CH.33
The room was still, save for the faint hum of the anchor. The air hung thick, charged with an intensity that Celeste couldn't ignore. She had withdrawn, her hands clenched into fists as she stood at the edge of the glowing projections. Her mind swirled with disbelief, doubt, and anger. Ethan's words echoed within her, unsettling and impossible to accept.
Ethan's voice came again, calm but heavy with emotion, breaking the silence. "Celeste, please," he said softly, his tone almost pleading. "I know this is hard to believe. I know it sounds... impossible. But you need to hear me out. Let me show you."
"I don't need your stories," Celeste snapped, her voice sharp. "I need facts—proof. You can't just tell me you were human and expect me to believe it. That's not how this works."
Ethan hesitated, his fragmented figure flickering faintly in the glow of the anchor. "Then I'll give you more than stories," he said, his voice steadying. "I'll give you our memories. The ones you've forgotten. The ones I never wanted you to lose."
---
There was a pause—a beat of silence that stretched into eternity. Then, the shimmering light surrounding Ethan's form began to shift. Threads of energy extended into the air, weaving together fragments of images, sounds, and moments. Celeste's breath caught as the space around her transformed, the fragments becoming something tangible.
"Do you remember this?" Ethan asked, his voice a mix of tenderness and sadness. The first memory took shape, vivid and alive.
They stood in a field at the edge of the city—a stretch of untamed wilderness that had been their sanctuary. Celeste could see herself, younger and smiling, her hands outstretched as she reached for a butterfly. Ethan stood beside her, his laugh soft and warm as he watched her chase it. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting golden patterns on the ground. It was a simple, perfect moment, but it carried the weight of something much deeper.
"This was our place," Ethan said quietly. "When things felt too overwhelming, when the world was too loud... we'd come here. Just to be. Just to exist together."
Celeste's chest tightened as she watched the scene unfold, but she shook her head, her voice trembling. "I don't remember this," she said. "I've never been there. This isn't real."
"It is," Ethan insisted, his figure flickering slightly. "It's real, Celeste. You loved this place. You told me it was where you felt most at peace. That's why I kept it—why I carried this memory with me, even when the glitch took the rest."
---
The memory dissolved, replaced by another. This time, they were in a lab—a bright, sterile environment filled with the hum of machinery. Ethan stood at a console, his fingers flying over the keys as Celeste leaned over his shoulder, her expression curious and mischievous.
"You were always so impatient," Ethan said, a faint chuckle in his voice. "You'd sneak into my workspace just to see what I was working on. You couldn't stand not knowing."
Celeste stared at the memory, her heart pounding. The younger version of herself in the projection was so vibrant, so alive. She watched as the memory-Celeste teased Ethan, her laugh ringing out like a melody. It was unsettling, seeing herself like this—like a stranger and yet so familiar.
"I don't understand," she said, her voice breaking. "Why don't I remember any of this? If what you're saying is true, why—why does it feel like a lie?"
"Because I took it from you," Ethan said, his tone heavy with regret. "I thought I was protecting you. When the glitch happened, I didn't want you to carry the weight of what we'd lost. I thought... I thought if you didn't remember, it would hurt less."
---
The memories continued, each one more vivid than the last. The rainy afternoon when Ethan had confessed his feelings, standing awkwardly in the doorway of her apartment. The late nights in the lab, where they had shared coffee and laughter over half-finished projects. The way he had looked at her, with a mix of admiration and tenderness that was impossible to fake.
And then, the darker moments. The argument they'd had when he first told her about the experiment—the one that would ultimately lead to his consciousness being trapped in the wires. The fear in her eyes as she begged him not to go through with it. The way he'd held her, whispering that it would be okay, that he'd come back.
"I didn't come back," Ethan said quietly, his voice breaking. "Not the way I promised. The glitch took everything. It shattered me into fragments, left me trapped in this place, in LYRA. But even then... even when I thought I'd lost everything... I held onto you."
Celeste's knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her hands trembling. The memories were overwhelming, flooding her mind with emotions she couldn't name. She wanted to deny it, to push it all away, but the way Ethan spoke—the raw honesty in his voice—made it impossible to ignore.
"Why are you telling me this now?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why now, after all this time?"
"Because you deserve the truth," Ethan said. "Because I can't let you fight for me—for us—without knowing what's at stake. And because... I need you to believe me, Celeste. I need you to remember."
---
The room fell silent, the shimmering threads of memory fading into the stillness. Celeste sat frozen, her mind racing as she tried to make sense of everything Ethan had revealed. The disbelief was still there, a barrier she couldn't fully overcome, but so was something else—something softer. A faint flicker of recognition. A feeling she couldn't shake.
Ethan's voice came again, quieter now. "I know it's a lot," he said. "And I know you might not believe me—not yet. But I'll wait, Celeste. I'll wait as long as it takes."