The first time she remembered, she was nine years old.
It came without warning.
Not as a dream.
Not as fragments.
But as everything.
All at once.
Rue Yim woke up in a small room painted pale blue, sunlight leaking through curtains decorated with tiny white stars. The air smelled faintly of detergent and something sweet. A world so soft it almost felt artificial.
Her body was small.
Her hands—
Too small.
Too soft.
She stared at them for a long time.
And then—
She remembered.
Everything.
The train.
The worlds.
The endless loops.
Wang Si.
Hong Gwi.
Qin.
Ye Jing-e.
Kilu'an.
Saya.
Chang Seol.
The girl she had killed.
The world she had ended.
Her breath shattered.
She sat up too quickly, heart slamming violently against her chest.
"No—"
But there was no collapsing reality.
No shifting walls.
No illusions breaking.
Only—
A quiet room.
A stable world.
A mother calling from downstairs in a language that felt familiar and foreign at the same time.
