Over the following weeks, Haru and Kenji visited the community center regularly.
They met dozens of former hosts — people who had been monsters, shadows, even buildings in the violet world. Each had their own story. Their own pain. Their own healing.
A girl who had been a tree — rooted in one spot for what felt like decades, watching others pass by, unable to move or speak. She cried when she told them.
A man who had been a door — always opening for others, never closing for himself. He laughed when he realized how obvious the metaphor was.
An elderly woman who had been the sky itself — watching everything, touching nothing. She smiled peacefully and said, "I finally understand what I was running from."
Haru listened to all of them.
Kenji sat beside him, quiet but present.
One evening, after everyone else had left, Aiko approached them.
"There's something I haven't told you," she said. "About the organization."
Haru tensed.
"What about them?"
"They're not gone."
The words landed like stones.
Aiko continued. "After the fracture closed, some of their equipment survived. Their research survived. And some of their people..." She paused. "They're looking for us. For everyone who was in the violet world."
Kenji spoke for the first time. "Why?"
"Because they still don't understand. They still think the syndrome can be controlled. Used." Aiko's eyes were serious. "They think we're weapons."
Haru's fists clenched.
"We're not weapons."
"I know. You know. But they don't." She leaned forward. "That's why we need to be careful. That's why we need to stay hidden — for now."
Kenji looked at Haru. "What do we do?"
Haru thought about it.
About the doctor's sacrifice.
About future Haru's peace.
About all the people in this room who had suffered enough.
"We protect them," he said finally. "We protect each other."
Aiko nodded slowly.
"That's what I hoped you'd say."