Ling stared at everything before her, unable to believe what she was seeing.
Her eyes slowly lifted, meeting Vyra's gaze.
Those once-brilliant crimson pupils were now dull and empty, stripped of all vitality. There was no light within them, no flicker of curiosity or defiance. It felt as though despair had taken permanent residence behind her eyes, consuming her silently, relentlessly, second by second.
It was the first time Ling had ever seen her daughter in such a state.
Not crying.Not screaming.
Just… hollow.
Vyra had not only lost her memories.
What terrified Ling far more was the realization that Vyra seemed to have lost herself.
The cheerful, energetic child who used to dash through corridors, laugh loudly without restraint, and speak with unfiltered enthusiasm was gone. In her place sat a girl who looked as though a crucial part of her existence had been erased, leaving behind a blank space no one knew how to fill.
For the first time, Ling felt that her daughter had truly disappeared.
She slowly sat down beside Vyra, careful not to startle her.
Helplessness flooded her chest, heavy and suffocating. Yet she forced herself to remain calm, because she knew that if she broke now, Vyra would have nothing left to hold onto.
"Vyra…" Ling said softly. "Life is full of ups and downs."
"There are moments when everything feels unbearable, moments when the world seems unfair. Everyone must face trials of their own at some point."
Vyra did not respond.
She merely curled inward, hugging her knees tightly, as if trying to shrink herself out of existence.
Suddenly, her voice burst forth.
"Why me?!" she shouted, her words trembling with rage and anguish. "Why am I the one who has to go through something like this?!"
Her cry echoed through the room, raw and unrestrained, like a wounded animal fighting against its fate.
Yet the echo faded quickly.
It felt as though destiny itself had chosen to ignore her protest.
Nearby, Doctor C.C listened quietly.
Even after countless years of medical practice, the sound of a patient's despair still made her heart tremble. Fear lingered within her, familiar and unwelcome, but she had learned long ago that this was precisely when she had to stand firm.
"Vyra," C.C finally said, her voice steady yet gentle. "May I tell you something?"
Vyra did not lift her head, but she did not stop her either.
"I have met many patients," C.C continued. "People who lost their memories. People who were diagnosed with terminal illnesses. People who lost parts of their bodies due to accidents."
"They all ask the same question."
"Why did this happen to me?"
C.C understood something deeply.
Comforting lies, wrapped in sweet words, might soothe pain for a moment. But when those lies were eventually uncovered, they often caused even deeper wounds. False hope, once shattered, left nothing but despair behind.
As a doctor, her duty was not to shield patients from reality, but to guide them through it with clarity and honesty.
She met Vyra's vacant crimson eyes with her own gray ones, unwavering and sincere.
"Vyra," she said slowly, deliberately. "Since this has already happened, the first step we must take is acceptance."
"I know it hurts. I know it feels cruel and unfair."
"But memory loss is not always irreversible."
She leaned slightly closer.
"Some memories are not stored solely in the brain," C.C said. "The most important ones are carved into the heart. Sometimes… even deeper than that."
"They exist within the soul."
As the family's long-time physician, C.C had watched Vyra grow up. She had seen her reckless bravery, her stubborn kindness, her unwavering determination.
Seeing that vibrant girl reduced to this empty state was painful beyond words.
But she could not allow herself to collapse.
If the doctor fell apart first, the patient would sink even deeper into darkness.
In moments like these, the physician became the patient's temporary anchor—sometimes even their only light.
After a brief pause, C.C continued, her tone turning more reassuring.
"Furthermore, there are treatment options," she said. "Different therapeutic approaches, different medical pathways."
"With time, we can attempt to awaken the memories you've lost."
Vyra heard every word.
She knew she was supposed to feel reassured.
Yet her heart remained heavy.
No matter how hard she tried, she could not shake the overwhelming sensation that she had lost her most important connection to the world.
Her past felt like an unreachable void.
What kind of life had she lived before?
Who had she been?
Who was the person she cared about most?
And why… why was she clutching this glass dragon mask so tightly?
The object felt impossibly important to her, yet she had no memory of its origin. Her fingers tightened around it instinctively, refusing to let go.
Vyra lowered her voice, barely above a whisper.
"Doctor C.C…" she asked. "Did you know me before?"
"What… was I like?"
C.C smiled faintly, her expression softening.
"The Vyra I knew," she said, "was a little demon."
"One that made people sigh and smile at the same time."
"You used to talk about learning teleportation magic," C.C recalled. "And flying spells."
"You said that if you could do those things, you'd appear beside me instantly—just to scare away or defeat anyone who treated me poorly."
C.C chuckled quietly.
"But instead of defeating them," she added, "you usually ended up getting yourself hurt."
As she spoke, memories surfaced vividly in her mind—Vyra's bright grin, her reckless courage, her unfiltered sincerity.
For a fleeting moment, warmth filled the room.
And deep within Vyra's chest, something stirred.
Faint. Fragile.
But undeniably real.
Vyra lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening unconsciously around the glass dragon mask.She did not understand why her chest felt tight, nor why a faint ache spread through her heart as C.C's words lingered in the air.
She could not remember the past.
Yet somehow, her body remembered how to ache for it.
And in that silent blank space within her, something unseen was quietly waiting to awaken.