Cold pressed in on every side, but in the darkness, fragments of light flickered.

  A face. A voice.

  Aiko.

  Her laughter cut through the void — quick, bright, alive. It carried the echo of summer afternoons, of heat shimmering off the dirt road behind the barn. She’d been sitting on the fence, swinging one leg, teasing him about his stance. “You’re thinking too much, Liam,” she’d said, tossing a pebble that bounced off his chest. “You always think too much.”

  For a moment, he was there again — sunlight in his eyes, her laughter bouncing between them. But then the sound twisted, warping into static that clawed at the inside of his skull.

  Another flash — her hand gripping his, pulling him across a wide green field. The wind had been wild that day, whipping their sleeves, their hair. She’d looked back once, grin wide, daring him to catch up. He remembered the smell of rain in the distance, the weight of her hand in his — and then, just as suddenly, it was gone. Torn away by the storm.

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  The darkness surged again. His chest ached. Not from the cold—from something else. Something buried deeper.

  The sound of her voice hummed as she tied her hair.

  The faint citrus smell of her soap in the mornings.

  The way she’d tap him twice on the shoulder before walking off to train, her silent way of saying I’ll see you later.

  Each image came sharper than the last — then shattered before he could hold them.

  He reached toward the light that flickered in front of him, trembling fingers brushing against it. For a heartbeat, it was warm — warm like Aiko's skin, her presence. Then it broke apart, scattering into a thousand fading shards that melted into the dark.

  Silence swallowed everything.

  Only one thought remained, stubborn and soft, pulsing like a heartbeat beneath the cold:

  Don’t forget her.