowed the words.

"Rhys? Hey—Rhys? Are you okay?"

The world slammed back into focus—harsh, loud, alive. I blinked, disoriented. Colors bled into shapes: lockers, fluorescent lights, students shuffling past with backpacks slung over shoulders. Stella stood in front of me, her golden eyes wide, fingers gripping my forearm. Her worry was a tangible thing, sharpening the air.

"You… you scared me," she said, voice fraying at the edges. "You just—stopped. Like you weren't here."

I swallowed, my throat raw. The remnants of that voice still hummed in my skull, a fading hymn. "No, I… I thought I heard something."

"Heard what?"

You. Not you. Her.

"Nothing," I muttered, forcing a smile. It felt brittle, a cracked mask. "Just… tired."

Stella studied me, her gaze lingering on the tremor in my hands. She didn't believe me. But she let go, stepping back with a sigh. "Our next lesson is history, isn't it?"

"Yeah. We have to hurry."

We wove through the crowd, sneakers squeaking against polished floors. Laughter and chatter swirled around us, but it felt distant, muffled—as if I were still half-submerged in that void. By the time we reached the classroom, my lungs burned. Not from running. From drowning.

We slipped into the third row, sunlight streaming through the window beside me. The park outside sprawled in a riot of color—crimson tulips, sapphire irises, the fountain's spray catching rainbows in its arc. Students dotted the benches below, some bent over books, others tossing a frisbee. A normal day. A human day.

But nothing felt normal.

The desk beneath my palms was solid, real, yet my skin still prickled with the ghost of that infinite dark. The voice clung to me, a half-remembered lullaby. Echo. Why did that name carve a hole in my chest?

Stella nudged me, her brow furrowed. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?"

"Disappearing."

Before I could answer, the teacher strode in—Mr. Halvard, his salt-and-pepper beard perpetually stained with coffee. The room fell silent, but the quiet here was nothing like the void's. This silence was brittle, expectant. A held breath.

I woke to the sterile scent of antiseptic and the muffled hum of fluorescent lights. The ceiling above was a blank canvas of white, too bright, too clean. Slowly, painfully, I turned my head. A hospital room.

My hand flew to my chest, fingers trembling as they traced the ridge of scar tissue where Umbra's fist had pierced me. A scar.

But I died. Didn't I?

The memory surged—Umbra's grin, the cold intrusion of his hand, the snap of ribs giving way. My breath hitched, sending a fresh wave of pain rippling through my torso. 

My skull throbbed, a dull, insistent ache that blurred the line between memory and delirium. Stella. A girl with golden eyes, laughter like wind chimes, a hand brushing mine in a sunlit hallway—

The door creaked open. A nurse slipped inside—an elf with ink-black hair swept into a tight braid and eyes the warm brown of aged whiskey. She carried a notepad clutched to her chest like a shield.

"Don't move," she said, her voice a balm. "You'll reopen the wounds."

She settled into a chair beside the bed, her pen scratching across paper. The sound grated, too loud in the suffocating silence.

"We found you in a crater," she began, clinical yet cautious. "The entire valley was… shattered. Like a god had punched the earth." Her gaze flicked to me, assessing. "You and Celestia were at the epicenter. She was barely conscious, but you—" A pause. "You weren't breathing."

I tried to speak, but my throat was sandpaper. "A… bit," I rasped.

Her eyes widened, pen freezing mid-scribble. "Can you tell me what happened? The mountains—what happened?"

"We fought… a—" A cough tore through me, wet and ragged. Copper flooded my tongue.

"Don't," she hissed, leaping to her feet. Her hands hovered over me, glowing faintly with healing Force. "You'll rupture the mended tissue. Save your strength."

"C-Celestia," I choked. "Is she…?"

"Alive. Stable. Her injuries were severe, but… less complicated than yours." She hesitated, then softened. "She wants to see you tomorrow. Says you fought an Intelligent Hunter. That it… spoke to her."

Umbra. The unspoken name hung between us.

Relief washed over me, so potent it blurred my vision. We survived. But the triumph curdled as the nurse turned to leave.

Wait.

The word echoed in my skull. A flicker—no, a flood.

Stella. Golden eyes. A classroom drenched in sunlight. Her voice, teasing yet tender: "You're doing it again. Disappearing."

The memory burned, vivid and fleeting. Rhys's memory. Not mine. Ours?

Was she your friend? Your lover? A stranger I've inherited like this scarred body?

The nurse paused at the door, glancing back. "Rest. A healer will come soon." She gestured to a red button on the bedside. "Use this if the pain… if anything happens."

As the door clicked shut, I let my head fall back. The ceiling swam.

Stella. A name. A face. A clue.

ECHO: Shards. Pieces. Putting together.