Memory Echo: Iris — The Canvas That Waited for a Name

Reincarnated as a Background Character — Boss Fell in Love With Me

Memory Echo: Iris — The Canvas That Waited for a Name

Final Echo Sequence Initiated

Memory Integrity: 97%

Soul Stability: Anchored (Raze)

Echo Form: Self-Rendering

Title: "Me"

In the forgotten west wing of the tower—the desolate structure that had been abandoned by all but shadows—I found myself seated in silence, alone in a space that seemed suspended in time. This room, untouched by the outside world's chaos, held a peculiar light that flickered as if it were a worn-out bulb struggling against the dark. The energy in this wing remained steeped in remnants of sorrow, untouched by the steady erasures of the system that sought to overwrite past tragedies that still clung to the corners of my mind.

In this cherished solitude, I unveiled the final canvas, my heart a fragile bird fluttering uncertainly in its cage. This was no ordinary canvas, no simple blank slate waiting for color and thought. It bore the label "Me," a title both terrifying and profound—a blank page that seemed to mock me with its emptiness as I prepared to pour my soul onto its surface.

With a flicker of bravado, I envisioned painting a face—my own. I imagined the gentle arches of my cheekbones, the curve of my lips, the depth held within my eyes. However, as I lifted the brush, it remained motionless in my grip, a traitor to my intentions. It wasn't fear that held me captive; not anymore. Instead, it was the haunting realization that I could no longer conjure the image of myself when I felt truly safe, a memory lost to the abyss of erasure.

So, in a quiet rebellion against the limitations of my recollection, I turned my attention to painting something entirely different.

The first stroke was a vibrant green—an embodiment of a garden I had never physically tended yet had always believed in. It symbolized growth, potential, and the innocent hope that still flourished within me, despite the odds. As the hue spread across the canvas, I added a shadow lingering in the corner—a figure unmistakably tall and still, quietly observing with an intensity that transcended words.

Raze.

A chipped teacup delicately poised in his hands, he appeared as if he had stood there for an eternity, a silent guardian of grief.

Behind this stoic silhouette, the ethereal image of ash began to cascade gently, like snowflakes that landed softly upon the earth, unaware of the weight of their fall.

Velzeria.

Her presence was powerful, but in this moment, she wore no crown. Instead, her fire-colored eyes glimmered with exhaustion and a sense of gentle strength, portraying a complexity that painted her not as a tyrant nor merely a commander, but as a spirited girl navigating the treacherous waters of freedom and self-discovery.

As I layered the paint across the canvas, the emotions poured from my soul, mingling with the strokes of my brush, capturing unfinished feelings that represented something deeper than mere imagery.

[Painting Layer: Identity (Partial)]

Brush Memory: Linked

Emotion: Unwritten Longing

Soundtrack: Heartbeat. One. Then Two. Then One Again.

I painted with unwavering resolve until the world around me dimmed into obscurity. The voice of the Author, distant yet all-encompassing, began to echo, casting its narrative threads through the walls, an effort to rewrite reality with an unyielding precision. But here, in this hidden tower, amidst the shadows of my own making, I felt a fierce sense of sovereignty over this small space, this stubborn canvas that defied the universe's urge to erase me.

Iris.

The girl banished from memory.

The glitch in the system who dared to smile.

The painter who boldly dreamt skies into defiance, crafting a reality uniquely her own.

And then, amid the vibrant chaos of color and emotion, I turned my brush towards my face and began to paint myself. I approached this task with a sense of liberation—this would not simply be a perfect replica of some imaginary ideal, nor would it strictly adhere to the confines of conventional beauty. It would be a true depiction of who I was; eyes wide with unfiltered emotion, hands stained with the hues of my creation, and a smile that was impossibly crooked, a testament to my flaws and victories.

I was a girl who had faced death, who had been forgotten, a girl who returned—not because my existence was pivotal to a grand narrative, but because, undeniably, I mattered to someone.

As I completed the final stroke, a pulse radiated through the canvas, a warmth that felt both tangible and transcendent, and in a quiet moment of clarity, a single, definitive word etched itself into the corner of my creation:

"Alive."

[Final Echo Stabilized]**

Iris Classification: Self-Sovereign Soul

Painting Status: Immutable

World Effect: Unknown

Risk Level: Beyond Calculation

Truth Level: Absolute

I set the brush down with a deep breath, the canvas immediately drying as if accepting its form and essence. In that moment—after what felt like an eternity lost in the void of erasure—I exhaled fully for the first time, a release that resonated deep within my very being.

"This is me," I whispered gently, without anticipation of approval, nor longing for the faint echoes of memory. I spoke simply to affirm my existence, to reclaim my space in a world that had sought to define me without my consent.

Meanwhile, far below, in the depths of the rewrite chamber, where Velzeria engaged in an epic battle against the Author—an emblem of control and deconstruction—a golden quill hesitated mid-air. It sensed the tremors of a new thread woven into the fabric of reality, feeling something profound shift within the depths of the narrative.

A new story.

Mine.

And as it pulsed with the potential of creation, it stood still, uncertain of how to proceed in the face of something so raw and real.

To be continued...