"Brother, you brought the wrong one back."
Veyric couldn’t move.
The voice had come from the distorted figure beside him, but it carried something his own voice never could: the helplessness of someone who had waited too long for an answer and had finally begun to believe nobody was coming. It wasn’t angry. Somehow, that made it worse.
Nyelle stood frozen, staring at the shape.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The figure tilted its head.
"You promised."
Nyelle’s eyes filled with tears. "I was a child. I didn’t know what I was doing."
"You opened the door."
"I know."
"You took my hand."
"I know."
"Then why did you leave me?"
Nyelle covered her mouth.
Veyric stepped between her and the figure. "Stop speaking to her."
The distorted shape shifted its attention toward him. For a moment, its outline became clearer, revealing the height and proportions of an adolescent, perhaps older than Veyric had been when the separation occurred. Its shoulders were narrow, and one arm hung slightly lower than the other, as though it had once been injured and never properly recovered.
A faint blue line ran beneath the skin of its wrist.
Veyric recognized the marking.
It was identical to the one beneath his own skin.
The small figure moved beside him.
"Don’t let it finish."
Veyric glanced at it. "Finish what?"
"Recognition."
The distorted figure laughed softly.
"You still give orders as if you remember why they were given."
The small figure flinched.
Veyric noticed. "You know this voice?"
"I know the way it speaks."
"That’s not an answer."
"No," the figure replied. "It isn’t."
Before Veyric could press further, their mother moved closer. She kept her eyes on the distortion, but there was something uncertain in the way she held herself, a hesitation that had nothing to do with the danger standing in front of them.
"Please," she whispered. "If you can hear me, tell me who you are."
The figure turned toward her.
For the first time, its outline flickered violently.
"You told me you would come back."
Their mother stopped breathing for a moment.
"I don’t remember making that promise."
"You were wearing white."
Her face changed.
"You were holding something," the voice continued. "You said it was only for a little while."
Their mother took an unsteady step backward.
Veyric looked at her. "What is it talking about?"
"I don’t know."
The figure’s voice grew quieter.
"You said I wouldn’t be afraid if I stayed still."
Their mother pressed a hand against her chest. Her eyes searched the distorted shape, as if she were trying to recognize a face through a window covered in rain.
Then she whispered a name.
"Eren."
The chamber fell silent.
Nyelle looked at her. "Who is Eren?"
Their mother stared at the distortion.
"I don’t know why I said that."
The small figure moved sharply toward her.
"Don’t repeat it."
She looked at the figure. "Why?"
"Names establish connections."
Veyric turned back toward the distortion. "Is that its name?"
"I don’t know."
The figure answered for itself.
"You used to call me that."
Their mother began to cry.
Veyric had seen her frightened before. He had watched her struggle to remember things that should have been ordinary parts of their lives, and he had listened as she tried to explain why entire pieces of her past seemed to have disappeared. But this was different. She wasn’t simply afraid of what the chamber might do.
She was afraid that she had recognized someone she had once abandoned.
"Eren," she repeated.
The distortion stretched toward her.
Nyelle grabbed their mother’s arm. "Don’t."
The shape stopped.
A faint vibration travelled through the floor, passing beneath their feet before fading into the walls. The phone on the table illuminated.
[UNREGISTERED SUBJECT: RESPONSE DETECTED.]
[NAME FRAGMENT: EREN.]
[IDENTITY CONFIRMATION: FAILED.]
The message disappeared.
A second appeared.
[MEMORY SOURCE: EXTERNAL.]
Veyric frowned.
"External?"
The small figure looked at the screen. "That means the memory isn’t coming from the archive."
"Then where is it coming from?"
The figure glanced at the distortion.
"From someone who remembers."
Veyric looked at their mother.
She shook her head, but her expression had already betrayed her.
"I remember a boy," she whispered. "Not clearly. I remember him sitting in a room with a broken window. He used to count the cracks in the ceiling."
"Was he your patient?" Nyelle asked.
"I don’t know."
"Was he another child in the facility?"
"I don’t know."
"Was he one of us?"
Their mother looked at Veyric.
"I don’t know."
Nyelle’s expression tightened. "You remember enough to be frightened of him, but not enough to tell us who he is?"
"I wish I could answer you."
"That’s what you always say."
The words struck harder than Nyelle intended. Their mother looked down, and for a moment, Veyric almost stepped between them again. He didn’t. Nyelle had spent too long being told what she was allowed to remember, and he wasn’t going to silence her simply because the truth hurt.
Across the chamber, the distortion moved.
This time, it didn’t reach for Nyelle or their mother.
It reached for Veyric.
The blue line beneath his wrist flared, and an unpleasant pressure spread through his arm. He tried to pull away, but the connection held for a fraction of a second longer than it should have.
A memory flashed through his mind.
A narrow bed.
A white blanket.
A boy sitting beside him, holding a broken toy.
The boy was speaking, but Veyric couldn’t hear the words. The memory shifted before he could make out his face. Now the boy was crying, and Veyric was standing beside the door while someone called his name from the corridor.
He turned toward the sound.
The boy caught his sleeve.
"Don’t leave me here."
The memory vanished.
Veyric stumbled backward.
Nyelle caught him before he struck the table. "What happened?"
He struggled to breathe normally. His wrist still burned beneath his skin, but the pain wasn’t what unsettled him.
"I saw someone."
"Who?"
"A boy. I think I knew him."
The distortion gave a small, almost relieved sound.
"You remember me."
Veyric looked toward it.
"No. I remember a moment. That’s not the same thing."
The figure’s outline became clearer.
"Then remember the rest."
The blue line tightened painfully.
The small figure lunged forward and pressed its palm against Veyric’s wrist.
"Enough!"
A sharp burst of white light filled the chamber.
Veyric’s arm went numb. The distortion recoiled, and the pressure disappeared, leaving a cold sensation that spread from his wrist into his fingers. The small figure staggered backward, clutching its own hand.
The phone displayed a warning.
[RECALL ATTEMPT: INTERRUPTED.]
[PROTECTIVE RESPONSE: ACTIVATED.]
[PROTECTIVE SUBJECT: NYELLE.]
Veyric looked at the message.
"Why did it activate Nyelle’s designation?"
The small figure stared at the screen.
"Because she was supposed to stop that connection."
Nyelle looked down at her own hand.
A thin white mark had appeared across her palm. It was almost invisible until she tilted it toward the light, at which point the line brightened and seemed to move beneath the skin.
She rubbed at it, but it didn’t disappear.
Their mother approached her.
"Let me see."
Nyelle pulled away. "No."
"Nyelle, please."
"You knew something about this."
"I didn’t know everything."
"But you knew enough to keep me away from that door."
Their mother lowered her head.
"I was told that if you remembered the third subject, the separation would reverse."
"Then why didn’t you tell me?"
"Because I thought forgetting was safer."
Nyelle stared at her.
"You keep saying that as if it makes everything all right."
"It doesn’t."
"Then stop using it as an excuse."
Their mother had no answer.
The silence between them was interrupted by a faint scraping sound. Across the chamber, the distortion had begun to fade, its edges breaking apart like smoke being pulled into a narrow opening.
Veyric stepped forward.
"Wait."
The figure stopped.
"Why did you call me the wrong one?"
The distortion remained silent.
"Who came back with Nyelle?"
A faint sound came from it.
"You did."
Veyric’s expression tightened.
"Then who is the wrong one?"
The figure slowly raised its hand and pointed toward the small version of Veyric.
Everyone turned.
The small figure looked down at itself.
"No," it whispered.
The distortion continued.
"He came back wearing your face. He carried your memories. He knew your name."
The small figure stepped backward.
"But he wasn’t the one she opened the door for."
Veyric stared at it.
The small figure shook its head. "That’s not true."
"Then tell them what happened."
"I don’t remember."
The distortion tilted its head.
"You remember enough to know you weren’t supposed to survive."
The figure’s breathing became uneven. Veyric moved toward it, but the figure retreated another step, keeping its eyes fixed on the floor.
"Look at me," Veyric said.
It didn’t respond.
"Look at me."
Its dark eyes finally met his.
"Did you come out of that chamber?"
"I don’t know."
"Were you the one Nyelle brought back?"
"I don’t know."
"Did you replace someone?"
The figure’s lips trembled.
"I was told I was protecting you."
Veyric held its gaze.
"That’s not what I asked."
For several seconds, the figure said nothing. Its eyes moved briefly toward Nyelle, then their mother, before returning to Veyric.
"I remember waking up in a room with no windows," it whispered. "Someone told me I had done well. They said the separation was complete."
"Who?"
"I couldn’t see."
"What did they tell you?"
The figure swallowed.
"That I was Veyric."
The distortion made a quiet sound.
"Of course they did."
The small figure looked toward it.
The distortion’s outline continued to break apart, but its voice remained clear.
"They gave you his name because the original couldn’t remember his own."
Veyric felt something cold settle in his stomach.
The small figure’s eyes widened.
"No."
The phone vibrated.
A new message appeared.
[IDENTITY CONFLICT: ESCALATING.]
[SUBJECT DESIGNATION: VEYRIC.]
[MEMORY OWNERSHIP: UNVERIFIED.]
Veyric read the message, then looked between the two figures. One stood beside him, carrying his face and the memories he had lived with for years. The other was little more than a distortion, yet it seemed to know things about him that the first could not explain.
He had spent the entire journey trying to discover which memories had been taken from him.
Now he had to consider something worse.
What if some of the memories he called his had belonged to someone else from the beginning?
The phone screen changed again.
[ADDITIONAL MEMORY FRAGMENT AVAILABLE.]
Veyric looked at the phone.
"Show it."
The small figure immediately shook its head.
"Don’t."
"Why?"
"Because the last memory isn’t yours to see."
"Whose is it?"
The figure looked at Nyelle.
Nyelle stared back.
"Mine?" she asked.
The figure nodded.
The phone screen illuminated, revealing a final image.
A white corridor.
A door.
A little girl standing beside it, holding a blue bracelet.
On the other side of the glass stood a boy who looked exactly like Veyric.
But he wasn’t alone.
Another boy stood behind him, one hand resting on his shoulder. The two children looked almost identical, down to the shape of their faces and the way they held their heads.
Except the boy in front had a blue line beneath his right hand.
The boy behind him had a white one.
Nyelle took a step toward the screen.
The little girl in the recording looked frightened. She kept glancing between the two boys, her fingers moving restlessly over the silver bead on her bracelet.
Then she spoke.
"Which one should I bring back?"
A voice answered from behind the camera.
"Bring back the one who asks for you."
The two boys turned toward the door at exactly the same time.
And both called her name.
Nyelle began to cry.
Veyric reached for her, but she didn’t seem to notice. Her attention was fixed on the two children, and the expression on her face was no longer one of confusion. Something had returned to her, something she had spent years unknowingly carrying.
The recording continued.
One boy pressed his hand against the glass.
The other remained behind him, watching.
The little girl took a step closer.
Veyric wanted to ask her what she remembered, but he was afraid of what her answer might do to the fragile certainty that remained between them. He could see her struggling to speak, her lips moving without sound, as if the memory had reached her before she was ready to face it.
Then Nyelle whispered something.
"I remember."
Their mother moved toward her. "What do you remember?"
Nyelle shook her head.
"I remember both of them."
Veyric tightened his grip around her hand.
"Which one did you bring back?"
Nyelle looked at him.
Her eyes were wet, but there was no confusion in them now. Only the terrible certainty of someone who had finally remembered a choice she had spent her whole life believing she never made.
She had opened the door.
But she had taken the hand of the boy who never called her.